Page 64 of Jealous Lumberjack

My hands tremble just a little.

The barn doors creak, and then her voice, soft and curious, floats like an angel’s breath to me. “Bear?”

I look up. She’s framed in the doorway, wearing one of my shirts knotted at the waist, her legs bare, her hair wild from the wind outside.

She gasps softly when she sees the ring. Then she’s walking closer, her eyes wide, her lips parted like she’s seeing something holy.

“Bear...” she whispers again. “It looks amazing already.”

Something stirs inside me, something I thought was buried—The Grizzly. That persona I killed when I walked away.

Without thinking, I jump down from the ropes, plant my feet, and execute one of my old poses—arms wide, chest heaving, a guttural growl rolling from my chest.

The spirit of my past whispers through me.

And Lily claps enthusiastically, bouncing on her toes and giggling before she flies into my arms.

I catch her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist and her mouth crashing to mine. The kiss is long, dirty, desperate, and beautiful, her tongue tangling with mine, her body arching against me, grinding like she can’t get close enough.

I grip her ass, squeeze hard, kiss her until her moans are vibrating straight into my chest. Into my fucking soul. When we finally pull back, we’re both panting.

She cups my face, grinning, eyes sparkling. “Are you ready?”

Ready. To go into town. Face people. Watch people watch my petal. Take an interest. Try to fucking steal her from me.

I grunt, because words aren’t enough to hide the terror prowling in my chest.

But then she smiles wider. And I’m fucking lost because I can’t deny her this.

So, still holding her, I turn us toward the barn doors, stride outside and walk straight to my truck. She squeals when I toss her into the passenger seat, but she’s still smiling, still glowing.

I climb in after, slam the door, and grip the wheel tight. Here goes fucking nothing.

I don’t know if I’m ready for this.

But for her?

I’ll try.

And pity the fool who tries anything.

Lily

The truck joltsoff the gravel road and onto smooth pavement, and my stomach flips.

After nearly three weeks, we’re leaving the mountain.

I press my forehead to the glass, heart fluttering.

I’ve lived in big towns all my life, but after weeks cocooned in Bear’s cabin, the sudden sprawl of rooftops, brick facades, and neat shopfronts feels like stepping onto a movie set.

The sign at the edge of town is hand-painted, the letters curling like fancy vines:Welcome to Ashbourne.

It’s unexpectedly charming and bigger than I thought, but still small enough to feel like people probably know each other’s names.

A main street runs straight through the heart, lined with angled parking spaces, lampposts with hanging baskets, and awnings shading little shops. A diner with a red door and people inside enjoying their mid-morning breaks. A hardware store shares a wall with a bookshop with a bell that jingles when someone goes inside.

It’s normal. Ordinary. And for the first time since I ran, I almost feel ordinary again.