Page 12 of The Forbidden Mountain Man Lumberjack
But as I follow his truck through the darkening streets of Grizzly Ridge, I know I'm lying to myself. Because whatever is happening between us feels increasingly like something more.
And that terrifies and thrills me in equal measure.
CHAPTER FIVE
WYATT
We arrive on Main and Sophia pulls in behind me a few minutes walk from Maggie’s Diner. On our way there, we pass the town square where volunteers are setting up decorations for the Harvest Festival. Orange and red bunting hangs between lampposts, and hay bales are arranged in a semicircle near the small bandstand.
“Whole town turns out for this,” I explain as Sophia watches with interest. “Been happening every October since before I was born.”
“It looks charming,” she says, and I catch a note of wistfulness in her voice.
“You should stay for it,” I suggest before I can think better of it. “It's at the end of the month.”
Her smile is worth the moment of vulnerability. Before she can respond, the diner comes into view, its neon sign casting a warm glow over the handful of trucks parked outside.
I shouldn't be doing this. Dinner at Maggie's isn't just food—it's public. In a town this small, being seen together meanssomething. But I'd found myself waiting by her car anyway, unwilling to drive back to an empty cabin.
The diner is half-full, mostly locals finishing late dinners. Handwritten signs advertising the upcoming Harvest Festival are taped to the windows, promising apple cider contests, a pumpkin weigh-off, and live music.
“Popular place,” Sophia comments as we slide into opposite sides of the vinyl booth.
“Only restaurant in town,” I reply. “Unless you count the bar's frozen pizza.”
“Mr. Brennan!” Maggie herself approaches, coffee pot in hand, grey hair tucked under a faded hairnet. “Who's your friend? And are you judging the woodchopping contest at the festival this year or competing? People are placing bets already.”
" Too busy to judge I’m afraid," I say. "This is Sophia Coleman. She's consulting for the logging company. Sophia, this is Maggie. She knows everything about everyone in Grizzly Ridge."
"Only the interesting bits," Maggie winks, pouring coffee without asking if we want it. "What brings a pretty young thing like you to our neck of the woods?"
"Business modernization," Sophia answers easily. "Helping companies streamline their operations."
Maggie snorts. "Good luck with this one. Stubborn as they come."
"I'm beginning to see that," Sophia says with a small smile that does strange things to my insides.
"Two specials," I tell Maggie, reclaiming control of the conversation. "And don't start spreading gossip."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Maggie's innocent expression isn't fooling anyone. She bustles away, already making eye contact with Mrs. Henderson at the counter, who's watching us with unconcealed curiosity.
"Sorry about that," I mutter. "Small towns."
"It's fine." Sophia takes a sip of coffee. "I've worked in communities like this before. Everyone's always curious about outsiders."
"Especially outsiders having dinner with the town grouch."
Her laugh is unexpected and bright, cutting through the ambient diner noise and drawing more looks. "Is that your official title?"
"Unofficial." I try and fail to suppress a smile. "Though Hilda at the general store is campaigning to make it official."
"She seemed nice enough when she let me use her bathroom."
"Hilda has opinions about everything, especially my personal life." I realize too late what I've implied—that Sophia is part of my personal life.
If she notices the slip, she doesn't comment. Instead, she wraps her hands around her coffee mug, those delicate fingers that have been taking notes all day seeking warmth. There's dirt under her nails and a small cut on her index finger. Somehow, those small imperfections make her more attractive, not less.
"So," she says, "what did you think of my day with the hauling crew?"
