Chapter 5
ELSA
Iwoke up wrapped in warmth.
Briggs’s arm was heavy across my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his breath slow and even against my hair.
Sunlight streamed through the cabin windows, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets.
For a long moment, I just lay there, letting myself feel it—the safety, the comfort, the unfamiliar sensation of waking up next to someone and not wanting to be anywhere else.
Then reality crept in, the way it always does.
Preston was still out there. Still in Wildwood Valley, probably staying at the inn, rehearsing whatever speech he’d prepared to win me back. The thought made my stomach tighten.
But it wasn’t just Preston that had my mind spinning. It was the man behind me. The man who’d called me his in front of a stranger, who’d held me through the night, who’d touched me like I was something precious.
What if this wasn’t real?
The thought surfaced before I could stop it.
Briggs was a firefighter. He rescued people for a living.
And I’d literally thrown myself into his lap like a damsel in distress.
What if that’s all this was? Some protective instinct that would fade once the crisis was over and he realized I was just… me?
I’d spent eight months being Preston’s project. Eight months of him trying to mold me into the woman he thought I should be. The idea of going through that again—of being someone’s good deed instead of someone’s choice—made it hard to breathe.
Briggs stirred behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbled against my hair.
Despite everything, I smiled. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck. “But I can tell you’re worrying about something by the way you tensed up. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
I should have brushed it off. Said I was fine. But something about this man made me want to be honest in a way I’d never been with anyone.
“I need to know this is real,” I said quietly.
He went still. “What do you mean?”
I turned in his arms so I could face him, even though part of me wanted to hide. His dark eyes were soft with sleep, his hair mussed. He looked rumpled and warm and entirely too good to be true.
“You rescue people for a living,” I said. “And I showed up in your lap like some kind of crisis. How do I know this isn’t just…instinct for you? Some protective thing that’ll fade once Preston’s gone and you realize I’m not actually in danger?”
Something shifted in his expression. Not offense—understanding. Like he could see exactly where the fear was coming from.
He sat up, pulling me with him until we were facing each other on the bed. His hands found my face, tilting it up until I had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Elsa. Listen to me.” His voice was rough, earnest. “I’ve been watching you for weeks. Before last night. Before Preston. Before any of it.”
My breath caught.
“You want to know why I was sitting alone at that table last night?” he continued.
“Because I couldn’t watch my friends be happy anymore without wanting what they had.
And every time I tried to picture it—a woman, a future, a life—all I could see was you.
The quiet bartender who never pushed, never pried, just made everyone feel like they belonged. ”
His thumbs brushed across my cheekbones.
“This isn’t about rescuing you. This is about finally getting the nerve to talk to the woman I’ve wanted since the first time she handed me a beer and smiled like she could see right through my grumpy bullshit.”
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“You mean that?” I asked.
“Sweetheart, I’ve never meant anything more.”
I kissed him then—soft and sweet and full of everything I couldn’t put into words. When I pulled back, the doubt that had been gnawing at my chest was gone. In its place was something warm and steady. Something that felt a lot like certainty.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go end this.”
We got to the roadhouse an hour before my shift. Briggs drove, his hand resting on my thigh the whole way, warm and grounding. I tried not to think about what was coming. Tried not to rehearse the words in my head.
Then I saw the silver sedan in the parking lot, and my stomach dropped.
“He’s here,” I said.
Briggs’s hand tightened on my leg. “You ready?”
I took a deep breath. Let it out slowly.
Thought about the woman I’d been a month ago—suffocating under expectations, disappearing into the life everyone else wanted for me.
And I thought about the woman I was becoming.
The one who’d packed her car and driven to a town she’d never heard of.
The one who’d climbed onto a stranger’s lap and asked him to save her.
The one who didn’t need saving anymore.
“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
Preston was sitting at the bar when we walked in. I recognized the back of his head, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he held himself like he was bracing for something. He must have heard the door, because he turned on his stool as we approached.
That’s when I saw his face. He looked tired. Worn. Like the drive up here and the sleepless night had taken something out of him.
He stood. “Elsa.” His gaze dropped to our joined hands, then lifted back to my face. “Can we talk? Please. Just the two of us.”
“No.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of Briggs.”
Preston’s jaw tightened. He looked at Briggs—really looked—and I saw the moment he understood. This wasn’t a game he could win through patience or logic. This was over.
“I just wanted to understand,” he said, turning back to me. “I thought we had something. I thought if I gave you time, if I showed you I was willing to wait—”
“That’s the problem, Preston.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “You were always waiting for me to become someone I’m not. Waiting for me to want what you wanted. But I tried to tell you—over and over—that I didn’t feel that way about you. And you never listened.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. His brow furrowed, like he was genuinely trying to process what I was saying. I’d seen that look before. The wheels turning. The calculations running.
“I know it doesn’t make sense to you,” I continued.
“I know you thought we were compatible on paper. And maybe we were. But that’s not enough for me.
I need more than logic. I need…” I glanced at Briggs, feeling his solid presence beside me.
“I need someone who sees me. Not someone who sees a business arrangement.”
Preston was quiet for a long moment. I watched the emotions move across his face—confusion, hurt, and finally understanding.
“I never meant to make you feel like a business arrangement,” he said quietly. “I just thought if I was consistent enough, you’d see what I saw.”
“I know.” I softened my voice. “And I’m sorry it took me leaving for you to hear me. But this is my life now, Preston. This town. This job.” I squeezed Briggs’s hand. “This man. And you need to go home and find someone who wants what you’re offering. Because it was never going to be me.”
The finality hung in the air between us. I watched Preston absorb it—watched the fight drain out of him, replaced by something that looked almost like relief. Like maybe he’d needed to hear it this clearly all along.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay.”
He stood there for another moment, searching for something—the closure he’d driven all this way for.
“Take care of yourself, Elsa,” he said. Then his gaze shifted to Briggs. “Take care of her.”
“I will,” Briggs said, and the certainty in his voice made my heart squeeze.
Preston nodded once, then turned and walked out the door. Through the window, I watched him climb into his silver sedan, sit there for a moment with his hands on the steering wheel, and then pull out of the parking lot.
He didn’t look back.
I let out a breath. “It’s over.”
“It’s over,” Briggs agreed.
I turned to him, and the smile that spread across my face felt like it came from somewhere deep—somewhere that had been locked up tight for a long time.
“I can’t believe I did that.”
“Believe it.” He pulled me into his arms, right there in the middle of the roadhouse. “You were incredible.”
“I feel incredible.” I pressed my face into his chest, breathing him in. “Like I can finally breathe.”
He held me close, one hand stroking my hair. Outside, the mountain sun was shining on the town that had become my home—the town I’d driven to on a whim, hoping to find space and finding so much more instead.
“So,” Briggs said, pulling back to look at me. “What now?”
I grinned up at him. “Now I work my shift. And you sit at your table and pretend to be grumpy while you watch me.”
He laughed—a real laugh, low and warm. “And after your shift?”
I rose on my toes, brushing a kiss against his jaw. “After my shift, you take me home and show me what else you’ve been thinking about since the first time you saw me.”
He groaned, pulling me closer. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”
“Probably.” I kissed him once more, quick and teasing, then slipped out of his arms and headed toward the bar. “But what a way to go.”
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away. Could feel the warmth of his gaze like a physical touch. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I didn’t feel watched. I felt seen.
This was my life now. My town. My bar. My grumpy, beautiful mountain man waiting in the corner.
And it was exactly where I wanted to be.