Page 8 of A Mountain Man Walks into a Library

She beams.

Dad is almost done finessing the finicky door lock when I hear a vehicle trundling its way up the dirt two-track. I don’t have a lot of neighbors up here, and we’re pretty spaced out. On weekends, I might only see three of four cars go by all day. So as the vehicle approaches, I turn to look.

At my driveway, it slows down and pulls in, and then I can see it well enough to recognize it.

Samuel Bark is rumbling closer in his rusty pickup truck. He’s finally taken the snowplow off the front for summer, and he’s clearly given the whole thing a good scrub since I last saw it. Now it gleams a bright red everywhere that it isn’t dulled by rust. He parks behind my parents’ car.

When he hops out of the truck, he’s donning a big, ridiculous set of headphones, and he walks up to me, grinning.

“Got these for you,” he says, a little louder than necessary, probably because of the headphones. Then he pulls them off his head, leans close, and places them over my ears. He messes with a switch, and then leans back, assessing me. I almost flush under his gaze.

“Noise-canceling headphones,” he says, “thought they might help with the peepers.” Then he turns to my parents, holds out his hand, and says, “Sam Bark.”

The look that passes over my mother’s face is nothing short of nuclearly delighted, and it takes me a moment.Sam Bark. Sam. The name I gave her for my fake boyfriend. My stomach tries to kiss my feet.

And then everyone is shaking hands and I think they’re introducing themselves, but I’m not sure because I am standing here, frozen with these stupid, effective headphones on, caught completely off-guard. I open my mouth to say that I didn’t meanthisSam, of course. This is just my friend who brings me cookies and handwritten notes and loads of cordwood in the winter and thoughtful gifts because I whined about the spring peepers.

And then Sam turns his big, bright smile on me, and something clicks for the first time.

Oh. Sam has beenflirtingwith me.

Forsix months.

And I am such a giant, self-absorbed asshole that I didn’t even realize it, and now he’s introducing himself to my parents who think he’s, like, my long-lost husband returned from the war.

Before I can think, I reach out and grab his hand. Sam’s eyebrows jump in question, but his grip is warm and firm when he tightens his fingers around mine.

“It’s really good to see you,” I say. And I mean it. I really mean it.

I am suddenlyfuriousthat my parents are staying here all weekend because I think Sam and I need to talk.

“You too,” he says, a hesitant, questioning quality to his voice.

At my side, my mother’s grin grows impossibly wider. “We’ll give you boys a minute,” she says, and then she ushers my dad inside, closing the door behind them.

I am standing on the porch with Sam. He’s still holding my hand, but his expression has turned even more quizzical. After a long, heavy moment, I realize that he’s stroking his thumb over my knuckles. But Sam doesn’t talk. Instead, he waits for me to say something first.

Oh God.

I swallow. “So, this is really stupid,” I say, “but my parents—”

“They asked me if I was here to apologize.” An amused expression passes over his face. Have I ever noticed how dark his eyes were before? I don’t think I have. “What am I apologizing for, Remy?”

“What did you tell them?”

He shrugs. “I told them I’d do whatever you need.”

My ears flare hot. “They think you’re my boyfriend, but we broke up.”

Sam’s eyebrows draw together in confusion—and then delight dawns over his handsome face. “Oh! Okay. I mean, that’s kind of weird, and you’re going to have to explain, but I can do that, yeah.”

I blink at him. “Wait. What?”

“You told them you were seeing someone. Do you need me to,” and here he clears his throat like he’s suddenly nervous. “Do you need me to pretend?”

“God, no. Of course not,” I rush to reassure him, and then I pause, narrowing my eyes at him. “You were, like,shockinglyquick to go along with this.”

He grins. “I love a good ruse.”

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