Page 16 of Working for the Mountain Man

"Small town, sweetheart. We know who's renting what and how long they're planning on staying." She’s already pouring my coffee. "You're working with Hugo's crew now, too, I hear."

"Word really does travel fast," I say.

She laughs. "Small towns, everyone knows everything."

Two men in work jackets are at the counter a few stools down, talking about the upper ridge culvert and whether the new grading will hold through the next storm.

"If Hugo says it'll hold, it'll hold," one of them says matter-of-factly. The complete faith they have in him is amazing and a sight to behold.

I have a feeling that Hugo has no idea how respected and valued he truly is.

I thank the waitress for my coffee as I pay her and head back to the office. Hugo looks at my boots the second I walk in.

"Good," he says. “Glad you got them.”

"Careful," I say. "That almost sounded like gloating."

He raises a brow as he watches me move through the office. I sit down at the desk and pull up the upper ridge culvert file, which is in nearly as bad a state as the south bridge was. I get to work and ignore the stupid smirk on his face.

Hugo is in and out, on calls, checking the weather, signing off on something Darnell brings him. Every time he comes back into the room, I’m aware of him; I can sense exactly where he is without looking up. At one point there’s a coffee at my elbow that wasn't there before; I didn’t see him bring it in, and he didn’t tell me.

It’s sweet that he thought of me and made the coffee exactly the way that I like it. I ignore the way my heart races at the gesture.

"Folder whisperer," Corey says, sticking his head around the door and sheepishly grinning at me. "Can you do my apartment next? I've got a closet that I can no longer see into."

"I charge in baked goods," I say with a smile, knowing that cleaning out his closet will be relaxing, not to mention that I’ll get an even better insight into who Corey is.

"Done. Marlene's pie okay?"

I nod. "Marlene's pie is always okay."

I notice Hugo’s ears get red and his shoulders tighten, but he doesn’t raise his head and look over at Corey and I. He’s focused on his work at his desk. He’s been quiet today and I have a feeling that it’s due to what happened yesterday.

By early afternoon I’m smiling like a crazy person because I finally managed to create a master index, one page, every site cross-referenced: site code, repair type, damagedate, photo count, crew hours, receipts, final inspection note, supplementary documentation if needed.

I’m so pleased with myself that when I show it to Hugo, I can barely contain my glee.

He looks at it for a long moment, scrolling, checking entries against ones he clearly has memorized. "This helps," he says. "A lot."

"That'll make the inspection easier," I say, still grinning. I don’t think I’ve ever been so damn proud of myself, at least not in a while.

"It will," he agrees.

My phone buzzes, and I glance at it without thinking, then I see it and my whole body goes cold in under a second. It is not a message this time, no, it’s a tag. Someone I don’t know, a complete stranger, has tagged me in a clip from Daniel's podcast that is apparently making the rounds again, it’s the part where he talks about needing someone "less emotional, less intense."

Underneath it, someone has commented:is this about u???with three crying laughing emojis, like my humiliation is content, like it is funny, like fourteen thousand people didn’t already hear this the first time.

My stomach drops, my hands go cold, and I can feel my face getting hotter. I know I’m about to either cry or laugh, and usually I’ve managed to laugh when this happens, but it takes effort. I lock the phone and set it face down, trying to ignore it.

"Daniel again?" Hugo asks.

How did he know it was Daniel? Oh, he saw my text earlier. Damn. "Technically it's the internet," I say. "Daniel just provides the source material." I sigh, and play with the hem of my top. "I hate that he can still do this," I say, before I can stop myself. "I hate that strangers have opinions about how I loved someone. I write happy endings for a living, Hugo. I write people falling in love and choosing each other and getting it right, and I missedevery single red flag in my own life. Every single one. I should have seen it coming and I didn't, and now apparently that's funny to people I've never met."

He is quiet for a second. "Do you want him blocked?" he asks. "That account, or whoever tagged you."

"I can do it myself."

"I know." He does not move to take the phone; he just waits, like he has all the time in the world, like there is nowhere else he needs to be.