Page 100 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

Greyson

I’m wearing slightly more respectable jeans and a newer flannel when I go to pick Clara up from Kelly’s place.

Not a suit.

I don’t own one that fits anymore.

But I’m clean.

My jeans are fitted.

The flannel intentional.

The truth is this woman has me so far out of my comfort zone I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—but honestly?

I don’t hate it.

I park, kill the engine, and sit there for a second, staring at the front door like it might bite me.

Then it opens.

And I forget how to breathe.

She’s not wearing yellow. That registers, and I bite back my grin.

I see you, Trouble.

She’s wearing a navy dress—soft and flowing—with tiny green and white flowers scattered across it like they’re dancing.

It hugs her in all the right places before skimming down over her curves in a way that’s elegant without trying too hard.

And her hair.

Dark, glossy curls spill down her back in big, soft waves. Her hazel eyes are lined in charcoal, lashes thick and unfairly long.

And that mouth—Christ.

I already know how her lips feel.

I know how she tastes.

I know the sound she makes when she sighs into my mouth.

It’s been a week.

It feels like a year.

“Hi,” she says softly, smiling like she’s nervous too.

“Hi,” I manage.

I clear my throat.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, because I’m not going to play games tonight.

Besides, I mean it.

Her cheeks flush slightly. “Thank you.”