Page 22 of Tangled Kisses
“Downplay yourself. Pretend you’re less than you are. He was blind, Reese. You’re…” My throat works, the words sticking harder than they should. “You’re more than enough.”
She blinks, like she doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. Then she covers it with a shaky laugh. “Wow, you really are good at this, cowboy.”
But there’s nothing practiced in my words.
Reese steps closer, a true smile gracing her features. “Hands down, this is my favorite cabin.”
“Really? It’s not fancy like the others.”
“Doesn’t matter. I like this one best.”
“This one is mine.” I puff out my chest a bit, thrilled that someone else can see the potential in this hunk of wood and steel.
“Yours?”
“Unofficially. It had fallen into disrepair, and Capri wanted to raze it, but I knew it had good bones, so I asked if I could renovate it. It’s a work in progress.”
Her breath catches as a laugh bubbles out of her chest. “That’s fabulous. What a talent you are, Griffin.” She rushes to the porch, examining the rough-hewn beams and knotty pine railing. “You made all this?”
“I did.” It’s funny, but I desperately want her approval.
“It’s so beautiful. In New York, everything is finished. Polished to a high shine. I much prefer this style. Rustic and warm, even if it’s cold as hell out here,” she finishes, shivering in her thin sweatshirt.
“God, I’m sorry. Here, let’s go inside and I’ll light a fire.”
“Don’t you have to get back?”
“My only goal tonight is to make you feel warm and welcome here.” I grimace at my unintentional sexual innuendo. Flirting is part of my act at the ranch, and it comes with the territory, but with Reese, I truly care what she thinks.
Thankfully, she responds with a wink as she walks inside. “Then get cracking on that fire. I’ll open the wine.”
“Don’t forget about Geraldine’s cooking.”
“Who could forget that? She’s going to be sick of my hounding her with questions. I love cooking. Hence the lack of six-pack abs.”
I smirk. “Trust me, you’ve got plenty going on without a six-pack.”
She shoots me a look, half exasperated, half flustered. “Would you stop being perfect?”
I tilt my head, voice dropping. “You first, darlin’.”
Her cheeks flush. “I am so far from perfect.”
“So am I.”
She gives me a once-over, and lets out a dry laugh. “Oh yeah. Obviously. You’re drowning in flaws.”
Her teasing grin doesn’t sting, but it digs in deeper than I want it to, because that’s exactly how people see me. Nice face, nice body. No one bothers looking past the surface.
I don’t answer. Can’t.
She must sense the shift, because she gives me a gentle punch in the arm. “Okay, cowboy. Let me into your house so I can dig up your deep, dark secrets.”
The corner of my mouth quirks, but inside, I’m reeling. If she really saw me—the life I lead, the compromises I make just to keep things afloat—she’d think twice about sitting here. About me.
My cabin isn’t fancy,but it’s the one place on this damn spinning ball that feels remotely like home. A solid leather couch faces the stone fireplace, part of the eclectic mix of secondhand furniture I’ve collected over the years—sturdy, dependable, built to last.
“Sorry,” I tell her as I strike a match, feeding kindling to the fire. “Most of this stuff’s hand-me-down, but it’ll outlast us both.”
