Chapter 5 Greer
GREER
True to his word, Kellan takes me to the clinic the next morning, presenting me with a room that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. There are kennels and washing stations. Everything I need to start a grooming business.
I spend the greater part of the day cleaning, and trying to stay out of Kellan’s way. Not that I have much success—he keeps finding reasons to check in on me.
First, it’s to drop off a stack of clean towels, his big frame filling the doorway as he watches me wipe down a metal exam table. His dark eyes linger a second too long.
Then it’s to bring me a bottle of water, his fingers brushing mine when he hands it over.
The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent a spark racing up my spine.
His jaw ticked as if he were fighting the same jolt, and he pulled back too fast, grumbling about hydration before disappearing down the hall.
But I guess I could be imagining things.
By late afternoon, the room is starting to look livable—shelves organized, counters gleaming—and for the first time in a long time, I feel as though I’ve accomplished something. Like maybe I’m not so hopeless after all.
Kellan pokes his head in, eyes scanning down to the floor I’m scrubbing. I glance up and my heart does a tiny flip. Thank heavens I don’t yelp.
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, flannel sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing corded forearms dusted with dark hair. “You’ve been at this all day,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “Take a break.”
I glance around the room, and a kernel of pride blooms deep in my chest. “I’m almost done.” I push a stray hair from my face with the back of my wrist, suddenly hyper-aware of how I must look—flushed, messy, on my knees in his space.
He steps closer, boots thudding softly on the tile. “Greer, you’re pushing yourself too hard.”
I sit back on my heels and look up at him as he towers over me, all rugged mountain man and barely leashed intensity.
My pulse kicks up, heat pooling low in my belly. I’ve never felt this kind of awareness before—not with anyone. But with Kell, it’s like my body woke up the second I stepped onto his porch.
I think back to when I was just a kid watching him roughhouse with my brother.
Wanting him so badly I could hardly breathe.
But not like I do now. I used to dream of holding hands and the occasional kiss—only on the lips.
Those fantasies have now been replaced with thoughts that would make a sailor blush.
He crouches down slowly, bringing his face level with mine. Close enough that I can smell pine and clean sweat. His gaze drops to my lips for a heartbeat, then flicks back to my eyes. “Come, watch the phones for a bit.”
I follow him into the lobby, hauling the six enormous books I checked out yesterday from the library to study.
A woman comes in for a well visit for her golden retriever, Milo, and Kellan teaches me how to weigh the dog and give it what he calls ‘a sanitary snip’, cutting the hair on its backside to keep him fresh.
During check-out, Kellan tells the woman that he plans on offering grooming services in the future, and he’d love it if she would allow us to practice on Milo, to which she enthusiastically says, “Yes!”
It isn’t long before I’m checking in patients on my own and getting to know a few of the townsfolk, all of whom are kind and welcoming.
At around noon, an enormous man who looks like he’s trying to rival Kellan for the position of town grump comes limping in with a German shepherd.
Kellan hands the dog, Chief, over to me to weigh and clip his nails. He’s a polite client, and his owner, Rhett, allows me to give him double treats.
The afternoon lulls, so I crack open my math book and struggle through a section, feeling like I’m in over my head.
“Why the frown?” comes Kellan’s booming voice from across the receptionist desk.
I push the book away. “I was fine when it was just X I had to find, but then they threw in a Y, and a bunch of symbols I don’t know.”
“Let me see.” He comes around the receptionist's window and leans over my shoulder, one hand braced on the chair, the other resting on the desk. My skin prickles with awareness, stirring sensations in me that are best left buried.
But I can’t help but wonder if he feels it too.
He points to the problem. “This is just a system of equations…” He tells me what each of the symbols are and what they mean, making me repeat back much of what he says, rewarding me with kind words, even when I forget something.
We do a few easy problems, working our way up to the harder ones. There are times I want to throw the book across the room; I’m so frustrated, but Kellan stays the course, steering me towards an understanding I never thought I’d have with numbers.
Still, I get just as many questions wrong as I do right.
“I’ll never get this.”
Kellan stays bent over the desk longer than necessary, the heat of him seeping through the thin cotton of my shirt.
“You don’t have to get it all. Just enough to pass.”
I snort derisively. “So I should try my hardest to squeak by, and not even understand all the questions?”
“Why do you think so few people get one-hundred percent? You don’t have to know everything. Just enough.” He turns a page, then lets his hand rest beside it, his pinky grazing my wrist.
The contact is so small, it should be nothing.
It isn’t.
My breath hitches. For several long seconds we stay frozen like that—his finger resting feather-light against the inside of my wrist, right over the pulse that’s suddenly hammering.
I can feel the callus on his fingertip, rough from years of work, and the warmth of his skin against mine.
I feel it all so much; it’s like I have extra nerves in every part of my body, every single one of them on fire.
Kellan clears his throat. “You’re getting it. Just…keep going slow. No rush.”
The words feel like they’re about more than math.
I turn my head half an inch and breathe in his woodsy pine scent. His face is closer than I realized—close enough that I can see the tortured expression on his handsome face.
“Kellan,” I whisper, not even sure what I want to say. I lick my lips and give him a look that speaks my desire more than words ever could—slow, deliberate, hungry, the kind of stare that says I’ve already imagined his hands on every inch of me and I’m not ashamed of how badly I want it.
His gaze drops to where our skin touches. Something flickers across his expression—greed, maybe, or perhaps regret.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he draws his hand back.
The absence of contact ignites a longing deep within me.
He straightens to his full height in one smooth motion, putting distance between us.
