Page 111 of Mountain Daddy (Mountain Men #2)

Kendra

I stare at the email.

It’s been two weeks since that day I sat on the deck with my laptop.

Two of the companies emailed to say they’ve filled the position I applied for. Three of the companies haven’t sent an update. But one of the companies just messaged me, requesting an interview.

Next Friday.

In Denver.

I bend down and put my plate in the dishwasher. “Oh, I forgot to mention, I’m running to Denver tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” Dad hands me his plate.

I put it next to mine, then slide the rack closed. “Yeah.” I use my foot to shut the dishwasher. “I gotta go to IKEA.”

My father literally gasps and slaps his hand to his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

I let him see me roll my eyes at him. “I’m not going for furniture. They have a mirror I want.”

It’s not a lie. I saw an ad online for a pretty gold-framed mirror that would look nice on top of my dresser.

And if I happen to be going to a job interview at the same time… well, that’s a detail I’ll keep to myself.

Even if the idea has my dinner rolling in my stomach.

My shoes click across the marble floor, the sound loud in the quiet lobby.

The building is beautiful.

It’s in a nice spot downtown.

There are lots of great apartment complexes nearby.

The emails I’ve sent back and forth with HR to schedule today have been friendly and welcoming.

And… I hate it.

I hate everything about it.

I hate being back in a city.

I hate the way these shoes feel on my feet.

I hate the way this dress screams corporate lackey .

I hate the idea of not seeing my dad all the time.

Hate the thought of telling him I’m leaving.

I stop in front of the elevator bank and press the Up button.

The shiny metal doors slide open, and I step inside.

As the cab rises, I stare at my distorted reflection. “What are you doing?”

I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to interview. That I can always say no to an offer.

And on principle, I stand by that. It’s always best to have your options open.

But being here, standing here, feeling like I’m back in my old life. Like I’m back out east, ready to spend the day dancing to my boss’s tune… It’s not me anymore.

I don’t know if I’ve changed that much or if I’ve just experienced a different way to live.

A more relaxed life.

And I like it.

I more than like it.

I’m good at working from home.

I’m productive.

In the time I’ve been here, I’ve accomplished a lot for Joe’s Custom Furniture.

And I feel good about that.

I have more passion for my dad’s website than I had for all my previous jobs combined.

And I can do my current job anywhere.

I can still move out, so I don’t have to be there when his friends come over.

But I don’t need to move all the way to Denver.

And, with time, I’ll get over Luther.

I’ll be okay seeing him.

Eventually.

The elevator doors slide open, and I step out.

Ahead of me is a front desk, and the man sitting behind it smiles at me in welcome.

“Hello.” I stop across the counter from him. “I’m here for an interview. But I have to cancel.”

I lick at the vanilla soft serve, standing in front of a wall of mirrors.

My hair is still down. My makeup is still done. But instead of my dress and heels, I’m in jean shorts, sandals, and a cropped T-shirt that’s currently making my tits look great since I’m still in the push-up bra I put on this morning.

I don’t know if Dad has plans for tonight, but he often comes home early on Fridays, and there’s no way he’d believe I dressed all fancy just for a trip to Ikea.

So I was happy when the gas station attendant didn’t bat an eye at me entering the bathroom in one outfit and exiting in another. I’m sure they’ve seen weirder things.

I close my mouth over the top point of the soft serve and let it melt on my tongue before swallowing.

After I changed, I logged in to the job finder website and closed my remaining applications.

It was the right choice.

The mirror I saw online is here and just as pretty in person. It’s bigger than I expected, but I should still be able to get it in my car without having to fold the seats down.

Reaching out with my free hand, I feel the shiny frame of the mirror.

This is the right choice too.

Ice cream cone in hand, I take another lick and wander off to find a cart.

Halfway home, my phone rings.

I accept the call, and Dad’s voice fills the car. “Kenny, how long till you get here?”

I glance at the ETA on my GPS. “Fifty-seven minutes.”

Dad hums. “Okay, that’ll work.”

“Work for what?” I ask, assuming he’s planning dinner.

“The fish fry.”

Silence.

“The what?”

“The firefighters’ fish fry. It’s tonight.”

My mouth forms an O . As in, oh, shit .

I’ve never attended one of these, but Dad’s told me about them since he goes every year.

It’s some sort of fundraiser block-party type of thing.

In theory, it could be alright. Except I’m fairly certain every person in the surrounding area will be there.

Every person. Including Luther.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” I tell him, hoping he’ll leave without me while I figure out how to bail.

“Nope, you’re driving. It’s my turn to get wasted.”

I groan, mostly because I don’t want to go, but also from hearing Dad say get wasted .

“Is there any way I can convince you to let me sit this one out?” I try.

“Nope.” He pops the P .

I groan again, but I’m extra grateful to my past self for packing the change of clothes.

“Fine,” I grumble. “But you’re paying.”

Dad laughs and tells me to hurry up, then ends the call.

Heaving out a breath, I lift the hand not holding the wheel and cross my fingers.

If I have to go, I hope it’s packed.

More people for me to hide behind.