Chapter Nine
Nikki
Lights are strung between pine trees like fallen stars at the festival ground entrance near the base of Mount Quill.
One day, long ago, someone named all the mountains up here.
I’ve made an effort to memorize them, but Mount Quill is the only one I ever remember.
Mostly because its base is the closest to town and Rugged Mountain holds most of its events here.
Troy and I step through the wooden archway at the entrance toward the booths that line both sides of the path. So far, he’s not so bad. We had some small talk in the truck on our way over, and he looks exactly like his photos. Plus, he hasn’t tried anything weird, which is always a positive.
“You warm enough?” Troy brushes his elbow against my arm as he strips his flannel off, his large, inked arms on display as he wraps the fabric around my shoulders.
It’s not a cold night, but given the extreme heat we’ve been having lately, the dip down into the seventies feels frigid, and I’m thankful for a bit of warmth.
“Thanks,” I manage, trying not to think about how Reed usually wraps me up. He has this thing he does where he tugs his shirt around my shoulders, buttons the first button, kisses my head, and calls me a princess.
I realize that by not thinking about it, I’ve thought about it, but from now on, I’m done with that.
I’m here with Troy, and Troy is nice. Nice and professional, and not at all pushy.
We also have zero baggage, and dating him wouldn’t cause much of a ripple effect in my life.
In fact, I bet we’d get along really nicely if I gave it a chance.
Flannel wrapped around my shoulders, I refocus on the line of vendor booths.
Each one is built with mismatched planks and hand-painted signs.
Lanterns blow in the breeze, guiding the way toward smoked sausage, maple candy, and funnel cake.
Everyone is smiling and happy, kids darting through the crowd, their hands filled with bags of kettle corn and cotton candy.
A few rides from a traveling carnival sit on the opposite side of the field with a merry-go-round, one of those scrambling things, and a bobsled.
There are a handful of games over there too, including the one with the fishbowls and the golden rings where Reed’s won a goldfish for me every year for as long as I can remember, though none of them have made it to see the following year.
There I go again, thinking about Reed when I should be focusing on my client.
“So, what do you want to check out first?” I say, mouth watering at the scent of fried sugar everywhere. “The log spinning doesn’t start for another hour.”
“I’m starving,” Troy says, brushing his hand back through his graying hair. “What do you reckon we try?”
“What did you have with your dad when you came out here as a kid? We should do the full nostalgia loop.”
He nods slowly and crosses his arms over his wide chest as a group of teens rush by with funnel cake. “There was this place that did these big stack burgers with skillet potatoes on the side. I doubt they still have a spot here. That was twenty years ago at this point.”
“Actually,” I say, nodding toward the end of the row, “if you’re talking about Roy’s Timber Grill, it’s right there.”
“Oh shit!” Troy grins and grabs my hand in his, dragging me toward the burger booth with the excitement of a child who’s found his favorite toy.
I get the feeling, because after this, I’ll be dragging him to the funnel cake stand.
Josie makes a killer, sky-high apple-pie funnel cake, and it’s all I’ve been thinking about since I abandoned my cupcakes earlier.
It’s late in the evening, but that doesn’t stop the mountain folk around here from grabbing their favorite foods, and every booth has at least three groups waiting to be served.
Troy and I get in line at Roy’s Timber Grill behind a couple who are far too in love for their own good. They’re wrapped around each other like caramel on an apple, and they’ve kissed at least four times since we got in line three seconds ago.
I glance up at Troy with a sarcastic, judgy sort of grin that he returns in playful jest, and the knot I’ve been carrying in my stomach since I left Reed’s side finally loosens.
Troy and I have a similar sense of humor that’s continued in person.
If I were looking for someone to date, that would be a good thing.
The line moves up a step, and fireworks crack behind us, turning everyone’s heads back toward the flashing red light in the sky.
“I wonder what that was about?” I say, staring up at Troy again.
He scratches his hand down over his beard and shakes his head. “Not sure. Maybe something to do with the games?”
The man in front of us in line spins back to join our conversation, and the knot in my stomach is back.
It’s Clint!
Reed’s friend Clint!
The Clint whose lake houses I’m closing on tomorrow… hopefully.
He adjusts his hat as his eyes widen. “Nikki!” He glances toward Troy, then back down at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh,” I say, realizing my hand is still locked in Troy’s, and that I’m wearing his very oversized flannel. “I’m, ugh, entertaining a client.”
Bella smiles at her man as she notices our hands. “A client,” she says with judgment as she flips her long hair to the side. “That’s fun. What are you looking to buy up here?”
Troy nods slowly, his thumb brushing the back of my hand.
My heart pounds and I want to scream out that this isn’t what it looks like.
Then again, I haven’t let go of his hand, and Troy is a nice guy.
That, and if we did have a relationship and it didn’t work out, I wouldn’t cry myself to sleep for the next ten years like I would with Reed.
I’ve decided that’s a new dating prerequisite for me.
“I’m looking at a boathouse tomorrow,” he says. “Hoping to close the deal quickly. I’d love to get the—”
“Reed’s boathouse?” Clint interjects.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat closing as the lovebirds study Troy and I like a pair of aliens from another planet.
“And you two are together now,” Bella asks, glancing down at our hands again, “or is this still part of entertaining a client?”
Okay, I understand that everyone is protective of their own and nosey as hell here… but damn!
Troy holds up our hands and grins. “Oh, fuck. I got excited about the burgers, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the food counter. I didn’t mean to start any small-town drama.”
