Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Samuel
Iwoke up with morning wood so hard it deserved its own zip code.
This wasn’t unusual—I was thirty-one and healthy, despite what seven years of craft services food had tried to do to my body.
What was unusual was the immediate, vivid image that filled my mind the moment I opened my eyes: Farley, standing in his doorway in those sweatpants with the hole in the knee, looking rumpled and vulnerable and annoyingly attractive.
I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes, but that didn’t help.
My brain was already replaying the entire interaction.
The way his cheeks had flushed when I’d asked for wood.
The sharpness in his dark eyes suggested he didn’t miss much.
His dry humor. The fact that he’d been crying before I showed up, which should have been a red flag the size of California but instead just made me want to—
My hand moved south before I could stop it, wrapping around myself through my boxer briefs.
“This is a terrible idea,” I muttered to the empty bedroom.
But my body disagreed. Enthusiastically.
I squeezed, and the image of Farley sharpened.
He was hot in an understated, geeky way that was basically catnip for me.
Dark hair that needed a trim. Sharp features.
That slightly rumpled academic energy that suggested he was smarter than everyone in the room and knew it.
The complete opposite of the polished, gym-obsessed LA types I usually ended up with—not that I’d been with anyone in over a year, but still.
And the best part? The absolute best part?
He didn’t know who I was.
I’d seen the flicker of recognition in his eyes when he’d said I looked familiar, but it had passed.
He didn’t know about Dr. Brock Blaze or Midnight At Magnolia General or the tabloid bullshit or any of it. He just saw me. Samuel. A guy from LA who was incompetent at mountain survival and desperate for wood.
It was the single most arousing thing that had happened to me in years.
I gave myself another experimental squeeze, and yeah, this was definitely happening. But not here. Not now. I had things to do today. Like, go to Shifflett’s and buy actual supplies so I didn’t have to keep getting wood from my hot neighbor.
Wood.
I laughed at myself and rolled out of bed, adjusting my situation in my underwear. A cold shower would help. Or at least that’s what people always said in movies. I’d never actually tested the theory.
Twenty minutes later—shower taken, morning wood situation handled, dignity somewhat restored—I stood in front of my suitcase trying to decide what to wear to a rural Virginia general store. Everything I’d brought felt wrong. Too LA. Too styled.
Dr. Brock Blaze goes shopping in his off hours.
I settled on jeans—actual jeans, not the designer kind—and a dark blue hoody under a warmer jacket I’d found in the bottom of my suitcase. I looked... like a regular person. It was oddly thrilling.
As I headed downstairs, I thought about Farley again. He’d said he was here for a month. Same as me. And he was clearly going through something—the red eyes, the bourbon breath, the cat he claimed he wasn’t keeping. Someone or something had hurt him.
Which should have made me stay away. Wounded people needed space, not a miserable soap opera actor looking for a distraction.
But what if we both needed a distraction? What if a month-long fling with an expiration date was exactly what we both needed? No strings. No future. And no tabloids. Just two guys in the mountains, keeping each other warm, having fun, and then going back to their separate lives when it was over.
No one would ever know. The paparazzi couldn’t find me here. Sabrina didn’t know where I was. It would be completely private. Completely real.
Well, real-ish.
I grabbed my keys and headed out to the Miata, which looked even more ridiculous in the morning light. The temperature had dropped overnight, and my breath fogged in the air. I should have brought a better jacket. And a better car. And possibly a better life plan.
But that’s what I was here to figure out.
The drive down the mountain was easier this morning, though the Miata still protested every bump and pothole.
I passed Farley’s cabin on the way—smoke rising from his chimney, no sign of life outside—and tried not to think about what he was doing.
Sleeping? Feeding that cat he definitely wasn’t keeping?
Stop it, Samuel.
Shifflett’s General Store appeared after about twenty minutes of winding mountain roads. It was exactly what I’d imagined: a weathered building with a covered porch, hand-painted signs advertising everything from fishing licenses to fresh eggs, and a parking lot consisting of gravel and optimism.
I pulled in next to a pickup truck that looked older than me and tried to give myself a mental pep talk.
You’re just buying supplies. Firewood. Food.
Maybe some warmer clothes. You’re not hoping to run into anyone.
