Page 38 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies (Men of Medford #4)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Asher

Crowds aren’t really my thing.

I can fake it when I have to, flash a grin, toss out a few jokes, keep things light. I’m good at that. Always have been.

But being in the middle of a crowd where people actually want something from you, more than charm, more than a smile, that’s a whole different game.

And one I’d usually peace out of before the second round of cocoa.

But tonight felt different.

Somehow, I ended up standing at the edge of Medford’s town square, freezing my ass off, paper cup of cocoa in one hand, Lucy laughing behind me, and I didn’t feel the usual crawl under my skin.

Because I was watching her .

Riley was standing by the cider stand, cheeks pink from the cold, laughing at something Lila said.

That soft cream sweater she had on made her look like some kind of holiday movie extra—too good to be real, but somehow still right there. Hair loose, curling around her face like it knew how lucky it was to be close to her.

She looked settled. Lighter than before. Maybe the weight she’d been carrying had finally shifted. Not gone, but not crushing her anymore, either.

And I couldn’t stop looking.

Not in the usual way I look at women, appreciative, amused, curious if they’ll let me in for the night and forget me by morning.

This was different.

This was the kind of looking that hits somewhere deeper. Like hearing a song that ruins you in the best way.

She hadn’t seen me yet, which meant I had a few more seconds to soak her in without having to play it cool.

Beckett was probably somewhere near the stage, judging the angle of the garland. Garrett was, no joke, helping some old lady vendor carry her kettle corn bags like he was auditioning for a Hallmark special.

And I was standing there like an idiot, heart doing that thing it’s not supposed to do anymore.

Then Lucy slid up beside me like a damn mind reader and shoved a powdered donut into my hand.

“Don’t look now,” she said, all smug, “but your face is doing that soft thing again.”

I snorted. “What soft thing?”

She arched a brow. “The one where you forget you’re pretending not to stare at Riley like a Disney prince with a tragic backstory.”

“Not staring,” I muttered, totally staring.

“Sure. And I’m the Virgin Mary. You’re pathetic, by the way.”

I didn’t argue. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong.

She took a bite of her own donut and kept walking around as if she hadn’t just sucker punched my whole defense system.

Then Riley spotted me. And damn .

That smile she gave me? It hit like a freight train. No warning, no brakes.

She walked over slowly, hands tucked into her sleeves, that sweater doing all kinds of damage, and gave me a smile that didn’t belong to the girl who used to be everywhere, all armor and polish.

It was small. Real. A little unsure.

“Hey,” she said, soft enough that I leaned in without even thinking.

“Hey, yourself.” I held up the donut as if it was a peace offering. “You look like someone who could use fried sugar.”

She laughed and took it. “I feel like someone who needs fried sugar. Is it weird that I’m nervous about a Christmas tree?”

“Terrifying,” I said, straight-faced. “Last year, it almost crushed the mayor’s Prius. It’s a known menace.”

She laughed again, and God help me, I stepped closer.

Just a little.

But it felt like everything around us faded out—the lights, the music, Lucy’s snark. All of it. Just her and me, and this weird electric silence humming between us.

“You okay?” I asked, quieter now.

Her smile slipped, only for a second. And that, right there, was the part that killed me. She always tried to keep it together.

Even when she was unraveling.

“Yeah,” she said, soft and a little too careful. “I think so.”

And I believed her. But I also knew better.

Yet I didn’t get a word out before the countdown hit.

“Three! Two! One!”

The whole damn crowd lit up like someone flipped a switch, cheering, clapping, oohing and aahing as if they’d never seen a tree wrapped in string lights before.

Okay, fine. Even I might’ve gasped a little.

The tree was glowing gold, thousands of bulbs reflecting off the snow like something out of a snow globe. People were losing their minds over it.

But not her.

Riley stood there, face tipped toward the light, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly like she was letting herself feel it.

No phone. No posing. No filter. Just her and the moment.

And I swear, the whole town could’ve disappeared, and I still wouldn’t have looked away.

She turned toward me, that light catching in her eyes, soft and warm. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, but I wasn’t looking at the damn tree.

She caught it, of course she did, and smirked. “Smooth.”

I shrugged. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“Hmm. Not always,” she said, tilting her head in that way that made it very, very hard to think straight.

I grinned. “Wanna see me be really unsmooth?”

Her brows arched, all challenge. “Now that I’m intrigued by.”

“Come with me.”

I didn’t wait for her to second-guess it. I took her hand and pulled her away from the crowd.

Past the cider stand, through a mess of parked cars, down the alley behind the bakery until we hit the clearing behind the church.

The snow back here hadn’t been touched yet. Pristine. Quiet.

She looked around, breath visible in the cold. “Asher.”

