Page 24 of Mountain Beast

“You did… before,” I admit.

“Before…?”

My gaze bores into hers, silently pleading for her not to push.

I’m not ready to completely bare my soul to her.

I’m barely able to acknowledge how my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest to jump right into her soft palms.

She must read something in that quiet communication because a gentle smile flits across her plush lips. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I think I understand.”

Autumn rocks to her tip toes, so our mouths meet in a tender kiss, and it’s then I realize how fucked I truly am over my little valkyrie.

CHAPTER TWELVE

AUTUMN

It’s weird.

After the ups and downs of the last month, things have been different between me and Briggs. Less antagonistic. More friendly.

Gentle.

It’s unsettling.

Even if I like the new dynamic a lot.

More than I should.

“Everything okay?” Briggs asks from his place at the stovetop, where a pot of noodles boils while he sautés some vegetables for our dinner.

Yes, he insisted on cooking me dinner.

No, I’m not swooning and freaking out about it internally.

The doorbell rings, snapping me out of my dreamy haze of observing his forearms flexing with each flick of the wooden spoon on the pan.

We exchange baffled stares.

“You’re not expecting anyone are you?”

“Nope.” Taking a sip of my wine, I reluctantly hop off the bar stool I was occupying to watch Briggs move around the kitchen. Because, damn, he looks good in an apron. In anything really. And nothing at all. “Guess I’ll see who it is. Probably someone selling solar panels or something.”

“Or Mormons. If you need help getting rid of them, just holler.”

Chuckling, I press a kiss to his shoulder as I pass him. “I forget you’re natural people repellant around here,” I joke. “Which sucks for them because it’s their loss.”

I catch the flush to his cheeks, something I’m sure he’d try to play off as heat from the stove if I called him on it, but I know better.

Briggs is surprisingly susceptible to compliments. It’s actually really cute—a description most people wouldn’t attribute to the gruff behemoth.

The walk from the kitchen to the front door is a short one. My apartment isn’t huge, since I decided to downsize most of my belongings after the divorce. Part of my whole ‘start fresh' mantra.

Swinging the door open without checking the peephole, my smile immediately evaporates. “Mom. Dad. What are you doing here?” I wrap my cardigan more tightly around myself as I cross my arms over my chest.

Poor Briggs. He’s still in the kitchen finishing dinner, unaware of the speeding train heading straight for him in the form of my parents… and fucking Jason?!

My ex stands behind Mom and Dad with a sly smirk on his face. Like a kindergartner who tattled to the teacher and was excited about witnessing the trouble about to ensue.