Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ASPEN
Even having lived here my whole life, the nostalgia of walking down Summit Street hasn’t faded.
I like knowing that if I stop into the General Store, Gerty will be scooping ice cream, and if I wander one block over I can get a pint of beer and a free therapy session with my girls at Jude’s, or dance my ass off at Tips Up.
There’s comfort in the expected.
After dropping Emmett on Summit Street to grab the essentials, I walk down the block toward the river.
Powderline Donuts isn’t as busy mid-week as it is during the weekends, but with so many tourists still in town, and its proximity to Timberline Peak Lodge, the matching bright pink tables are full when I spot the girls waiting in line.
I slide up to them with apologies already spilling out of me, but one look from Briar says she’s not buying a word of it.
“You’re late.”
“Uh-huh.” I try to play it off.
Harlowe’s mouth twitches. “Bandage change take longer than expected?”
Heat creeps up my neck. I knew I should have kept that tidbit to myself when we were texting earlier.
“Something like that.”
Before they can jump into the inquisition I know is coming, Marcy, the owner, greets us with her warm smile. “What can I get my favorite gals today?”
We rattle off the order she knows by heart, but when we go to pay, Marcy brushes us off. “It’s taken care of.”
“She did not!” Briar says a little too loudly.
“Texted me twenty minutes ago,” Marcy confirms.
“Mommy taking care of us from another continent,” Sloane jokes
And oh my, it’s a thing of beauty to hear it come so easily from her. There was a time where she kept all of us at a safe distance.
Anytime we go out, Tessa always insists on paying, even when she can’t physically be there. It’s ridiculous, but she won’t hear it.
Slipping a twenty into Marcy’s tip jar, we step to the side to wait. Not a moment is left unfilled by chatter as we catch up on the last two weeks.
Once we have our drinks in hand, we put the coffee truck behind us and head for the quiet riverbank.
The girls waste no time firing questions at me about how Emmett ended up in my loft.
I answer each one until they’re satisfied.
“Wait. So you got home yesterday and Emmett was just there?” Harlowe asks, lifting her coffee to her lips.
“Uh-huh.”
Briar narrows her eyes. “Okay . . . but why do you look like you need a cigarette?”
My neck prickles with warmth.
“Caring for him outside of the hospital felt different.”
Three grins spread across their faces.
“Tell us more,” Briar sings.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say too quickly. “He’s just . . . intense.”
“Intense how?” Sloane asks.
I hesitate. “Like the kind of person I can’t get involved with unless I’m prepared for things to get messy.”
Sloane’s gaze flits to me, brows pinched. “He’s not your usual type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
Briar snorts. “You absolutely do. The kind where you can control the outcome.”
I bristle. “That’s called being smart.”
“Or stacking the deck,” Briar counters.
“We all have our hang-ups,” Sloane reminds her.
“I’m not criticizing.” Her tone softens. “Really, I’m not. Just surprised, is all. You want things neat but you like him, don’t you?”
“Well . . .” Briar slows her gait with a grin. “I like him better than Jeremiah already.”
Her teasing breaks the tension.
“Like that’s hard. You were never his biggest fan.”
Men like him are exactly why women can’t have nice things.
“I bet he says ‘trust me, I’m a doctor’ in bed,” Briar adds.
I plead the fifth.
“He’s having a hard time understanding the word no at the moment. Maybe they don’t teach that in med school. If he doesn’t back off, I’ll have to go to HR.”
Harlowe lays a hand on my arm as we drift toward the river. “Lay it down in no uncertain terms. And if he’s a dick about it . . .” She shrugs. “We’ve got a tarp and shovels.”
“Always,” Briar echoes. “And Harlowe knows all the best hiding spots.”
“Just say the word,” Sloane adds, as steady and certain as the river flowing beside us.
It should be alarming how far they’d go for me, but it’s not. They’re my ride or die.
“Maybe the hotshot living above your garage will help Jeremiah see reason.” Briar taps her chin, thoughtful. “The picture the paper ran after the fire was grainy, but from what I saw, he looked like more than the doctor could handle.”
Maybe more than I can handle.
“Oh, he is. Grumpy, hot, and big as a tree.” Harlowe whistles.
Briar pumps a fist in the air like this is a personal victory for her. It only encourages Harlowe.
