Chapter 6

Chapter Six

F inn

The sky over Devil’s Peak is painted in dusky hues by the time I park my truck outside The Devil’s Brew. The low hum of chatter filters out through the wooden doors, and I pause, gripping the wheel like it might steady me. This whole mail-order bride thing? It’s got me feeling like an idiot. But an idiot who can admit he’s lonely enough to try.

I suck in a breath, my mind wandering to my sexy-as-sin neighbor-from-hell. Tessa. Sweet when she wants to be, infuriating the rest of the time. I’m still thinking of that kiss and debating if her little peace offering of eggs the other morning was genuine or a passive-aggressive jab at my rooster complaints. Either way, she’s a constant thorn in my side—a beautiful, maddening thorn. And the eggs were damn good—best I’ve ever tasted, I’ll give her that. Whatever she’s feeding them chickens, they’re happy, I’ll give her that.

The phone buzzes in my pocket then, a reminder that I’m supposed to be meeting someone inside. Someone who, on paper, seems like the right fit. The last few women who responded to my ad were, well… not it. Too bitter. Too loud. Too much drama. This one? She seemed sweet. Funny, even. A decent shot at compatibility.

I run a hand through my hair, freshly damp from a quick post-work shower, and step out of the truck. The familiar creak of the bar door greets me as I walk in, and my boots echo against the worn floorboards. The smell of beer and wood polish hits me like a memory—one of the few constants since I came back to this mountain.

And then I see her.

At a corner table, swirling a drink in her hand, sits the last woman I expected to see tonight.

Tessa.

My grumpy, garden-obsessed neighbor.

The woman who thinks my dog is perfect but treats me like a walking headache.

Of course.

She spots me at the same moment, her brows furrowing before her jaw drops slightly. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters under her breath, but I catch it. I’m close enough to see the way her lips press into a thin line, her fingers tightening on the glass.

“Well,” I drawl, stepping closer, “this is unexpected. You’re the one I’ve been texting?”

Tessa’s eyes narrow, the fire in them sharp enough to cut. “Oh man, my neighbor…the grumpy miner with the mail-order bride ad? That’s rich.”

I shrug, pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down like I own the place. “Guilty. But let’s not pretend you’re thrilled to be here either.”

She leans back, crossing her arms over her chest, her blouse dipping just enough to distract me for a split second. Damn it. She’s curvy in all the right ways, my palms are itching to feel her skin against mine, maybe even her lips, warm and soft on my skin.

“This was supposed to be a fresh start,” she says, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Not…whatever this is.” She waves a hand in my direction like I’m a bad joke.

I chuckle, low and rough, nodding in thanks to the waitress as she delivers my usual. “Fresh start, huh? Didn’t think it’d involve me, did you?”

“Not even on my worst day.”

The sharpness in her tone should put me off. Instead, it fuels something in me—a need to push, to prod, to see if I can make her crack.

“You answered my ad, Tessa,” I point out, leaning forward slightly. “So, what does that say about you?”

Her cheeks flush, and for a second, I think I’ve got her cornered. But then she tilts her head, her lips curling into a saccharine smile that’s almost dangerous.

“It says I was hoping for someone with better manners,” she snaps back, her voice honeyed venom. “And maybe a little less...grumpy.”

I laugh outright at that, drawing the attention of a few nearby tables. “Grumpy? That’s rich coming from the woman who yells at me about Shep every other day.”

“Shep is an angel,” she fires back, her cheeks reddening. “It’s his owner who’s the problem.”

The back-and-forth should irritate me, but instead, it’s like pouring gasoline on a fire. Tessa’s sharp tongue, her biting sarcasm—it’s all wrapped in this package of sunshine she can’t fully hide. And it’s doing something to me.

“Angel, huh?” I smirk, leaning back in my chair. “Guess you’ve got a soft spot for troublemakers.”

Her eyes narrow, but I catch the faintest twitch of her lips. She’s trying not to smile, and damn if it doesn’t feel like a win.

“Maybe I do,” she admits, her tone defiant. “But you’re still not off the hook for being the loudest, most infuriating neighbor on this mountain.”

I lift my beer, taking a slow sip as I watch her. “And yet, you’re here. Answering my ad. Funny how that works.”

Tessa glares at me like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she picks up her drink, taking a long sip before setting it down with a determined thud.

“I didn’t know it was your ad,” she says finally, her voice quieter now. “If I had…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“You wouldn’t have come,” I finish for her, my tone softer than I expect.

Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, the sharp edges between us blur. There’s something in her eyes—hurt, maybe, or hesitation—that makes my chest tighten.

“No,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have.”

The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. I mask it with a shrug, forcing a smirk back onto my face. “Well, since you’re already here, might as well make the best of it. What do you say?”

Tessa hesitates, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Finally, she sighs, looking at me with an expression that’s equal parts annoyance and intrigue.

“Fine,” she says. “But if you say one more thing about my rooster, I’m leaving.”

I chuckle, raising my pint in mock surrender. “Deal.”

The conversation shifts after that, moving from sharp barbs to something softer. We talk about the mountain, the work, the way Devil’s Peak changes with every season. Tessa tells me about her greenhouse, her patients, the way she’s trying to build a life here after moving from Breckenridge, a few hours away.

I tell her about the mine, the copper veins that keep me tied to this place, and the friends who’ve become my family.

It’s easy. Easier than I expected.

But the tension doesn’t go away.

Every time her lips curl into a smile, every time her eyes flash with that stubborn spark, it feels like the air between us gets heavier. Like the past few weeks of arguing were just building to this—this strange, charged moment where I can’t tell if I want to strangle her or kiss her.

By the time we leave the bar, the sun has long since set, and the cool mountain air is a welcome relief.

“Thanks for the eggs, by the way, they were delicious,” I say as we step onto the gravel lot.

Tessa glances at me, her expression wary. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

I smirk, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Don’t sound too grateful.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

For a moment, we stand there in the quiet, the sounds of the bar fading behind us. The tension is still there, crackling like static electricity.

“Tessa,” I say finally, my voice low.

She looks at me, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Why’d you really answer that ad?” I ask, stepping closer.

Her eyes widen, and for a second, I think she’s going to deflect. But then she sighs, her shoulders slumping just slightly.

“Because I’m tired,” she admits, her voice soft. “Tired of trying to figure everything out on my own. Tired of hoping for something that never happens.”

Her words hit me harder than I expect. I take another step closer, closing the distance between us.

“Well,” I say, my voice rough, “you’ve got me now. Like it or not.”

Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something in her expression—something raw and vulnerable—that makes my chest ache.

“I’ll try to like it,” she says, her tone wry but her eyes soft.

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you’re infuriating,” she shoots back, a small smile tugging at her lips.

We stand there for another moment, the tension between us thick enough to cut.

And then, without thinking, I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She freezes, her breath catching, and I swear the world goes quiet.

“Tessa,” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, I think she might close the distance between us.

“You keep lookin’ up at me like you want me to kiss you again,” a grin lifts one side of my lips.

She rolls her eyes, gaze dropping to my lips a moment, but then she steps back, her smile fading. “Goodnight, Finn,” she says, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her hesitation.

I watch as she walks away, disappearing into the night, and for the first time in years, I feel something I can’t quite name.

Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.