Page 10 of Mountain Man Grinch

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That one small touch stops me dead.

“You don’t have to do all this for me, Davin.”

My chest tightens.

She has no idea.

“I do,” I say quietly. “It’s how I keep people alive.”

Something flickers in her expression … fear, followed by understanding, sad and soft and too close to the bone.

She lets go of my sleeve, but not my attention.

Not even close.

I sweep the windows, doors, shadows.

Everything’s holding …for now.

When I return to the living room, she’s in my kitchen.

Rummaging. Poking around. Making offended little noises.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

She holds up a jar of instant coffee like it’s nuclear waste.

“Your shelves are a cry for help. This is culinary depression. This is … this is a sin.”

“It’s food.”

“It’s ahate crime, Davin.”

I rub a hand over my face. “Sit down. I’ll make something.”

“Nope.”

She’s already pulling a pan from the cabinet.

Wrong pan. Wrong cabinet.

She’s chaos in slow motion.

And I hate—hate—how much warmth she brings into this cold cabin just by existing.

Gus trots behind her, tail wagging, clutching my sock in his mouth.

My fists clench. “Drop the sock.”

Gus growls like a dog three times his size.

Arielle gasps. “You gave him a sock?”

“I did not give him a sock.”

“Well, he has a sock! And he’s proud of it!” she says, scooping him up like a baby.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This is hell.”

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