Page 67 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

“That’s fair.”

Jonah returned to the gear.

I stayed on the porch with a book I didn’t read.

He worked without the easy conversation we’d developed over the previous days. When he needed something from the cabin, he came inside, took it, and left without brushing his hand over my waist or stopping to kiss me.

By noon, the heat pressed against the cabin windows.

I warmed leftover pasta while Jonah washed his hands at the sink.

He sat across from me and ate everything on his plate.

“Do you think I’m like him?” I asked.

Jonah lowered his fork.

“I think you did something he does.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I don’t think you’re like your father.”

“Only in the bad ways.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His voice sharpened. “Don’t turn one thing I’m angry about into a verdict on your entire character.”

I pushed a piece of pasta across my plate.

“That sounded almost supportive.”

“I’m still angry.”

“I noticed.”

“You can be wrong without becoming a terrible person.”

I raised my head.

“Is that something you learned from Cade?”

“It’s something you taught me about Cade.”

Jonah took another bite of pasta.

“You’re using my material,” I said.

“It works.”

“I don’t know how to prove tomorrow isn’t about rebellion,” I said.

“You can’t prove a future today.”

“I hate that answer.”