This is not a strategic shopping trip designed to coincidentally intersect with your hot neighbor’s schedule.
Oh, did Farley say he was coming to the store today? I think he did!
The bell above the door jangled as I walked in, and I was immediately hit with the smell of coffee, wood smoke, and something baking.
The store was bigger than it looked from outside—aisles of groceries, a wall of hardware supplies, a corner devoted to fishing and hunting gear, and a small deli counter in the back.
An older man behind the register looked up and nodded. “Morning. Holler if you need help finding anything.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed a basket and started wandering, genuinely needing supplies but also... looking. Not obviously. Just casually scanning for dark hair, sharp eyes, and sweatpants that might have holes in them.
I was in the canned goods aisle, debating between different types of soup I didn’t know how to prepare, when I heard the bell jangle again.
My heart did something stupid in my chest.
I turned, trying to look casual, and there he was.
Farley walked in wearing dark jeans that actually fit him properly, a yellow sweater that looked expensive, and a black wool coat that screamed “New York professional who knows what winter means.” His hair was slightly damp, like he’d just showered, and he’d clearly gotten more sleep than I had because he looked disgustingly put-together.
Our eyes met across the store.
For a second, neither of us moved. Then his lips curved into something that might have been a smile, and I felt my smile answer automatically.
Showtime.
I knew how to be charming. I knew how to make people feel like they were the most interesting person in the room. And right now, I was going to deploy every single weapon in my arsenal.
I walked toward him, letting my smile widen into something warm and genuinely pleased. “Farley. Hey.”
“Samuel.” His voice was slightly rough, like he hadn’t used it much this morning. “You made it through the night without freezing?”
“Barely. Your wood saved my life.” I paused, watching the color rise in his cheeks. “The firewood, I mean. That you gave me. For my fire.”
“I understood what you meant.” But he was trying not to smile, which meant I was winning. “I see you’ve graduated to appropriate outerwear.”
I looked down at my jacket. “It’s the only thing I have that works for this weather. Gladys told me I’d freeze wearing my LA clothes.”
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“Apparently not.” I shifted the basket to my other hand. “I’m here to stock up. Food, firewood, possibly a space heater if they sell them. What about you?”
“Same. Minus the space heater. My fire management skills are clearly superior to yours.” He was fully smiling now, and it transformed his entire face. Made him look younger. Less guarded.
God, he was hot.
“Your fire management skills are the only reason I didn’t become a human popsicle last night,” I said. “I owe you. Can I buy you a coffee? I saw they have a deli counter.”
He hesitated, and I watched him wage some internal battle. Then: “Sure. But I’m buying my coffee. I don’t need charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s gratitude for wood.” I couldn’t help myself. “For the firewood. That you gave me.”
“Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
I grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
We ended up at the deli counter, where a woman in her fifties took our orders with a knowing look that suggested she’d already heard about the two city boys renting cabins. Small towns. You couldn’t hide anything.
“So,” I said as we waited for our coffees. “My fire stayed lit all night, by the way. Thanks to your wood.”
Farley’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Did it now?”
“It did. Woke up nice and warm.” I paused, letting my voice drop just a little. “Your wood was very... effective.”
“I’m glad my wood met your needs.” His lips twitched, fighting a smile.
“More than met them. It was perfect. Exactly the right size. Burned all night long.”
“Jesus Christ,” Farley mumbled, his cheeks cherry red. But he was smiling now, a genuine smile that made my chest feel tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m grateful. There’s a difference.” I leaned against the counter, letting my shoulder brush his. “Though I need to get my own wood today. Can’t keep borrowing yours, as much as I’d like to.”
“Probably a good idea. I need my wood for myself.”
We stared at each other, both trying not to laugh, and I felt something shift between us. Something easier. Lighter.
“Okay,” I said. “New topic before we get thrown out of Shifflett’s for inappropriate wood conversation.”
“Probably wise.”
“So.” I shifted the basket to my other hand. “What are you shopping for?”
“The basics. Food. Coffee. More bourbon.” He paused. “Possibly cat food, even though I’m definitely not keeping that cat.”
“Right. The cat you’re not keeping that ate your fancy salmon.”
“Exactly that cat.”
“Does the cat you’re not keeping have a name?”