“You’re getting it,” he says, voice rougher than it was thirty seconds ago. “Keep going. I’ll be in the back if you need me.”
He disappears through the doorway that leads to the treatment rooms. The door doesn’t slam, but it closes with a firm click that feels final.
My wrist still tingles where he touched it—phantom pressure, like he branded me. I press my own fingers there, trying to trap the warmth before it fades.
It doesn’t.
I let out a shaky breath and force my eyes back to the study guide, but my mind is all needy chaos, and I can’t stop myself from letting it wander to places it has no right being.
I stare at the open page until the variables start to swim.
My concentration is shot, replaced by the echo of Kellan’s touch.
That single point of contact—his pinky against my pulse.
It’s like I’m a teenager again, wondering what his calloused hands feel like, though this time, I imagine them in other places.
Minutes crawl. Or maybe it’s only seconds. Time feels slippery when your mind keeps pinging with possibilities.
The door to the exam room swings open again. Kellan steps through, slower this time, like he’s talked himself into returning.
He comes up to my desk, turns, and sits on the edge, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I, ah, made a few calls.”
“Regarding?”
He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “There are a few rooms for rent in town. I thought they might interest you.”
My stomach drops. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No—I wouldn’t do that—”
“Then why are you calling about rooms?” I ask in a shrill, panicked tone.
But I already know why. I crossed a line.
“You need to focus on studying. That’s the priority. This,” he says, gesturing between us. “Is too comfortable.”
My cheeks flush with heat. “I wasn’t trying anything.” It’s the truth. I wasn’t. Because I was too chicken to make the first move.
“I can’t have you feeling like you owe me because I took you in.” He sighs. “This way, you’ll be able to focus on your studies.”
“Owe you?” My brow crinkles. “Of course, I owe you. That’s why I’m answering phones and cleaning out the extra room. So I can contribute.”
“That look you gave me…”
“Was my stupid girlish crush coming to the surface.” I slump in my seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“You didn’t,” he says sharply. “I did. I invited it.”
An ember of hope sparks in my chest. “Does that mean you want it too?”
“Greer…” He exhales through his nose, as if the rest of the sentence is fighting to get out. “This—whatever this is—it’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“I was your brother’s best friend. You’re basically family.”
“I’m a grown woman, and we haven’t seen each other in close to a decade.” I snort. “Heck, you hardly even glanced at me back then, so don’t act like we were something we weren’t.”
His jaw flexes as he thinks over what I just said.
“Please don’t make me leave. I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me as I feel about you. I can handle it.”
“It’s not that I don’t feel the same way about you,” he says. “It’s that I want you too damn much.”
His confession steals the breath from my lungs.
For one suspended second, the only sound is the low hum of the clinic’s heater kicking on somewhere in the back. Then Kellan moves.
Not away. Toward me.
He slides off the edge of the desk in one fluid motion and is on me. His hands find the arms of my chair, and he leans down, caging me without quite touching. His face hovers inches from mine—close enough to see the storm churning in those dark eyes.
My hands lift, trembling as they settle against the flannel stretched tight across his chest. His heart is hammering beneath my palms—hard, fast, matching the frantic rhythm of mine.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice full of conflict.
“I need it!”
A low sound rumbles in his throat, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s demanding. Greedy. His lips are firm and warm, tasting faintly of coffee, which I never liked until now.
One big hand cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants it. The other slides to my waist, pulling me up and out of the chair in a single tug until I’m standing, pressed flush against him.
I make a small, helpless sound into his mouth and he answers with a deeper one, tongue sliding past my lips in a slow, deliberate stroke that sends torrents of heat through me. My fingers curl into his shirt, clutching fistfuls of fabric as if I’m afraid he’ll vanish if I let go.
He angles his head, kissing me harder, hungrier, like he’s starving for me. Strong hands grip my waist, lifting me just enough to set me down onto the desk, his mouth never leaving mine.
Papers scatter. A pen rolls off and clatters on the floor.
I wrap my legs around his hips on instinct, drawing him in until there’s nothing between us but heat and denim and the thin cotton of my clothes.
His hands roam—down my sides, over my breasts, thumbs pressing into the dip above my waistband like he’s mapping every inch he’s been denying himself.
When he finally breaks the kiss, we’re both breathing raggedly. His forehead drops to mine, eyes closed.
“Greer…”
I grab the fabric at his shoulders in two tight fists. “Don’t,” I snap before he can retreat again. “Don’t apologize. Don’t take it back. Just… stay.”
He exhales a shaky laugh against my mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Then he kisses me again—slower this time, deeper, like he’s savoring every second now that the dam has broken. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin beneath my ear, and I shiver, arching into him.
When we finally separate, I’m dizzy, and I worry I might faint.
His hands stay on me—like letting go isn’t an option anymore.
I touch his jaw, tracing the line of stubble with my fingertips.
Kellan pulls back just enough to look at me—really look. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, but there’s something softer there now. Something unguarded.
“We’re going to figure this out,” he says.
I nod, throat too tight for words.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You can stay with me, but I’m still sleeping on the couch.”
“But—”
He presses a finger to my lips to hush me. “Give it time. I’m not going anywhere.” His expression grows strained. “I just…need to take it slow.”
“You'd best not go too slow, or I’m going to start thinking you don’t really want it at all.”
His eyes flicker with something that looks like pain, and I wonder what might have caused it. He left a fiancé behind when he fled to the mountains. Some thought he’d gotten cold feet, but I wonder if it’s something more.
“Oh, I want you,” he whispers. “I just need to get my head sorted.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling away again, leaving me breathless, aching, and wondering what the hell is going to happen next.