Her car died on a dark mountain road. Timber Ridge found her anyway.
Gemma wasn’t supposed to end up here. She was supposed to be driving to Denver, running from a life that looked perfect on paper and felt like a costume she couldn’t take off. But a dead alternator had other plans.
One night. One small town. One grumpy general store owner who builds everything with his own hands, stocks his shelves like he’s keeping the whole town alive, and looks at her like she’s a disruption he didn’t ask for and can’t stop thinking about.
Nate Garrett doesn’t rent the room upstairs. He doesn’t pour whiskey for strangers after closing. He doesn’t stay up past midnight talking to a woman who’s leaving in the morning.
He does all of it for her.

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