Chapter 1 #2
The mountain man doesn't say anything for a moment, just watches me with that assessing stare that makes me feel like I'm being catalogued. Measured. Tested.
I should look away. I should take my drink when it arrives and find a table in the corner where I can doom scroll in peace. I should not be engaging with strange men in bars, no matter how broad their shoulders are or how his voice sounds like gravel and honey and something darker underneath.
But I've never been good at doing what I should.
"Nadia." I extend my hand before I can think better of it. "Since you already know my life story, seems only fair you know my name."
His hand engulfs mine, warm and calloused and strong. "Callum."
"Just Callum?"
"Just Callum." He doesn't let go of my hand right away. Just holds it, his thumb pressing briefly against my pulse point like he's checking to make sure I'm real. "You're Yasmine's sister."
I yank my hand back. "How do you know my sister?"
"Small town. Her fiancé's family has been coming to my property for timber for thirty years. I know everyone involved with that wedding." His expression doesn't change, but there's something almost amused in his tone. "Including the maid of honor who couldn't find a date."
"I didn't say I couldn't find a date. I said I don't have one. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
The whiskey arrives, and I wrap my fingers around the glass like a lifeline. "Yes. Couldn't implies inability. Don't have implies choice."
"And you chose to come alone to a Valentine's wedding?"
"I chose to prioritize my career over my dating life.
The being alone part was a consequence, not a goal.
" I take a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn down my throat.
It's good. Really good. Smooth with a hint of smoke that warms me from the inside.
"Not that it matters now, since the career I prioritized just evaporated. "
Callum doesn't offer sympathy. Doesn't make that pitying face that everyone gives you when they find out you've been laid off. He just nods, like he expected that answer.
"And the lack of a date is causing problems?"
"According to my sister, my single status is ruining her seating chart." I laugh, but it sounds hollow even to me. "Apparently showing up alone to a Valentine's wedding throws off the aesthetic."
"She told you that?"
"In those exact words."
He's quiet for a moment, swirling the whiskey in his glass. The firelight catches the silver in his hair, and I notice for the first time that there's a scar across his left knuckles. Faded, but visible. A working man's hands.
"I need a date too."
I blink. "What?"
"For the wedding." He says it like he's discussing the weather.
"I'm invited. Tyler's family and mine have history.
But if I show up alone, every matchmaker in this town is going to spend the entire reception trying to set me up with their daughters and nieces and whoever else they've deemed worthy of the town's most eligible bachelor. "
"You're the town's most eligible bachelor?"
"Their words, not mine. Point is, I need a buffer. Someone to keep the matchmakers at bay so I can attend the ceremony, toast the happy couple, and leave without having to fend off half a dozen introductions."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you asking me to be your fake date?"
"I'm proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement.
" He sets down his glass and turns to face me fully, and god, he's even more overwhelming up close.
All that controlled power and intensity focused entirely on me.
"You need someone to fill your sister's seating chart.
I need someone to keep the town busybodies from ruining my weekend.
We both want to survive this wedding with minimal emotional damage. "
"And you think pretending to be together is the solution?"
"I think it's the most efficient solution." His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second, so quick I almost miss it. "Unless you have a better idea."
This is insane. I don't know this man. He could be a serial killer or a tax evader or, worse, a Republican. I can't just agree to spend an entire wedding weekend pretending to be with some silver fox lumberjack who looks at me like he's already imagined what I look like on my knees.
But then I think about my mother's pitying looks. My father's awkward attempts at conversation. Yasmine's perfect wedding with her perfect fiancé and her perfect seating chart. All of it swirling around me while I sit alone, freshly unemployed, pretending everything is fine.
And I think about the way Callum's hand felt around mine. Strong. Certain. Like he knew exactly what he wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
"What are your terms?"
Something flickers in his gaze. Approval, maybe. Or anticipation.
"Simple. We attend together. We're convincing. And when the weekend is over, we go our separate ways. No strings, no expectations, no complications."
"That's it?"
"That's it." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is lower. Rougher. "Unless you want there to be more."
The words land somewhere in my chest and detonate.
I know what he's really asking. Can see it in the way he holds himself, the way he's been watching me since I sat down. This isn't just about the wedding. This is about chemistry. Attraction. The kind of tension that crackles between two people who recognize something in each other.
Something that wants to come out and play.
"I don't even know your last name," I hear myself say.
"Ridge. Callum Ridge. I own Ridge Brothers Timber. I have three younger brothers, I don't have any exes who are going to show up and cause drama, and I haven't been in a serious relationship in eight years because I prefer honesty over games."
"That's very... thorough."
"You should know what you're agreeing to." He leans closer, and I catch his scent. Cedar and leather and something warm underneath. "I'm not a simple man, Nadia. I have particular tastes. Specific needs. And I've found that it's better to be upfront about that than to pretend otherwise."
My heart is hammering against my ribs. "Particular tastes meaning what, exactly?"
His smile finally breaks through, and it transforms his face. Makes him look almost boyish despite the silver hair and the commanding presence. "Meaning I like control. Clarity. And women who aren't afraid to push back."
"And if I push back too hard?"
"Then we'll have a conversation about it." He extends his hand again, palm up this time. An offering. "What do you say, Nadia Smith? Do we have a deal?"
I look at his hand. Look at his face. Look at the whiskey in front of me and the snow falling outside the window and the life I left behind in Chicago that doesn't exist anymore.
And then I put my hand in his.
"We have a deal."