Page 27 of Silver Fox Mountain Daddies

My eyes close even though I’m trying hard to keep them open. I’m tired in a way I’ve never been. Finn doesn’t leave, and I’m so grateful.

Wrapped in his arms, I’m able to let go.

Chapter 10

Jonah

Ani’s different now.

Don’t ask me how I notice a subtle difference in a girl I literally just met; but I do.

It’s in the way she walks into the kitchen this morning. There’s a steadiness in her step that wasn’t there before. She keeps her eyes up instead of on the floor. The corners of her mouth don’t tip down as much. Her shoulders are even pulled back.

She’s…more settled than she was yesterday.

There’s a glow to her skin. A flush in her cheeks. A softness that wasn’t there yesterday.

I don’t need to ask what happened.

Sure, I could do what most people would and assume that she’s simply settling in here. She’s no longer uncomfortable in our space. But it’s more than that, and I know it.

Finn hums to himself while flipping pancakes at the stove. He hums when he’s in a good mood. And I’d have to be blind to miss the less-than-subtle glances the two of them are throwing at each other.

She brushes past him to grab a fork from the drawer, and he turns his head just enough to look at her. I’ve known Finn longenough to read his mind. And I can see what’s happening in the way he watches her now.

I saw it coming. From the minute she looked at him with those wide, grateful eyes and he cracked some joke to make her smile. I knew he’d be the first to get too close. I just didn’t expect how hard it would hit me.

I have no right to feel this. I barely know this girl. She’s not mine. Hell, she was never going to be. She’s too young, too soft in all the places I’ve let harden. She deserves someone who can let her grow into whoever she’s meant to be without dragging her into someone else’s wreckage.

I’ve seen too much pain and suffering in my life to be good for someone like Ani.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t watch her.

I watch her smile when she thanks Finn for the coffee. I watch her sit on the floor with Mae and try to coax a reaction with a picture book. I watch her sit on the porch and look off into the trees.

And it certainly doesn’t mean I don’t want her.

But I can’t have her. She’s still stitching herself back together with whatever threads she can find.

As much as it pains me to see it, Finn is the right choice for her. He’s kind and open, funny in a way that disarms people, sweet in a way that doesn’t ask for anything back. She needs gentleness that doesn’t come with conditions. And he still believes the world bends toward good. I gave up that idea a long time ago, right about the time I joined the Green Berets.

So I don’t let the shift change how I treat her.

I pass her a mug of tea with a brush of my fingers that lingers half a second longer than it needs to. I let my elbow knock against hers when we stand side by side at the sink. I hold her eyes when I ask if she wants more toast.

And I stay close. Not too close, I’m not trying to freak the girl out. Just close enough to make sure she knows I see her. I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish. She chose Finn, and she deserves more than me, but I can’t stop myself from drifting in her direction.

She’s on the porch later that afternoon, pulled into herself tighter than I’ve seen all day. Her gaze fixed out at the tree line like she’s trying to find something in the distance that no one else can see.

I don’t ask before joining her. I open the door, ease myself down beside her, and keep my eyes forward.

She doesn’t say anything. So, I don’t either.

The quiet stretches on, and I start to wonder if it will ever break. But I wait, the way I know Finn would.

She presses her lips together, then breathes out through her nose.

Then, finally: “Have you ever felt like you’ve ruined something before it even starts?”

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