Page 1 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

“I think I went too heavy on the nuts.”

I stop chewing, still hunched over my bowl, and lift my eyes to my laptop screen. “I can’t with you,” I say with my mouth full of noodles.

“What?” Dad pauses, then rolls his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Kenny.”

I shake my head as I finish chewing.

Dad and I have been doing this tradition for about two years now—cooking the same dish over a video call once a month and eating together. We did it on my thirtieth birthday, when he wasn’t able to make the trip from Colorado to Delaware, then decided it was a fun way to catch up.

“It’s good though. I’ll just do less chopped peanuts next time.” Dad nods to his plate.

“Yeah.” I swirl my noodles in the sauce. “Feels a little dangerous to be able to make my own pad thai. I’m gonna eat this all the time.”

Dad hums. “Maybe you can lure a date over with all these new cooking skills.”

“Lure?” I snort. “I’m not trying to trick a man into dating me.”

“You could leave a trail of those ravioli we made last month down your sidewalk.” He gestures, completely serious. “Then put a bowl of sauce in the middle of your living room.”

I blink at the man on my screen. “I’d have to put a giant box over the bowl and prop it up with a stick. So when my dream man crawls across my floor with ravioli falling out of his pockets, I can kick the stick away and trap him.”

Dad gives me a blank look. “Now you’re being ridiculous.”

I crack up. “Yeah, I’m the problem.”

He nods.

My fork is halfway to my mouth when someone knocks on the door.

“Hold on.” I set my noodles down and push back from my little dining table.

“You expecting anyone?” Dad’s voice switches to a parental tone.

“No,” I call back over my shoulder, unconcerned.

My apartment building has always felt really safe—with locked front doors and a security guard on duty—so I’m not worried about whoever’s at the door.

For all I know, it’s Lizzy, my roommate. She often knocks when her hands are full rather than getting her keys out.

We used to work together, and when she offered me her spare room last year, I snagged it. It was closer to the office and cheaper than living alone.

A few months ago, she quit our company for a different job, so now I see her even less. And as someone who likes privacy, it’s been pretty much ideal.

I flip the deadbolt and pull the door open.

“Hey—” My smile falters.

It’s not Lizzy.

It’s the guy from the rental office downstairs.

“Um, hi.” I lift a hand in an awkward wave, and he presses a folded piece of paper against my palm.

My fingers close around it automatically.

“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “We can’t give you any more warnings. You need to be out by the end of the month.”

“What?” I look down at the paper in my hand, then back up at him. “What warnings? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve had four months. Even when you pay up on the rent, you still gotta go.” He shrugs. Fucking shrugs. Then turns away and walks down the hall.

I step back into my apartment, letting the door swing shut.

I don’t understand.

What the hell is he talking about?

My hands start to shake as I unfold the paper.

They shake even more when I read the words.

He said it.

I heard him say it.

But seeing it…

Eviction Notice

I shake my head.

This doesn’t make sense.

I’ve been paying rent.

I’ve been…

Embarrassment and shame make my throat feel tight.

I’ve been paying my roommate.

I’ve been giving money directly to Lizzy for half the rent.

She already lived here.

She told me she had the rent set up on auto pay. That it came right out of her account.

So I just gave her money.

Cash.

The paper vibrates in my trembling fingers.

She kept my money, but she didn’t use it to pay rent.

My eyes lift from the letter, and I look down the short hall toward her bedroom.

She said she quit her job at the office. Said she got a better one. But that was five months ago.

It’s been four months.

My heart thuds loudly in my chest.

No one at work ever asks about her.

No one ever said anything about her quitting to me.

Because maybe she didn’t actually quit.

Maybe she was fired.

And maybe, probably, she’s a fucking liar.

“Kenny?” Dad’s voice cuts through the buzzing in my head.

My legs feel heavy as I force myself to walk back to the table.

I drop into the chair.

“You okay?” Dad’s expression is full of sympathy, and it makes my throat feel even tighter.

“She… She wasn’t paying the rent.” The admission tastes like ash.

