Page 78 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

I add that to the list of involuntary responses that I have to Ryan Ehler. And habits I need to break.

When he’s standing right in front of Abby and me, he issues a hurried greeting before turning to me.

“I need to talk to you,” he says quietly to me.

Before I can object, his fingers brush against my elbow and lead me away from prying eyes and ears. We stop short of a stand of trees. Ryan runs his palm down his face slowly, revealing a tense expression underneath. My stomach sinks, bracing me for the bad news that’s sure to follow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Before he can answer, a familiar figure clouds my vision right over his shoulder. It takes me a second to figure out why I recognize her. When it clicks, my heart freefalls all the way down to my feet, where it welcomes the inevitable trampling that it’s about to take.

Ryan looks at me then glances over his shoulder. He huffs out a sharp breath.

Okay, this is happening. I’m about to see Ryan with another woman.Theother woman. So are all of our coworkers, who don’t even know that Ryan and I broke up yet. I’m about to be flooded with concern and questions, all whispered over cups of fruit punch and the smell of burning hot dogs (which has to be my least favorite of all food smells). And because this is essentiallymybarbeque for my interns and volunteers, there is no hope of escape.

Deep breath. And another for good measure. Okay, that’s too many…now you’re just hyperventilating, Marlow.

I square off with Ryan, the way we use to do before we ever made the mistake of kissing each other. But I can’t quite meet his eyes as I say, “It’s fine” and start to walk away.

Yesterday he didn’t even seem to know about this barbeque and today he’s inviting his new girlfriend to tag along? What in the actual seventh level of hell?

A hand curls gently around my forearm, pulling me back. It takes everything I have no to slap Ryan as I spin around to face him again.

“It’s not what you think,” he says in his quiet, low voice. “She’s here with Emmett.”

“With Emmett? Why?”

“I set them up, but I didn’t realize he would invite her here. I didn’t want to tell him about…” Ryan trails off, replacing the word ‘us’ with a slight gesture of his hand.

“It’s fine,” I repeat too quickly as I start to walk away again. I just need some space from this conversation.

Ryan calls after me. I stop but don’t turn around. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod curtly, and then I let the crowd of people gobble me up before I can start to cry again.

After filling Abby in, I spend the next hour widely avoiding Ryan, Emmett, and the curly-haired girl. I can’t handle any of them right now. The girl makes this difficult by tripping into Jack and ending up drenched in the pitcher of water I’d asked him to carry over to the food table. When everyone’s attention turned to her, I watch Ryan give Emmett an almost threatening nod right before Emmett pointed her in the direction of the bathrooms.

By some force that I’ll never be able to explain, I find myself following her there. Watching her and Ryan interact at the party, I can tell there is nothing between them, but it feels like there isn’t anything between her and Emmett either. And clearly, I need to find a new hobby besides stalking this poor girl. She hasn’t even done anything wrong.

But here I am.

When I push open the door to the bathroom, she is standing in front of the sink blotting her chest with a paper towel. She glances over at me with a polite smile, even though it looks like she might cry.

I know the feeling.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she says with a tiny laugh as I stand beside her and wash my hands. “I just get so nervous around guys, you know? Well, you probably don’t know…” she says as she looks up at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m not sure what to say in response, but luckily, she keeps talking.

“You look familiar. I think I’ve seen you at the Grumpy Toad, right?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you there, too,” I say in the friendliest tone I can manage.

Bonnie pauses from blotting herself for a minute and gives me a big, generous smile in the mirror. She glances down at my uniform and sucks in a breath like she’s about to say something then seems to think better of it.

The cheap paper towels are crumbling and pilling all over her dark purple shirt, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

“You should try the hand dryer instead,” I say.

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