“There’s big dick energy and then there’s Emmett. The man walks into the worst situations without blinking. It automatically makes him hotter,” Harlowe says.
Briar nods along. “So, what are you going to do about it, Aspen?”
“Nothing,” I say, with more finality than I feel as we leave the riverbank behind and cut across the small park to the gazebo. “The ink on his discharge papers hasn’t even dried.”
“Boo,” Briar says with a laugh.
God, I fucking love her.
“Hear me out—just in case you trip and fall on his dick in the middle of the night—we won’t tell a soul,” Briar teases, lightening the mood. “Consider it an addendum to the tarp and shovel policy.”
“The tarp, shovel, dick policy or TSD for short, obviously,” Sloane provides.
I snicker, kicking at a loose rock on the worn trail. “That won’t be happening, but I appreciate it.”
Harlowe eyes me. “If you like him, what’s really stopping you?”
The problem with having friends that know you inside and out, is they know you . . . inside and out. Harlowe has the added bonus of knowing Emmett.
Jeremiah started as a distraction and turned into a boundary issue with a medical license. Emmett would be different, though. I already know he’s nothing like Jeremiah.
But none of that changes the inconvenient truth.
I want Emmett here.
I want him to like me.
Three pairs of eyes slide to me, waiting for my answer.
“Because I’m still trying to shake one complication, and Emmett Slate feels like a whole different kind of trouble.”
“I like trouble.”
“You’re married to trouble,” I remind her before I add, “We can just be friends. It doesn’t need to be more.”
It’s the safest bet. He gets to recover, there’s no drama, no blurred lines. No one walking away with more than they bargained for.
In theory.
“If you say so,” Briar says, teasing but filled with love.
“I do.” This time, I make it sound like I believe it.
Just as long as he keeps his damn shirt on.
“This always goes too fast,” Briar says, checking her phone. “Time to get back to the shop.”
We head back toward Summit Street, the four of us falling into step like we always do. As we walk, though, my head is a mess.
Normally, talking to my girls helps.
Not this time.
The more I try to make sense of what’s happening between Emmett and me, the more tangled it gets.
And I hate not having a handle on things.
Then I see him.
The man throwing me for a loop is sitting on the bench outside of the General Store, bags piled at his feet.
He’s not alone.
Atlas Kane, Harlowe’s boyfriend and Timberline Peak’s favorite veterinarian, stands next to him, one hand braced on the back of the bench like he’s mid-conversation.
“Baby, what are you doing here?” Harlowe asks, sliding under Atlas’s arm.
“Picking up a few things for the office. I recognized this guy from the paper and thought I’d help. It’s the least I could do.”
“What a waste of paper,” Emmett grumbles. “Should’ve been about Harlowe and the crew.”
“Aren’t small towns fun?” Harlowe says.
“Be glad they used a flattering picture,” I add. “And that Becky wouldn’t let them in to interview you.”
He frowns up at me.
“They tried.”
“Wonderful,” Emmett says.
“You look better than the last time I saw you,” Harlowe tells him.
“We were going to track you down,” Atlas adds. “Wanted to thank you.” His voice catches. “But you were discharged before we could.”
“Lucky for us, you decided to hang around,” Harlowe says.
“This is fun,” Emmett deadpans, “but I’m still convalescing, and Aspen is probably dying to tell me to rest.”
I really am. The shadows under his eyes have shadows, and his color is off.
“He’s allergic to small talk,” I say. “Well . . . any talking, really.”
A smirk flickers across his mouth before he can hide it. Then Emmett clears his throat, blue orbs landing on mine and sticking as he lifts his brows in question.
Oh, he wants me to save him.
Cute.
Jokes on him, though; I’m thrilled he’s getting to know Atlas. Maybe they’ll hit it off because, even though he doesn’t want it, people on his side are exactly what he needs.
Atlas holds out his phone. “We should exchange numbers. If you’re going to be around for a while, I’ll take you out for a drink.”
“You’re going to get sick of only having me to talk to sooner or later,” I add.
Emmett hesitates then taps his phone to Atlas’s.
“This feels like a setup,” he mutters.
“That’s because it is,” I tell him honestly. “But you could do worse.”
His gaze lifts to mine, searching.
I hold it for a second before I step in, reaching for one of the bags at his feet.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get you home.”