Page 93 of Silver Brewer

“You can’t build out here, Letty,” I snap, and she flinches at my voice.

“I remember.”

My nostrils flare. What’s she playing at then? Did she really return in hopes of gaining the land? What is she doing here? What does she want? I want to tell her to go home and leave me alone while at the same time, I want to pull her to me and fuck her in the front grass.

“Name your price, Mr. Harrington.”

Is she fucking kidding me?

“There’s nothing left here.” I practically growl at her, my arms lowering to my sides. I mean, what can I say. I’m nothing. There’s nothing for her. She took all that was important to me. Her. Finn. My heart.

“Name your price. Everybody has one,” she states, holding firm as she takes a few steps toward me. Her fingers open and close, forming fists of control. I didn’t realize I’d moved, but suddenly, we stand closer to one another, only a foot or two apart.

“Mr. Har—”

“You. And Finn. That’s my price.”

She stills while her breath hitches.

Dammit. Why did I let that slip? My head lowers to face the ground. I scrub a hand over my trimmed beard. I’m waiting for her to step back, enter her big rental, and drive off. Instead, two feet with pink-painted toenails come into view near the tips of my boots. Slowly, I lift my head.

“Sold,” she whispers, and my eyes widen.

What is she saying?

“If I camp on the mountain, will you forgive me?”

“Cricket.” I sigh. Dammit, why is she so cute? No, beautiful. Fucking beautiful.

“I can hike up the mountain and back,” she offers.

I fight a slow grin that wants to curl my lips. My fingers twitch at my side.

“What about ax throwing?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“Really?” I’m astonished.

“Yeah, remember there’s this bar in Chicago? I went there before the wedding. I scored a—”

“Anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?” I can no longer fight the smile threatening my lips.

“Yes, this grumpy mountain man once did. He made me sleep in a tent on the lumpy ground and eat out of a pan.”

Sheepishly, I gaze at her. “I thought he was a lumber something or other. And I don’t remember you complaining.” Are we really doing this? Are we flirting with each other? There’s so much to be said, but my heart leaps in my chest even though I still don’t understand what she’s doing here.

“Lumbersexual,” she draws out. “And no, I didn’t complain. In fact, I liked it. I loved it.” She swallows as her eyes hold mine. “I…I still love you.”

My head flicks back while my shoulders fall, and the tension slips out of me. I don’t know if I feel sucker punched by her words or if I’ve lost my breath.

She still loves me.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…I was thinking of moving to Georgia.” My brows rise so high the skin on my forehead crinkles. “There’s a little house in town for rent, and I’m thinking of—”