He makes a frustrated sound. “God, you're the most stubborn woman I've ever met.”
“And you made me feel like I didn’t have a choice,” I fire back before I can stop myself.
His winches, like I slapped him. “That's not fair and you know it.”
“Fair? You want to talk about fair?” I grab my laptop bag from the counter. “Was it fair to keep me here under false pretenses? Was it fair to let me believe I had nowhere else to go? Was it fair to sleep with me and not tell me the truth? To let me fall for you while believing I had no way out?”
He flinches at that last one. “Don't make what happened between us sound cheap. It wasn't like that.”
“Then what was it like, Grant? Explain it to me. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you saw an opportunity with a stranded woman and took it.”
“That's bullshit!” His fist slams against the counter, making me jump. “I have never felt this way about anyone. I've been walking around with my chest cracked open since I met you. Do you think I planned any of this? Do you think I wanted to fall for a woman who's made it crystal clear she's leaving the first chance she gets?”
The word “fall” hangs between us, heavy with implication.
“You’re right, I am taking your truck,” I say, snatching the keys from the hook by the door. “I'll be back later.”
“Mia—”
“Later, Grant.”
I don't look back as I storm out to his truck, my hands shaking so badly I can barely insert the key. The engine roars to life, and I peel down the driveway, gravel spitting beneath the tires.
Chapter 32
Mia
The drive into town is a blur, my vision occasionally clouding with angry tears I finally let fall. The truck smells like him—leather and sandalwood and something uniquely Grant—and it only fuels my rage.
The Caffeine Drip is mercifully quiet when I step inside. A low hum from the espresso machine, soft indie music, and the scent of roasted beans—blessedly calm compared to the storm still thundering in my chest.
Annie waves from behind the counter, her cheerful expression faltering when she sees my face.
“Oof.” She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Rough day?” she asks as I approach.
“Somewhere between scorched-earth and cry-in-the-bathroom,” I say, managing a tired smile.
“Yikes. Come here.” She waves me over like she’s ushering in a stray cat. “Sit. Spill.I slide onto a stool with a sigh that feels like it comes from my soul. “Grant owns the cottage I’ve been renting. The one that flooded. And apparently… it’s been fixed for two weeks. He didn’t tell me.”
Annie freezes mid-pour. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I pick at the sleeve of my shirt. “I found a plumber’s report on his desk. The place is fine. Habitable. Pipes and all. I’ve been living with him thinking I had no other option and then I found my travel and ID documents on his desk and we ended up having a huge fight.”
“Damn,” she mutters. She sets down the carafe and leans her elbows on the counter. “That’s a lot.”
I nod, throat tightening. “I have this thing—thismassivething—about people making decisions for me. My dad used to do that. Cage me in, cut me off, ‘protect me’ until I couldn’t breathe. I ran from all of that and now…” My voice trails off, raw. “I feel like it’s happening all over again.”
Annie’s expression softens, the sass fading into something gentler. “That sounds really heavy, Mia. I’m sorry.”
I glance down at my hands, when I glance up I see Annie wince as she lets out, “Whole town knows Grant owns that place. Been in his family for generations.” She shrugs apologetically. “Small town, remember?”
“Great. So I'm the only idiot who didn't know I was being played.”
Annie narrows her eyes. “Okay, stop right there. One, you’re not an idiot. Two, if you think Grant Taylor wasplayingyou, you seriously don’t know him.”
I blink at her. “You soundverysure.”
“Because I’ve known him my whole life,” she says. “Grant’s many things—stubborn, emotionally constipated, broody as hell at times—but a manipulative liar? That man doesn’t have it in him.”
