Page 66 of Jealous Lumberjack

He doesn’t notice. Or maybe he refuses to.

His face is carved from granite, his eyes locked forward, blind to the fact that not everyone shrinks from him. Not everyone sees him as the reclusive monster he seems to think he is.

I clutch my bag of supplies with an aching heart.

He thinks the whole world sees him as broken. Dangerous. But I can see it plain as day: more people respect him than fear him.

At the counter, he all but growls at me when I pull out my small wallet. He dumps two crisp hundred-dollar bills on the counter and drags me away without waiting for his change.

When we step outside, the sun bright overhead, I slide my hand into his. His palm engulfs mine, hot and rough. He glances at me, startled.

“Breathe, Bear,” I murmur.

He remains stiff as a pillar, then he exhales. “Where next?” he croaks.

I glance longingly at the cute boutique across the street with even cuter dresses in the window, but then I shake my head.

Baby steps.“I’m done, thank you.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t answer. Just leads me back to the truck, his silence vibrating louder than words.

As he stalks around the hood, I sneak one more glance at the flower shop across the street, at the tired but proud woman arranging stems in her window.

And I feel it—a tug.

Quiet, persistent.

Maybe... just maybe... I’ve found a place I could belong.

Knox

Too many people.

Looking at my petal.

I’d thought I could handle it, but fuck, I?—

I grip the wheel harder, jaw clenched, eyes locked straight ahead.

Every storefront, every step of Main Street had felt like a spotlight aimed at us. I should’ve known better. I should’ve never agreed to this.

Lily had been taken in by the bright sunshine and the colorful newness as we walked. She hadn’t seen what I saw. Hadn’t felt the air change when heads turned, whispers starting.

I’d seen it all.

Women shrinking back, eyes darting like I was about to eat them alive. And when her eyes had gone wide at the buckets of blooms spilling across the sidewalk, men had stared too long at her bare legs under my shirt, at the curve of her ass when she bent to look at the florist display.

“Get inside,” I’d muttered, jerking my chin at the door. Then planted myself in front of it, because no one was getting in to ogle my girl.

Through the glass, I watched her—the way she touched petals, the way her whole face lit up when the old woman behind the counter talked to her.

That smile. Christ.

Today she’d smiled like that at me in the barn.

And still something sour twisted in my gut. A knot of jealousy and longing and rage at myself because I want it all for myself.

So badly it eats me alive. Like a disease.