I dropped her hand, crouched down, and scooped a perfect handful of snow.

Her eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare.”

“Too late.”

I lobbed it—gentle, I swear—and it nailed her right on the shoulder.

The gasp she let out was dramatic enough to win an award. Like I’d slapped her with a bag of frozen peas.

“Oh, it’s on .”

Next thing I knew, she was coming at me like a tiny, furious snow ninja. I tried to duck, slipped, and nearly ate it on the ice.

We were a full-blown snowstorm of chaos, laughing, yelling, and snow flying everywhere. My fingers were frozen, my coat was soaked, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had this much fun.

She hit me square in the chest with a snowball, and I doubled over, laughing like an idiot.

“You little menace,” I gasped. “That was, oh , weirdly accurate.”

“I used to do CrossFit,” she said, breathless. “I know how to dodge an ego.”

I wheezed out a laugh. “Shit, that’s hot.”

She dove for more snow as Beckett’s voice cut through the clearing like a disapproving dad.

“What in the actual hell is happening back here?”

Riley didn’t even flinch. She turned, still mid-windup, and let the snowball fly.

Smack. Right to his thigh.

Beckett froze. Looked down at the wet blotch on his jeans like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

Then Garrett showed up, arms crossed, deadpan as hell. “Did you just pelt Beckett with a snowball?”

Riley blinked. “It was reflexive! I panicked!”

Silence.

Then Beckett crouched down, scooping snow with quiet menace. “You’re dead.”

And just like that, chaos again.

Garrett dove behind a tree as if he was in an action movie. I tackled Riley into a snowbank to keep her from getting nailed, but she was laughing too hard to care either way.

Beckett had gone full military precision. Garrett was basically a snowball sniper. And Riley?

She was radiant. Laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, cheeks flushed, eyes sparking like she ran on joy alone.

I lay there on my back in the snow, chest heaving as if I’d just sprinted ten blocks. And I couldn’t stop watching her.

Not because she looked good, which she did, but because she looked happy . Not the surface-level, everything’s-fine kind of happy. The real kind.

At last, nothing was weighing her down.

Damn, I’d missed that. Missed her like this.

Eventually, the chaos slowed. Garrett had snow down the back of his coat, Beckett was muttering something about “juvenile nonsense,” and Riley was beside me in the snow, catching her breath.

Everything felt quieter. Not silent. Just suspended. The world had hit pause and forgotten to press play again.

Snow kept falling. Slow, lazy flakes that caught in her hair. One curl had stuck to her cheek, damp from the snowball fight.

I reached out without thinking and brushed it back behind her ear.

She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.

She looked at me. Really looked at me, like maybe she was seeing something she hadn’t let herself look at before.

Her smile faded a little, but not in that sad way.

“I needed that,” she said softly. “More than I realized.”

I sat up next to her, arms resting on my knees. “You know you don’t have to pretend your old life didn’t exist, right?”

She looked over, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ava. What she did was awful. But pretending it didn’t happen doesn’t erase it.”

“And if I fight back, I just give it teeth.”

I turned to her, serious now. “Or you take the pen back. You stop letting other people write the story.”

She went still. Studied me as if she wasn’t sure whether to be mad or moved. Then she gave a soft, nervous laugh.

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Good.” I bumped her shoulder. “The best stuff usually is.”

She bit her lip. “What if I screw it up?”

“You will ,” I said. “You’ll mess up, change your mind, probably cry more than once. But it’ll be yours. It doesn’t have to be loud or public. Just honest.”

Something shifted in her face. Only a flicker. Maybe she believed me.

And then I leaned in.

I didn’t mean to. It just happened. The space between us got smaller, and suddenly I could feel the heat coming off her skin, smell that faint vanilla in her hair, the cocoa on her breath.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth. Only for a second.

But that was enough.

I almost kissed her.

My hand hovered near hers in the snow. And for one long, electric second, the whole world narrowed to that one tiny sliver of space between us.

Then…

“Riley? Where’d you go?”

Lucy’s voice cracked through the air like a firework.

We jolted back as if we’d been caught stealing something. My heart was doing its best to punch through my ribs.

I stood up too fast, brushed snow off my jeans like it would erase the moment. Riley tucked her hair behind her ear again, a nervous habit, and avoided looking at me.

“Over here!” I called out, my voice cracking like I was thirteen again. Real smooth.

Lucy came jogging around the corner with two mugs of cocoa and that look . The one sisters give when they know exactly what almost happened but decide not to say it. Yet.

She didn’t have to. The knowing was written all over her face.

Riley muttered something about needing the bathroom and made a quick exit. I watched her go, chest aching with something I couldn’t quite name.

That was close. Too close.

We were going to have to tell Lucy soon.

Before she caught us.