Page 175 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

“Me either,” he says quickly. “It’s not, it’s just not what I’m about. And I didn’t lead with it because it’s not even a thing for me.”

I step closer.

“Okay.”

He frowns slightly. “Okay?”

I smile.

“Yeah. Okay. I get it, having money isn’t always a blessing. And it doesn’t matter to me if you have it or don’t.”

“It doesn’t? And you know I wasn’t trying to hide it because of trust issues, right?”

“I know. And I trust you, Greyson. With all of me.”

I say it because it’s true. I do trust him.

Relief softens his entire face.

That turns into gratitude.

Then it becomes something else.

Something dark, hungry—something that makes my panties wet.

He kisses me then. It’s slow and deep. Grateful. Grounding.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you, too.”

A knock sounds at the door.

He pulls back slightly. “I ordered us dinner before we head to the gallery. Is that alright?”

The gallery.

The show.

His show.

Right.

“It’s perfect,” I tell him.

Room service arrives in polished silence.

When the lids lift, I laugh.

“Pizza?”

“The best Neapolitan place in Manhattan,” he corrects. “But it’s got nothing on Woodhaven.”

We sit on the edge of the bed with the skyline glowing behind us and share slices just like we did on our first real date—sausage crumbles, fresh ricotta, bright tomato.

The city hums below.

The mountain feels far away.