Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

REMINGTON

This hasn’t been the best week of my life. I’ve been trying to save my family’s legacy, but it feels like it’s slipping through my fingers, the same way I lost my mother six months ago. Turns out, the finances at the inn were worse than I imagined—more tangled than a bad relationship, with debts piled high and repairs long overdue.

That’s why I’m here at the bar, talking with Nelle, trying to figure out if it’s even worth putting in the effort. How much more can I give to something that’s been crumbling for years? How do you know when to walk away from a dream you didn’t choose, but one you still feel responsible for?

And that’s when I notice him .

He’s sitting at the other end of the bar, and even in the dim light, he stands out. There’s a deliberateness in the way he moves—like he knows the world tilts slightly in his favor, and all he has to do is show up.

He’s wearing a black Henley that hugs his chest a little too perfectly, and dark jeans that fit just right—not too tight, not too loose. But it’s not just the clothes. It’s the way he wears them, like they belong to him, like everything around him does. Rugged, but not in a “forgot-to-shower” way—more like the kind of man who spent the day doing something annoyingly competent, like building a boat or rescuing kittens, and still managed to look magazine-ready without trying.

His green eyes catch the low light as he leans back, exuding that impossible blend of ease and danger. And that smile—slow at the edges, as if he knows a thousand secrets and won’t share a single one unless you ask nicely.

Do not engage with that smile under any circumstances, I tell myself.

And then, before I can even think about it, he’s unfolding himself from the barstool and heading straight toward me.

There’s a quiet confidence in his stride, the kind that can’t be faked or learned. It’s the kind that comes from someone who’s had the world at his feet long enough to grow bored of it—and yet, here he is, strolling into my night like he belongs here.

When he stops in front of me, I realize he’s even more maddeningly attractive up close. His brown hair curls slightly at the ends, like he’s overdue for a cut—but in the kind of way that only makes him look better, like he was designed to be a little imperfect. A light dusting of stubble lines his sharp jaw, a blend of refined and rugged, polished and wild.

And then there’s his scent—woodsy and clean, with just a whisper of something smoky. It wraps around me, pulling me in before he even says a word.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is low and warm, the kind that sounds like firelight flickering at the edges. It’s a voice that makes you think of things you shouldn’t say out loud.

I tilt my head slightly, studying him, letting a hint of challenge linger in my gaze just to keep things interesting. “Depends. Are you here to make polite conversation, or do you actually know how to have fun?”

That grin of his deepens just a touch. “I can be persuaded.”

I should play hard to get. Or not play at all. Yeah, I should toss out some clever line, let him laugh, and send him back to the other side of the bar.

But what if . . . I use him to forget instead?

Tonight isn’t about making good decisions—it’s about letting go for at least a moment. And this man? He looks exactly like the kind of escape I’ve been craving all month . . . or maybe all year.

He catches my eye, a slow smile curving at the edges of his mouth, as if he’s already offering something I didn’t even know I wanted.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his voice low, easy—like it’s no big deal, but there’s something intentional beneath it, a quiet kind of charm that’s impossible to ignore.

I let my fingers drift along the rim of my glass, just enough to give myself a moment. He’s close now, the warm scent of him wrapping around me—woodsy, with a trace of smoke and something clean, like crisp air after rain.

His gaze is soft around the edges, waiting—not rushing me.

I tilt my head slightly, giving him a look—curious but not quite smiling. “That’s a little forward, don’t you think? We haven’t even met.”

“It’s just a drink among . . .” He glances around the bar. “Friends. Isn’t that what small towns are all about?”

“I guess.” I shrug.

Nelle gives him a knowing glance, already reaching for the shaker to make another margarita.

The stranger leans his forearms against the bar, close enough that the space between us narrows, but not too much—just enough to make me feel like he’s waiting for permission to get closer.

Nelle sets down the glass, and I wrap my fingers around it, feeling the cool condensation against my skin. “To trusting strangers?” I ask, raising the glass toward him with a teasing lift of my brow.

His gaze meets mine, steady and warm. “To good company,” he says softly, and the way he says it makes it feel like more than just words.

“Obviously.”

“So,” he says, easing onto the stool beside me. “What’s a woman like you doing in a place like this all by herself?”

I smirk, tracing my fingertip along the rim of my glass. “You don’t really want the answer to that.”

He leans back slightly, resting one arm on the bar, the movement easy. “Maybe not. But I’m asking anyway.”

I wave a hand, keeping it casual, like this conversation doesn’t already have my heart skipping a beat. “I guess sometimes you just need a change from the routine.”

His lips curve into a slow, knowing grin—soft at the edges, but there’s a flicker of mischief there, too, as if he’s already a step ahead. “A change, huh?”

He holds my gaze a little longer than necessary, the weight of it making the air between us shift. It’s not heavy, exactly. Just . . . charged. Like a spark that hasn’t decided whether to catch flame.

He tilts his head, still watching me, and that slight grin deepens—just enough to tell me he’s not the kind of man who plays coy. “I could help with that.”

It’s the way he says it—low and smooth, like it’s a passing thought, but his eyes say something else. He’s offering a moment out of time, a night without questions or complications, just . . . an escape.

He touches my jaw with the back of his finger, and the simple gesture unravels me. My skin tingles, a shiver rolling down my spine. My lips part on instinct, betraying the pull he has on me.

“Let it happen,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing. “Have you ever let yourself live in the moment?”

I want to tell him no, that I never have, but my throat feels tight. My heart flutters in my chest, caught between excitement and something close to fear. The fear of surrender. I blink, feeling a strange mix of hesitation and eagerness collide inside me.

But the words tumble out before I can stop them. “I want to, yes. I want it.”

Something shifts in his expression—satisfaction, maybe. It’s in the slight curve of his lips, the glint in his gaze. For a second, I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of story. A forbidden tale where I’m Eve, and he’s the serpent offering me the apple—except I want the bite. I want it more than anything.

We both know it won’t last. That’s what makes it perfect. Something brief, something unforgettable, a night we’ll both carry like a secret.

He steps closer, and the world narrows to just us. His smile tilts into something dangerous, and my stomach flips.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his breath teasing my lips, our mouths so close I can almost taste him.

I nod, the ache for more outweighing anything else.

The moment his lips touch mine, everything fades—every worry, every bit of caution. It’s like falling off a cliff and discovering I can fly. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, while the other presses firmly to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him.

And then his tongue is in my mouth, hot and demanding, and I’m lost. Completely gone. My arms wind around his neck, fingers curling into his hair, and we kiss like we’ve been starving for this moment. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth moving against mine—it’s too much and somehow not enough.

Every nerve in my body sparks to life as his hands roam, and I know exactly how this night is going to end. I want to feel his skin under my hands, to memorize every inch of him before morning steals this moment away.

But then I hear the faint clink of glass, laughter drifting in from somewhere behind us. We’re still in the bar, out in the open for anyone to see. My heart skips a beat. Is someone watching? Does it matter?

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the small space between us. His hands are still on me, steadying, and I hate how much I need that touch right now.

“We can go to my place,” I whisper, breathless and bold. The words surprise me, but I mean them.

He shakes his head, a sly grin spreading across his lips. “Room. I have a room at the inn.”

Before I can say anything else, he grabs my hand, and the warmth of his skin against mine sends another thrill through me. He pulls me out of the bar, and I follow, heart pounding in anticipation.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. But tonight? Tonight, I’m letting this happen. And for once, it feels like exactly what I need.