“I’m sorry, Kenny. That’s… messed up.”

I place my hands palm down on the table next to my dinner.

“The letter says we need to be out by the end of the month.” I swallow and will myself not to cry.

“That’s only ten days away. And… I think that means they’ll come after us for the money, right?

Like for the unpaid rent that I already paid? ”

“Are you on the lease?”

I nod. “And I paid her cash. She said that would be easiest.”

Anger pours itself into the concoction of emotions filling my chest.

If I’d paid her with checks or a transfer or… anything but cash, I’d have a record of it.

But I have nothing.

“Shit,” Dad sighs. “If you’re both on the lease, I bet there’s a way for you to just pay back your half.”

I press my lips together, embarrassed that I’m in this situation. But I know I need to be honest if I want the best advice.

“I can’t afford that,” I say quietly. I’m thirty-two years old, and this eviction is going to completely ruin me.

“I could maybe scrape the money together, but it would be everything I have. And if I need to be out in ten days, I’ll need that money for a deposit and first month’s rent at a new place.

” The tangle of dread builds with each passing moment.

“And I’ll need to hire people to help me move. ”

Not to mention, no one will rent to me with this on my record.

My breath starts coming out in pants.

Is this hyperventilating?

“Kenny, it’ll be okay.” Dad leans close to the screen. “I can give you money.”

I shake my head. “No. Thank you, but no. I can’t do that.”

I don’t know my dad’s financial situation, so I can’t accept that much cash.

He purses his lips. “If you won’t accept money, then there’s only one other option.”

“What’s that?”

“You move here. Live with me.”

I wait for the punchline.

But there isn’t one.

He’s serious.

I start to shake my head again.

Dad and I get along well, but we’ve never lived together.

Never ever.

He’s always lived across the country from me.

Sure, he’d visit for a month every summer when I was growing up. We’d talk on the phone. And we do these dinners now. But living together…

In Colorado.

And not just in Colorado.

In the mountains.

It’s been a long time since I’ve visited, but he’s been in the same house for as long as I can remember. And it’s rural .

“I can’t just move to Colorado.”

“Why not?” he asks, like he really doesn’t see the problem.

“I have a job here.”

“Quit.”

My brows lift. “Just quit? And then what?”

Dad starts to nod before I even finish talking. “Work for me.”

“Work… for you.” I shake my head. “I appreciate you’re trying to help, but I’m not handy. I can’t build furniture.”

He huffs a laugh. “I love you, Kenny. But I will never hand you a power tool ever again.”

I roll my eyes. You saw through one electrical cord, and the world will never let you forget.

“I need help with the admin shit. Tracking orders, dealing with shipping and invoices. Honestly, business has been blowing up the last few years, and I need the help. I’d rather have you do it than have to hire some stranger.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. And the more I think about it, the more serious I am.”

“What about all my stuff?” As I say it, I think about how much I got rid of when I moved in with Lizzy. I puff out a breath. “Really, it’s just my bedroom set and clothes. Some knickknack shit, but not much else.”

“You can put it in storage, and we can deal with it later,” Dad suggests, tilting his head. “Or you can sell it. The guest room has a decent mattress, and I can clear out the closet. Been meaning to do that for years anyway.”

I can’t believe I’m considering this.

Really considering this.

But what options do I realistically have?

I don’t have any friends with spare bedrooms. I don’t want to take out a loan just to live. And Mom moved to France six years ago, so even if I wanted to, living with her isn’t an option.

My shoulders sag as I watch Dad’s expression turn hopeful.

I want to ask him how much he’ll pay me, but I think this is one of those beggars can’t be choosers situations.

I’ve been working in corporate America for a decade.

I’ve been screwing up my sleep schedule just as long to go in early and stay late.

I’ve been a personal assistant to someone for years, doing the majority of their work and making five times less than they do.

I’ve been at the same pay since I started.

And I have fuck all to show for it.

I look at the man on my screen.

And I cry a little on the inside.

Then I say something I never thought I would. “Guess I’m moving to Colorado.”