Chapter 2
JOSIE
It’s nearly opening time at Creekside Diner, and I’m standing on a wobbly stepladder, pulling down leftover decorations from Valentine’s Day.
I untangle a string of heart-shaped fairy lights, stuffing them in a box alongside a fake rose bouquet and red ribbons, using a little more force than necessary.
Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone, and I’m still single.
Heck, I’ve been single for all the twenty-two Valentine’s Days I’ve been alive, so I guess it’s nothing new—but I used to have my best friend Savannah to sympathize.
It was different when we were single together.
We used to spend Valentine’s Day at my apartment watching romcoms, eating chocolate, and having a blast. But now she’s all loved up with Clay Benson—her new lumberjack boyfriend—and I’m the last single pringle in the tube.
Despite my loneliness, I’m so happy for Savannah. She’s crazy about Clay, and I’m thrilled she got her Benson brother. I just wish I could get my Benson brother too.
Brewer Benson.
I’ve been obsessing over Clay’s brother ever since he first came to the diner last month, striding through the door like a walking fantasy.
He towered over everyone—a tattooed giant with eyes like storm clouds—and I had to grip the counter to stop myself from falling over.
Now he comes here for breakfast every morning, and I live for it, like a pathetic little house plant pining for the sun.
Not that a man like Brewer Benson would ever look twice at a girl like me.
I’m curvy, but not in an Instagram model, tiny-waist-big-ass kind of way.
My thighs are huge, my belly sticks out, and I have plenty of stretch marks and fat rolls.
I wish I could be confident in my curves like Savannah, but self-confidence doesn’t come naturally to me.
I’m just really good at faking it—good at hiding my insecurities behind a smile.
I push down my thoughts as I tape up the box of Valentine’s Day crap and shove it in the backroom.
Then I glance at the clock, my pulse spiking when I see it’s about to strike seven on the dot.
Brewer should be here soon. He usually arrives a few minutes after we open, taking the same booth by the counter and ordering the Creekside Special with eggs over easy, an extra hash brown, and a strong black coffee.
I could recite the order in my sleep at this point.
My heart jumps as the door opens, the bell tinkling as someone steps inside…
but it’s not Brewer. I force a smile to hide my disappointment as the customer sits on one of the chrome stools at the counter.
I busy myself with their coffee order, making small talk, but my whole body is on edge as I wait for the bell to ring again.
When it finally does, I don’t have to look to know that it’s Brewer.
I can feel it in the way my breath catches, the air sucked from the room like a vacuum.
I snatch a glance at him, my knees threatening to give way.
He’s so enormous that he has to duck over the threshold, turning to the side so his giant body can fit through the doorframe.
Once he’s in, he seems to fill the whole diner, his shoulders taking up most of the room.
His sleeves are rolled up, tattoos snaking up his thick forearms, biceps straining against his gray plaid shirt.
A thick brown beard covers the bottom half of his handsome face, and a pair of dark eyes peer around the diner beneath heavy brows.
I force myself to look away, sliding the coffee across the counter to the other customer.
“Enjoy!” I say brightly, my heart in my throat as Brewer walks past the counter toward his usual booth.
I watch him discreetly and will myself not to drool.
Before I mustered the courage to ask his name a few weeks ago, I used to call him Lumbersnack in my head.
It seemed fitting, but Brewer Benson isn’t just a snack.
He’s a six-course meal with champagne and an extra portion of dessert.
It’s not like me to get this crazy about a stranger, but something about Brewer has gotten under my skin. I’m desperate to learn more about him, but I’ve stalked and scoured every corner of the internet, and he doesn’t have social media.
I’ve gathered a few scraps of information from Savannah now that she’s dating his brother, but even that isn’t much.
I know Brewer is forty-two and served in the Army.
I know he has a cabin on Cherry Mountain…
and that’s about it. I’ve tried to press Savannah for more, but she’s too busy climbing Clay like a tree to ask him about his brother.
I watch as Brewer takes a seat, the red vinyl sagging beneath him.
He makes the booth look ludicrously small, like it was made for a doll, even though it’s plenty big enough for most people.
I stare openly as I round the counter and walk toward him—disappointed but not surprised when he keeps his gaze averted.
It’s Brewer’s only flaw: no matter how much I stare at him, hoping to catch his eye, he refuses to look at me. He seems allergic to meeting my gaze, and it’s a little depressing when the man you’re obsessed with can’t stomach the sight of you.
“Good morning!” I say, forcing my usual happy-server tone as I stop by his booth. “Do you want the usual?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
It’s only two words, but Brewer’s voice is so deep that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Perfect.” I try to keep my voice from quivering. “So that’s one Creekside Special with eggs over easy, an extra hash brown, and a strong black coffee. Anything else?”
“That’s it.”
Still no eye contact. He’s looking down at the table like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Coming right up,” I say.
“Thanks.”
I smile at him—kind of pointless since he’s not even looking at me—then I head back to the counter. I swear I can feel those deep brown eyes drilling into my back as I walk away, but every time I look around, Brewer is staring out the window, down at his hands, the menu—anywhere but me.
When I finally take him his breakfast and coffee a few minutes later, he’s suddenly fascinated by the sugar caddy. He grunts a thanks as I set the plate in front of him, eyes sliding straight to his food, and I try to ignore the burn of frustration in my throat as I walk away.
I’m not freakin’ Medusa, I want to yell at him.
Looking at me won’t turn you to stone!
The diner is filling up, the breakfast rush hitting full swing, and I’m forced to focus on my job, taking orders and making drinks instead of dwelling on Brewer’s lack of attention.