“Oh!” Bella grins with relief, and I wonder why.
Maybe she knows Reed has a thing for me.
Maybe everyone knew, but me. “That explains it! Roy’s burgers are the best in town.
We never miss his booth when it’s up.” She leans forward and laughs.
“My friends and I tried making a trip to his house one year when we were craving a double stack. The man let us in and cooked us all dinner. I’ll never forget it.
Now I pay double every time I stop at his booth. ”
“I love that about small-town life,” Troy says, his hand landing on the small of my back. “I’m excited to be up here again. I’ve got a place on the ocean in Florida. It’s nice but way too crowded for me.”
“I get that.” Clint smiles and crosses his arms over his chest as he speaks. “We’ll have to have you over, welcome you in properly.”
“Perfect. I’ll see if Roy doesn’t mind stopping by too.”
Everyone laughs, and the teenager taking orders calls for the next in line.
Thankfully, Clint and Bella glance away quickly, and my nerves settle, though I’m sure my presence here with Troy will inevitably get back to Reed at some point, which makes my stomach hurt.
Then again, he had to know I was going to be with him.
I told him about the festival, and I told him I’d considered dating him to some degree, though after being pinned against the wall by Reed, Troy’s soft hands aren’t making the cut.
I have no idea why I love rubbing my fingertips over the edge of Reed’s calluses so much, but I do.
So much so that I Googled it just to make sure nothing was wrong with me.
Apparently, rough hands make our brains believe that a person can handle themselves in the world.
They’re evidence of skill, of storytelling, a texture of a life lived.
I don’t know if I’m thinking all that when he’s touching me, or brushing against me, or when I’ve held his hand for comfort, but I know that they’re warm and solid, steady and anchoring, and a little scratchy, which I like the feeling of.
Overall, though, I’d say it’s the rugged texture delivering soft intention that’s the real hook.
“Nikki,” Troy says, “are you okay? We need to order our food.”
Oh God! How long was I out in La-La land, thinking about Reed’s hands?
I blow out a breath and stare up at the chalk menu. It’s not long, and I’ve been here half a dozen times before, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m having. “I’ll have a double stack with the fire-roasted corn… and a Coke. Oh, Troy, by the way, I’ll be getting this. I can expense everything out.”
“Not a chance.” Troy pushes my hand away as I try to give the teenage boy running the register my credit card. “Tonight is on me. I know I told those friends of yours that this wasn’t a date, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping it sort of was.”
My eyes widen, and though I’m flattered, and part of me thought a date with Troy would be nice too, I’m not in that headspace anymore. I’m not sure I ever will be again.
In reality, how do I go from being in love with a man I know is perfect for me to dating a guy who’s second best? That’s not fair to anyone, especially Troy. Then again, how will I ever move on from Reed if I don’t push to see the good in others?
Either way, tonight isn’t the night for any more revelations or arguments, so I smile sweetly at Troy’s comment and let him pay for dinner. A moment later, we have our food piled onto plastic trays that we’re carrying carefully across the moonlit lawn.
“You want to sit over here?” He points to a few empty picnic tables near the edge of the bandstand, where a crowd is gathered around the stage listening to bluegrass.
I nod and follow behind, a sense of guilt overtaking me, despite the fact that this isn’t a date.
It’s almost like my heart doesn’t want to be anywhere without Reed.
That’s the part I need to force myself through.
If I want him in my life, I have to keep a healthy distance.
I can’t get so close that he’s pinning me against a wall again, making me moan.
I can’t get so close that my pussy throbs constantly with thoughts of stretching around his thick cock.
Good Lord, I need to get a grip.
Troy and I sit at the picnic table furthest from the bandstand, a lantern hung on a post nearby spilling amber light across the warped wood.
“I’ve been thinking about this burger for weeks,” Troy says, peeling back the wrapper already spotted with mustard.
He sits next to me, his arm brushing against mine as he swings his leg over the edge of the table and settles his plate down in front of him.
“Well, not half as excited as I was to meet you. I was really eager to get to this weekend. That’s why I took an early flight.
You’re so easy to talk to and I wanted to get as much time with you as I could. ”
“Well,” I grin, taking a sip of my soda, “that’s because I silently judge. Everyone thinks I’m agreeable, but really, I’m playing a little game of categorization in my head.”
He raises a brow and bites into his burger with a groan. “How’s that work?”
“Well,” I say, lifting my corn up to my mouth, “I listen and I sort. It’s a hobby.”
“And what are the categories?”
I shrug and take a bite, letting the butter drip down my chin. I don’t mean for it to happen, but it’s dripping fast. A moment later, Troy’s got a napkin against my chin, cleaning me up.
I hate it! I don’t know why I hate it… I just do!
My skin is crawling as I stand from the table, my heart racing irrationally fast, my head spinning relentlessly.
The crowd is loud, and the band is announcing something about the start of the moonlight spin.
I need to keep it together, but my heart keeps flashing back to the way Reed lifted me up against the wall, the way he kept saying he was going to clean me up.
I miss him.
I miss Reed.
“You alright?” Troy stands from the table, his massive frame entirely too close for comfort.
I push his hand away instinctively and stare up at him, fully ready to end the night with a lie about a stomachache, but out of the corner of my eye I catch a massive, beast of a man covered in ink, his gaze dark like he’s going to snap.
It’s Daddy, and I have a feeling I’m in trouble.