Page 3 of Denim & Diamonds

February

“What do you think is the purpose of that book?” Morgan asked, twirling a lock of her blond hair.

“I’m not sure.”

I’d just finished telling my new friend at the center about the little book I’d found in burly Brock’s flannel shirt.

He seemed to enter the date and a note for each day of the week.

Things like: Helped an old lady cross the street and Changed a tire for someone on the highway .

He appeared to be keeping track of good deeds or something.

“The last one was the best!” Morgan teased.

I rolled my eyes. “So embarrassing.”

Took in a silly, drunk woman before she got herself killed.

“I need to start sneaking out of this place, too,” she said. “Find my own hot lumberjack. Does he have any brothers? It’s way more fun out there than in here.”

Morgan Flowers was a twenty-two-year-old influencer staying at Sierra after a near nervous breakdown that had warranted a social media hiatus.

Despite her massive number of followers, Morgan had a lot of anxiety when encountering actual people in real life.

Her stay at Sierra was an attempt to become more grounded, placing more value on herself and less value on the opinions of those on the Internet.

So far, she’d done almost nothing but vlog the experience for the future entertainment of none other than—you guessed it—internet strangers.

“Do you mind turning the camera off when we’re talking about my personal life?” I scolded.

She adjusted her lens. “I’m not going to use the sound. It’s just B-roll for my vlogs. You’ll be a silent talking head beneath my commentary.”

“Doesn’t it go against the privacy policy here to be taking so much footage?”

“Since when are we following the rules, Miss Ladder Climber?” She giggled.

“Or should I say Commando Hot Lumberjack Climber? Anyway, not sure about the camera rules. I never specifically asked, and I sort of smuggled the equipment in. As long as you’re okay with me showing your face.

And I thought you said you didn’t mind, that we don’t have anything to be ashamed of by being here? ”

“We don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want a camera shoved in my face every five seconds. I didn’t realize how attached to that thing you’d be.”

She nodded and sighed. “Okay. I’ll shut it off for a bit.

” Morgan put the camera away and reached for Brock’s shirt, which was lying on my bed.

She brought it to her nose. “Mmm… Smells exactly how I’d imagine a big, hot lumberjack would.

” She groaned. “Shouldn’t have sniffed that.

Now I’m horny. A lot of good that does me being stuck in here. ”

I watched her a moment, feeling…something.

Why did her reaction to his shirt make me jealous?

I mean, I barely knew the man and certainly wasn’t able to stake a claim.

But in my head, Brock was my pseudo-kidnapper, no one else’s.

He’d had my bare ass on his shoulders just this morning.

Ugh. I cringed. That whole situation was less than ideal.

“Are you gonna see him again?”

“Well, I think I should return the shirt and the notebook, don’t you? I mean, how else is he going to chart his daily good deeds?”

“I think that makes a good excuse to see him, because you know seeing him again is really what you’re looking for.” She smirked.

Feeling my cheeks heat, I denied it. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought you said he was hot.”

“He is , but my attraction to the guy can’t mean anything. I mean, what am I gonna do? I don’t live here, and technically am not even supposed to be leaving the premises.”

“What else is there to look forward to for the next three weeks? If you’re not gonna sneak out and see the burly bartender again, maybe I will.” She crossed her arms.

My heart fell to my stomach.

Morgan snapped her fingers. “A-ha.”

“What?”

“Your face just turned so red. Now I know you’re bullshitting me. You do like him a little.” She laughed. “Maybe more than a little. And I was only kidding, by the way. Just trying to test you.”

“I don’t know him from a hole in the wall, Morgan. You can’t like someone you know nothing about. ”

“You know he’s protective and he likes to kill animals.”

“Which, by the way, is an oxymoron.” I laughed.

“Are you calling me a moron?”

“No. I said oxy moron.”

“Sorry. I’m a little traumatized from the mean comments on my post yesterday. Someone actually did call me a moron.”

“How are you posting when they took away our phones?”

“I snuck in a second one. I haven’t been checking it, only posting once a day. I can’t go dark. My followers will think I’m dead.”

Morgan wrapped Brock’s shirt around her shoulders, which caused a sudden rush of adrenaline as jealousy shot through me again. I definitely needed mental help. Good thing I was in the right place.

