Page 66 of Indigo Ridge (The Edens 1)

And maybe the next time I saw Griffin around town, I wouldn’t want to hit him with a rock.

The cork in my wine bottle popped free at the same moment someone pounded on my door. Not a knuckle tap. A full-fisted hammer.

Only one person in this town beat on my red door.

I poured a glass, then carried it with me as I went to answer. “I have a doorbell.”

Griffin’s scowl was fixed in place. Clearly, an afternoon and evening hadn’t made him any less angry than he’d been at the station. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I took a sip of my cabernet, letting the dry, robust flavor burst on my tongue as he glowered.

“Are you fucking anyone else?”

I nearly choked on my sip. “No.”

“Good.” That large body forced me out of the way as he strode inside.

I closed the door behind him and followed as he walked into the living room and glanced around.

“You unpacked.”

“For the most part.”

“Where’s your furniture?”

“On backorder.” Just like my bedframe had been.

Everything I’d ordered was delayed, so all I had was the couch and an end table. The books that had been in boxes were stacked against a wall. The television was on the floor, waiting for its stand. The knickknacks and artwork I’d collected over the years had been unwrapped and set aside, ready to be placed on the bookshelf that had been shipped yesterday.

Besides my bed, the only piece of furniture that had arrived was my desk. I’d put it together last night after I’d woken up at two. Then I’d spent the early morning hours setting up my home office.

Griffin inspected it all, then he went to the couch and sat down.

“Want a glass of wine?”

“Sure.”

I handed him mine, watching as he put the rim to his lips. Then I went to the kitchen and poured myself another glass.

He’d taken off his baseball hat when I returned to the living room and was dragging his fingers through the dark strands of his hair. “Emily saw my truck parked outside.”

“What does that mean?” I took a seat beside him on the couch, curling my legs beneath me. After work, I’d put on a pair of leggings and a tee, having every intention of going for a run. Instead, I’d opted for this bottle of wine.

“We hooked up about a year ago,” he said. “She wanted it to be more. I didn’t. It was my mistake, but it happened. She knew the score. It was a one-time thing. Said she was good with it. Turns out . . .”

“She wasn’t.”

“Emily’s got a big mouth. Her family doesn’t like your grandpa much.”

“He told me.” Because of some small-town drama years ago. “It was fairly obvious from her article about me.”

“If she’s talking about us, other people will.”

“Ah. And you don’t want people to know.” Awesome. As if my ego hadn’t taken enough hits since I’d moved here. First from the station. Now from Griffin.

“It’s not that, Winn.”

“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. Not even a little bit. I took a long, necessary gulp of wine, wishing I’d gone for that run after all and missed this entire conversation.