Page 19 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"Working? Like, as a waitress?"
"Basically," I say. "Taking orders, serving food. It's not bad, actually. The people are nice."
There's a pause, and I can practically hear her deciding whether to push for more information or wait for me to volunteer it. Finally, she cracks. "What else is going on? Your voice sounds kind of funny."
I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and let it rip. "I slept with someone last night."
"You WHAT?" Her voice jumps an octave. "Who? Not Daniel? Please tell me you didn't?—"
"God, no," I cut her off. "Never again… It was one of the owners of the bar. His name's Griff."
"Skye McMillan! You've been there what, three days? And you're already hooking up with the locals?" There's no judgment in her voice, just surprise and a hint of admiration.
"It just happened," I say, though that's not entirely true. I wanted it to happen. I made it happen. I’m still surprised at myself. "He's older than me—like, a lot older. But Charlotte, the sex was... I don't even have words."
"That good, huh?" she asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Better than anything I've ever experienced. It's like he knew exactly what I needed, exactly what I wanted."
"Well, older guys do tend to know what they're doing," Charlotte says. "So is this a one-time thing, or...?"
"I don't know," I admit. "I'm only here until my car gets fixed. It's not like I'm looking for a relationship. But..."
"But you wouldn't mind doing it again," she finishes for me.
"Exactly." I laugh and wonder if I’ll get a chance. I have a sneaking suspicion that I will.
We talk for another hour, Charlotte filling me in on work stuff, me giving her more details about Flounder Ridge and the people at Devil's Pass. By the time we hang up, I feel better—more settled. Charlotte’s always done that for me which is why she’s still one of my best friends even though we haven’t lived in the same town for years.
I spend the next few hours reading, losing myself in a book that I’ve been meaning to start for months but hadn’t found the time. I forget about Daniel and Alicia, about my broken-down car, about my uncertain future. I just let myself exist in the moment, the way I haven't in longer than I can remember.
Around three, my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven't eaten since last night. The bar kitchen is closed until five, but Rose's Diner should be open.
I walk the short distance into town, enjoying the crisp mountain air and the way the sunlight dapples through the pine trees. Flounder Ridge is quiet on a Sunday afternoon, just a few locals out and about. An older couple nods to me as they pass, the woman offering a friendly greeting that catches me off guard. In the city, you don't make eye contact with strangers, let alone greet them.
The diner is half-full, mostly with the after-church crowd, judging by the number of floral dresses and striped ties. I slide into a booth by the window, and the same silver-haired waitress from my first day brings me a menu.
"You were in here a few days ago, right?" she asks, pouring me a cup of coffee without waiting for me to order it.
I nod, surprised she remembers me. "I’m here until my car gets fixed."
"Jed does good work," she says approvingly. "You'll be back on the road in no time."
As I dig into a turkey club sandwich, I wonder why that thought doesn't bring me the relief I would expect. A week ago, being stranded in a tiny mountain town would have been my worst nightmare. Now, I'm not so sure I'm in a hurry to leave.
At five o'clock, I head downstairs for my shift, my hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a Devil's Pass t-shirt Vanna gave me. The bar is quiet, the calm before the Sunday night crowd trickles in.
A man I haven't seen before stands behind the bar, arranging bottles on the back shelf. He's tall and lean, with dark hair streaked with silver at the temples, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. When he turns, I'm struck by how different he looks from Griff and Buck—more polished, like he wandered in from a different world entirely.
His eyes find mine, intelligent and appraising. "You must be Skye," he says, his voice smooth. "I've heard quite a bit about you."
I approach the bar, suddenly self-conscious. "All good things, I hope."
"Nothing but." He extends his hand. "Ford Barrows. The third musketeer in this little enterprise."
His handshake is firm. "Nice to finally meet you," I say. "I was starting to think you were a figment of everyone's imagination."
He laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "I was in Denver for a few days. Business meetings." The way he says it suggests these meetings weren't for Devil's Pass. "I'm usually here most evenings, though. Griff handles the bar, Buck runs the kitchen, and I..."