***

Thankfully, I got George the maintenance guy to put my escape route back that evening, because I had to sneak out to the bar to return Brock’s shirt.

I made my way down to the ground successfully, but after the mile-long trek to the bar, I discovered that Brock was nowhere to be found.

“What’s got you down, pretty lady?” a man who looked to be in his seventies asked me.

“Oh…” I shook my head. “Nothing. I was looking to return something to the bartender from last night, but he doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Brock Hawkins, you mean?”

“Yeah. He owns the bar, too, right? ”

“Yep. He owns half the town.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The man stuck out his hand. “Name’s Hank. I’m not working today, but I bartend a few nights a week.”

I took it. “February.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What about February?”

“That’s my name. February .”

“No kidding. That’s different!”

If I had a nickel for every strange reaction to my name…

The man sipped his beer. “So what’s your interest in Brock? You said you’re returning something to him?”

“His shirt.” My face felt flush as soon as I said it. His shirt. I realized how that sounded and quickly added, “He gave it to me because I was cold. And, anyway, I’m just returning it.”

I needed a drink.

“Well, if you have romantic interest in Brock Hawkins, you certainly wouldn’t be alone.

Not only is he quite respected in this town, but many of the single gals have their sights set on him.

Not just because he’s a good-looking dude, but as you can imagine, they see dollar signs.

Can’t blame him for shying away from all of ’em. ”

I hated the idea of women trying to use Brock for his money. I mean… using him for that hot body, maybe . But gold diggers? No. They had to go. “What do you mean when you say Brock shies away from women?”

“Not my place to tell Brock’s business…” He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “He turns all offers down, if you know what I mean. But let’s just say he has good reason to be wary of women lately. His last woman left him high and dry. ”

“Left him? What happened?”

“Rumor has it his ex wanted a life outside of this small town. Didn’t want to be stuck here. She knew Brock couldn’t leave, with all his businesses and brothers and such. So she left him. Brock hasn’t been seen with anyone since. Brokenhearted, I guess.”

That made me a little sad for the guy. And I also felt kind of wrong talking about him behind his back, so I ended my conversation with Hank. “Well, thanks for the talk.”

“No problem, January.” He winked.

Yeah. I walked over to the bar and called to the bartender on duty. “Excuse me.”

He turned. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, nothing to drink. But when you see Brock, can you give him this shirt? It belongs to him.” I held it out.

He took it. “Sure thing.”

“Thanks so much.”

Since I’d skipped the alcohol during my quick visit to the bar, I began my walk back to Sierra Wellness completely sober. I deserved a gold star or something, given this disappointment of a night.

While it bummed me out that I didn’t have a chance to see Brock, I was probably better off, since this whole thing had become one big distraction from the real reason I was here. I needed to focus on my mental health and go back to the City with a clear head.

Clear your head, not give head, Feb. Don’t misunderstand the assignment . I laughed to myself as I walked.

About five minutes later, I heard footsteps behind me.

My pulse raced .

The road was dark, and if anything bad happened to me out here, good luck calling for help—especially with no damn phone.

I picked up my pace, but the next thing I knew, something came charging past me.

It was a dog.

“Oak! Slow down, you big-ass goon!” a familiar voice shouted.

Brock raced past me and caught the dog by the leash. I ran to catch up with them.

“I guess live animals are a bit more challenging than the dead ones back at your place, huh?”

His eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing walking on the road this late, Fancy Pants?”

“Actually, I think a better name for me would be No Pants, wouldn’t it?”

“You said it, not me. I wasn’t gonna go there.”

“Why did Oak run away like that?”

“He goes nuts when the streetlights cast a shadow. He tries to run away from himself. But then in the midst of that, some little animal crossed our path, and he tried to chase it.”

“Aw, he just wants a friend for the bathtub.”

Brock’s expression remained serious. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing out here?”

“I went to the bar to return your shirt.”

“You didn’t need to risk your life to return my shirt.”

“This is hardly risking my life.”

“Really? And how the hell are you gonna fend off someone all by your damn self out here? You wouldn’t be able to call nine-one-one fast enough before someone came up behind you. ”

“Actually, I don’t have a phone, so I wouldn’t be calling anyone. They confiscate all devices at the center.”

“Wow.” He tugged on the leash. “No phone on top of everything else. They don’t teach common sense in handbag school, do they?”