Page 10 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

It hardly seems right to argue with him, considering that I just humiliated myself (and probably him) in front of his ex and he is still offering to walk me home.

We walk the two blocks silently. An apology almost bubbles past my lips a couple times, but there are tears lurking somewhere in that same vicinity, so I bite them both back.

I’m not sure why I’m feeling so emotional. I guess I’m not a very fun drunk.

When we reach the bakery, I stop to fish my keys out of my purse. The little cobblestone square outside is quiet, far removed from the nighttime debauchery of the town.

“You know this is a bakery, right?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, I live in the apartment upstairs.”

He looks skeptical, like maybe I’m so drunk that I’ve convinced myself that this German bakery is my home. It seems I made quite the impression tonight.

I unlock the door and pause before stepping inside.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I say.

“No problem.”

There are no goodnights. Ryan gives me a quiet nod, shoves his hands in his pockets, and turns to walk back to the bar.

Chapter 6

RYAN

After this horrible fucking joke of a weekend, I’m happy to be back at work on Monday. I knew I’d be seeing Blair soon. I mean, obviously, since I’m attending her wedding and all. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve seen her since our breakup. She’s engaged to my stepbrother, so I’ve seen her at every holiday dinner and family gathering for the past two years. And honestly, I’m over her, so it doesn’t even phase me.

But running into her here in Gatlinburg was a reminder of the life we used to share. There was something unsettling about it. Maybe because it’s proof that she’s moved on to bigger and better things, and I’m just doing the same old shit here in Tennessee. Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy with the life I’ve built here. I love my job and my house and my friends. But for the first time in years, I wondered if I should be striving for a little bit more.

My thoughts are interrupted by a gentle knock on my office door, although it’s already wide open. When I glance up, Marlow is standing there.

She looks different today. I’ve never seen her with her hair pinned back before. I’ve also never seen her look so nervous. She’s wringing her hands together in front of her and looking everywhere but straight at me.

“Can I come in?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

Marlow steps inside my office. I see the slow roll of her throat as she stares down at her hands. She’s embarrassed about what happened at the bar. I get it. I feel bad for her even. But I don’t think we need to rehash the whole thing.

“I just wondered if you wanted to grab some lunch?” Her voice is strained, and she cringes as the words hang between us.

“With you?”

“Yes.”

I chew this over for a minute. On one hand, it would be sort of entertaining to watch Marlow squirm through an apology, but on the other, we’d have to get through an hour-long lunch together. Alone. That doesn’t sound very promising.

“Listen,” I say with a sigh, “I know where you’re going with this, and you don’t need to worry about it. We can just forget about it, okay? No hard feelings.”

Something flashes across her face. Guilt, maybe? Or frustration? She’s so hard to read. Her shoulders slump and I think she’s about to turn and leave, but she takes another step forward instead.

“I appreciate you saying that, but I really think we need to talk, and the office isn’t the most appropriate place.”

My four least favorite words in the English language:We need to talk.

Marlow’s expression hardens as she stares down at me. I can tell that she isn’t going to back down. Leave it to her to be a pain in the ass even when it comes to apologizing for her fuck-ups.

“You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

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