He looked startled by the question. “I... no. I’m not naming it. That makes it permanent.”
“What are you calling it in your head?”
“Cat.”
“Liar.”
His cheeks flushed. “Fine. I’ve been calling it Purrsephone. But only because it’s white and dramatic and showed up uninvited like some kind of underworld deity.”
I laughed—an actual laugh that made the deli woman glance over at us. “That’s perfect. Purrsephone. I love it.”
“Don’t get attached. To the name or the cat.”
“Too late. I’m already planning to visit Purrsephone. Regularly.” I held his gaze. “Very regularly, if you’ll let me.”
He swallowed hard. “That’s...”
“Too much?”
“No, it’s...” He took a breath. “I’m not good at this.”
“At what?”
“This. Flirting. Casual anything. I’m the guy who color-codes his sock drawer and makes lists for his lists. I don’t do spontaneous or fun or—” He gestured vaguely between us. “Whatever this is.”
“You don’t have to be good at it.” I breathed. “You just have to be willing to try.”
“I just got out of a relationship. A bad one. Very recently.”
“Okay.”
“So, I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Okay.”
“I’m a mess. Professionally and personally.”
“Okay.”
“And you’re going back to LA in a month, and I’m going back to New York, and this is temporary and probably a terrible idea.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
“That’s all you have to say? Okay?”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m also a mess.
I’m here because I’m trying to figure out if I should blow up my entire career or stay trapped in a job that’s slowly killing my soul.
I’m not looking for anything serious either.
And I think temporary might be exactly what we both need.
” I held his gaze. “No strings. No expectations. Just two guys who find each other attractive, spending a month in the mountains, keeping each other company.”
Farley’s throat worked as he swallowed. “That’s...”
“A terrible idea?”
“I was going to say ‘straightforward.’”
“I try to be honest about what I want.” Most of the time. “So what do you say? Want to come over to my cabin later? I’ll attempt to cook something that won’t give us food poisoning, we can see if my wood burns, and we can... hang out.”
The way I said “hang out” made it very clear what I was suggesting.
Farley’s cheeks were pink, but his eyes had darkened with interest. “That’s—”
“OH MY GOD!”
The shriek came from behind us. High-pitched, delighted, and absolutely horrifying.
I turned to see a woman in her forties rushing toward us, phone already out, eyes wide with recognition.
No. No no no no no.
“You’re Dr. Brock Blaze!” She was practically vibrating with excitement. “From Midnight At Magnolia General! Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s you! What are you doing here?”
My mind went blank. Years of media training evaporated like smoke.
“I—I think you have me confused with—”
“No confusion! I’d recognize that face anywhere! My church choir is OBSESSED with you! We watch every episode!” She was already texting, her fingers flying. “Can I get a picture? Please? My friends will DIE!”
I could feel Farley staring at me. Could feel the exact moment the pieces clicked into place in his mind.
“I’m really not—” I started, but she was already moving closer, phone raised for a selfie.
Panic overrode every other instinct.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.” I couldn’t look at Farley. Just grabbed my coffee from the startled deli worker and headed for the door.
“Wait!” the woman called after me. “Just one picture! Dr. Blaze!”
I was already outside, practically running to my car. The Miata suddenly felt like a spotlight instead of transportation. I fumbled with my keys, got the door open, and threw myself inside.
Through the store window, I saw Farley standing exactly where I’d left him, coffee in hand, staring after me with an expression I couldn’t read.
The woman was following me outside, phone raised like a weapon.
I started the engine and reversed out of the parking lot faster than was probably safe, my heart hammering against my ribs. There goes my anonymous mountain fling, or Farley not knowing who I was.
“Fuck!” I muttered. All I wanted was a month of being treated like a normal person instead of a daytime TV character.
I drove back up the mountain, hands shaking on the steering wheel, and tried not to think about the look on Farley’s face. I’d probably just ruined the first genuine connection I’d felt in years.
By the time I pulled up to my cabin, I’d convinced myself that this was fine. Better, even. Better that Farley knew now, before things got complicated.
“Hell, who am I kidding?” I got out of the tiny car and shivered as an icy wind blew. There was no way he’d want a fling now. And honestly? Now that he knew who I was, would he even see me as a real person?