She ducks under my outstretched arm and hurries toward the front door.
I think about chasing her down, but I stand here, frozen like an idiot. I already know I fucked up.
Every time I feel like I finally gain an inch with her, I lose a mile. Every time I think I can read her and she’s letting me in, she slams that door right in my face, leaving me wondering where I made the wrong move.
By the time I turn to say something, the creaky door is already closing behind her.
CHAPTER 11
KELSEY
Two Years Earlier
“Because as charmingas it might sound, Local Spewer of Verbal Diarrhea is a mouthful to say.” He laughs and it’s such a warm, genuine sound that I feel my icy walls melt. I laugh too—I actually laugh and for the first time in ages it doesn’t feel forced.
“You’re right. I think I like Shadow more,” I say, pressing my lips into a line trying to hide my smile. I notice his eyes drop and linger on my mouth, making my cheeks heat. It’s a strange reaction for me because I’ve always been self-conscious of my smile. At first, it was having braces as a kid and always being asked to smile in school photos. I wanted to hide it and it became forced. As I got older, it just felt awkward and people would point it out.
With him though, something is different about the way his eyes follow when I managed even the slightest genuine smile or smirk tonight. The way his throat bobs or that muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here before I change my mindabout this tour.” I step to the side, opening the door to leave Bridger’s and gesturing for him to go through.
He reaches out and for a second, I think he’s going to try to touch my face or something. Instead, he grabs the door right above my head.
“Ladies first.” He gives me a smug little wink which makes his dimple on that side pop.
I walk out the door and he follows me. The cool, summer mountain air hits us the second we leave the musty, old bar. Both of us stop when the door shuts behind us. I’m pleased to see that like me, he takes a long breath of the crisp air and sighs contently.
“It reminds me of my hometown. New Mexico might be further south, but that cool, dry mountain air always feels good no matter where you are.”
I nod, already feeling an unexpected connection to him. There’s something refreshing about knowing he has an appreciation for little mountain towns like this.
I tilt my head to the left. “So my place is this way.”
“Great. Then this way it is.” He grins at me before turning and immediately walking in the opposite direction.
With his long strides, I have to hurry to catch up. “Where are you going? Do you even know your way around?”
“Not really, no,” he calls over his shoulder. I groan and pick up my pace. When I reach his side, he stops and looks down at me. The corner of his mouth turns up into a boyish, sheepish grin. “Actually, I kind of want to find Agnes. Believe it or not, I haven’t seen a moose in person before.”
“You know most people do everything possible to avoid running into a moose, right? Like they’re actually super mean.”
“Maybe, but I kind of want to get off on the right foot in town. I figured what better way than to meet the town’s two mostimportant women.”
“Who’s—” I start to ask, but I already know from his stupid grin he means me.
Oh. I pack that away and smile back at him awkwardly, never one to handle compliments well.
“So, lead the way.”
“This time of year, she’s probably near water with a new calf.” I lead us down the residential street toward the park by Flat Creek. “Speaking of, you probably don’t want to go like, anywhere near her if we do happen to spot her. If we’re lucky, maybe we can see her from the other side of the creek that runs on the edge of town without getting too close.”
“See? I’m already learning so much on this tour of town.”
I turn and head along the street to the park. We walk past house after house with their lights off this late. There’s no street lights either since the town restricts their use to avoid disturbing wildlife and the natural setting. As we get closer to the park, it dawns on me that I’m walking around late at night with a handsome man that I actually know very little about. For some inexplicable reason, I let my inside thoughts out—really living up to my new nickname.
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I ask, looking up at him, noting his height again and that he could definitely overpower me, not that I would mind.
He hums, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Nope, but I do like to kill some cereal.” He lifts his arm up and taps the tattoo on his forearm. “Always down for killing a box.”