But even when I’m on the opposite side of the room to him, I can still feel the tension in the air—a rubber band pulled taut between us.
I know it’s all in my head.
Heck, Brewer doesn’t even care enough to look at me, let alone feel any tension when I’m near him…but it still feels like the air turns thick as molasses every time I walk past his booth.
“Did he look at you yet?” Willa asks.
We’re both working behind the counter now—me pouring coffee, her at the register.
“Nope. I’m still invisible.”
Willa is my work bestie, and she knows all about my obsession with Brewer. Whenever we have a shift together, she makes a point of letting me serve him, and I love her for it.
“He must be blind not to notice you, Josie,” she says, shooting a scowl in Brewer’s direction.
“Thanks. I’m glad I have you to support me through the Lumbersnack trials.”
Willa giggles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, and I can’t help noticing the deep purple bags beneath them, like she hasn’t slept in days.
This is Willa’s third job, and she’s always flitting from one shift to another, barely getting a moment to herself.
Life has been tough on her lately, and she’s having to bust her ass just to pay the bills.
“Are you okay?” I ask, lowering my voice so the customers at the counter can’t hear.
“Yeah…” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Things are just a little tight right now.” There’s a brief pause before she adds, “I’ve been doing some more research into…you know what…”
She whispers the last part, coloring slightly, and I feel a jolt of worry in my gut.
“You’re still considering the auction?”
She nods, pressing her lips together, and my heart squeezes with sympathy. The last thing I want to do is make her feel judged, but I can’t help my concern.
“Is it safe?” I ask. “When you first mentioned it, all I could think about was that scene from that movie, Taken. All those girls put on display for rich old men with bags of money…”
“It won’t be like that,” she murmurs, keeping her voice down. “It’s all done through an agency. Everything happens online, except for the actual…you know…”
Except for the losing your virginity to a random stranger part.
I set down the mug I’m holding and reach out to squeeze Willa’s hand. “You don’t have to do this. If you’re struggling, you can live with me for as long as you need.”
She squeezes back. “Thanks, Josie. But it’s not that simple—”
“Willa!” the cook, Reggie, calls from the back. “Got the breakfast burrito for table five.”
Willa drops my hand and disappears into the kitchen, leaving me with a ball of unease in my chest. I really wish I could help her, but I don’t come from money, and working at the diner brings in barely enough to get by.
But surely there must be another way?
I frown to myself, running it over in my mind as I carry a couple more breakfasts and coffees over to a booth just behind Brewer’s. A middle-aged couple dressed in ski gear are waiting there in silence, and I force my face into a smile as I set the plates down in front of them.
“Enjoy your food!” I say. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
The couple look at each other, then down at their plates.
“Is this all the bacon you get?” the man says in a too-loud voice.
“I can get you some more if you w—”
“I asked for a poached egg,” the woman says coldly.
I look down at the perfectly cooked poached egg on her plate. “Um…yes?”
“This doesn’t look poached to me.”
Then you’ve never seen a poached egg before, lady.
I take a deep breath. “Would you like another one?”
“I guess this will do,” she says, tutting loudly.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?”
The man takes a sip of his coffee, his face contorting. “The hell is this?”
“Uh…coffee?”
“I asked for a splash of milk, not the whole damn carton.”
The coffee is almost black. I added a tiny bit of milk, just like he asked. But I bite my tongue, willing myself to stay calm. “I’m sorry for the mix-up. Let me grab you another one.”
“What kind of place is this that you don’t know how to make coffee?” he grumbles, glaring at me. “It’s not complicated.”
“You’re right, John.” The woman shakes her head, poking at the egg with her fork. “It’s today’s generation. Too busy looking at their phones to follow basic instructions.”
“Probably why she works at a diner.” John shoves the coffee across the table toward me, lowering his voice to a mutter. “Guess she’s not very bright.”
“Hey!” a voice booms from beside us, cutting through the room like a gunshot.
Everyone hushes. I turn toward the source of the noise, my heart stuttering when I see Brewer standing up to his full height.
He’s glowering at the couple in front of me as he takes a step out of his booth, eyes fixed on the man called John.
“The fuck did you just say to her?” Brewer asks, his voice a low growl.
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. The whole diner is at a standstill.
“Are you talking to me?” John asks, his face turning an ugly shade of puce.
“You bet your ass I’m talking to you.”
“John, everyone’s staring,” the woman hisses under her breath.
Her husband doesn’t reply, and Brewer takes another step forward.
“I asked you a question,” he says. “What. Did. You. Say. To. Her?”
He speaks slowly, punctuating each venom-filled word while John cowers in his seat.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” he mumbles, leaning into the corner of the booth. “We don’t need to make a scene.”
“If you don’t want any trouble, then get out of here right now,” Brewer snarls. “Or there’ll be trouble. You can count on that.”
The woman squeaks. “Are you threatening us?”
“No, ma’am.” Brewer turns his glaring eyes on her. “I’m promising you.”
The couple shoot a glance at each other, both of them redder than fire hydrants as they shuffle out of the booth and scurry away without a backward glance, muttering furiously to each other under their breath.
The bell jingles as they leave the diner, and there’s a brief pause before the chatter quickly resumes, everyone continuing their breakfast.
But Brewer and I don’t move.
We’re standing barely two feet apart, and for the first time ever, his deep brown eyes are fixed right on me. He’s not looking away. There’s something protective raging in his gaze, almost feral in its intensity, and my heart feels like it might explode.
Nobody has ever looked at me like this before.
Like I’m worth protecting.
I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t do anything but stand here and stare right back at him.
What the heck is happening?