Page 24 of Wrecked on the Mountain (Stone River Mountain #2)

He shifts on the couch, making space, and I curl into his side without hesitation. He's warm and solid, and when his arm comes around me, something inside my chest finally unclenches.

"Better?" he murmurs against my hair.

"Much."

We sit like that for a few minutes, the jazz still playing softly from my phone, the peppermint oil making the air clean and peaceful. I can feel Jamie's chest rising and falling beneath my cheek.

"Wanna know something that will make you laugh?" he asks out of nowhere.

"Always."

"I called you my girlfriend today," he says suddenly.

I tilt my head to look at him. "You did?"

His ears turn red, which is absolutely adorable. "Accidentally. To Chase. When I thought he was..." He shakes his head. "Actually, it doesn't matter what I thought. Point is, the word came out before I could stop it."

"And how do you feel about that?" I ask, trying not to smile at his adorable embarrassment.

"Terrified," he admits. "And right. Mostly right."

I shift so I can see his face better. "So what does that make me? Your girlfriend who thinks you're too grumpy to marry?"

He groans, dropping his head back against the couch cushions. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

"For the record," he says, looking at me seriously, "I'm not too grumpy. I'm selectively social."

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat tight. "Jamie..."

"I know you're scared," he continues. "I'm scared too. But I've never had anyone show up to Sunday dinner who actually wanted to be there."

I blink at him. "Sunday dinner?"

"Tomorrow. With my family. I was going to tell you we should probably skip it, let you rest—"

"No," I interrupt, sitting up straighter. "I don't want to skip it."

He stares at me like I've just offered to perform surgery with my bare hands. "You don't?"

"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to it all week," I admit. "I bought a new dress and everything."

His eyes widen, a sexy spark igniting behind them. I know how much he enjoyed my last dress. He leans forward, just barely, as though drawn by an invisible thread.

"God, you're amazing, you know that? My ex would have canceled," he says quietly. "Any excuse to avoid family time."

"Well," I say, settling back against his chest, "I'm not her."

His arm tightens around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head.

"No," he agrees. "You're definitely not."

"I think you should stay tonight," I say after another comfortable silence. "Not for... you know. But just to stay. My head feels better when you're here."

Jamie goes very still beneath me. "Brooke..."

"I know it's clingy and pathetic—"

"It's not," he says firmly. "It's not clingy or pathetic. I want to stay."

Jamie shifts beneath me, brushing a kiss to my temple before untangling himself carefully from the couch.

“But if I'm staying, I need to grab something. Be right back,” he says, slipping his boots on at the front door.

I blink across the room. “Where are you going?! You’re not bailing on me now, are you?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Not bailing, sweetheart. Just getting more reinforcements.”

He disappears out the front door into the freezing night, and I hear the distant creak of his truck. A moment later, the door swings open again and this time he’s carrying a second paper bag.

This one’s bursting at the seams and threatening to collapse under the weight of its contents.

My eyebrows rise. "Jamie... please tell me that's not another batch of drugs?"

He drops the bag onto the coffee table like it’s a prize haul from a very specific scavenger hunt. “Nope. But it is more emergency provisions.”

“Oh my God, Jamie. Is that a king-size bag of peanut M&Ms?”

He grins and starts unpacking the bag, lining everything up on the table. I can't believe my eyes.

There are two different kinds of potato chips, caramel popcorn, a giant bar of dark chocolate with sea salt, sour gummies, salted caramels in a mason jar, a pint of mint choc chip ice cream, and two little spoons.

“Sweet and salty,” he says, deadpan. “Because I wasn’t sure what kind of post-migraine craving situation I would be walking into.”

“You packed a snack apocalypse,” I whisper, awed.

"I just wanted to be prepared. This was all for tomorrow when you were feeling better… but to hell with the soup." Jamie grins as he flops back onto the couch beside me and reaches for the TV remote.

I snort, grabbing a caramel. “You're a different breed around here.”

“Damn right.”

He starts scrolling through Netflix until he finds the latest romantic comedy that everyone online’s been screaming about. The second the opening credits roll, I curl into him like a satisfied cat, cradling a bowl of popcorn while his hand rests easily on my hip.

The headache’s still there, dull but manageable now. Or maybe it’s just muffled by the weight of Jamie’s arm and the sugar high blooming in my veins.

“I can't wait for tomorrow,” I whisper against his chest. “I hope I feel good enough to meet your family.”

He dips his head to press another kiss into my hair. “You will.”

And for once, I believe it.

Because this sweet, stupid, snack-filled mountain night… feels like the start of something worth staying for.