“I’m divorced,” she said.
“Same,” he replied. “Eight years. How many for you?”
“Ten.” She searched his face, wondering about the woman he’d married…and divorced.
“It’s hard,” he said softly. “People talk about divorce so casually, but it’s like a death. Grief lasts a long time. At least it did for me,” he added quickly. “I don’t know if it was the same for you.”
The same? She wasstillgrieving the loss of Jack Kessler. “It wasn’t easy,” she admitted.
“You ever consider remarrying?” he asked.
“Too busy,” she replied. “Also, too old.”
He laughed and shook his head. “You are not. But I get the busy. Sometimes I think I just worked really hard to fill the dead space.”
“Do you have kids?” She didn’t know why she was asking personal questions, but she was curious.
“I have two sons,” he said. “One is close and does a lot of business with me. The other is…estranged.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That has to be difficult.”
He gave a tight smile. “I keep hoping, but…we’ll see.” He shifted in his seat. “Tell me more about the lodge.”
“I suppose you want to know fixed operating expenses, overhead, variable per room costs. That kind of thing.”
“Someday I will,” he said. “But now, I’d like to know the history, and how it got so charming. Tell me about your grandparents, and your father. The reason people come and whythey stay. The legends, the ghost stories, the famous guests, and what makes the place…sticky.”
“Sticky?” She drew back, not expecting to be asked about any of that. “My sister’s overuse of bacon fat makes it sticky.”
He laughed. “I mean what keeps people coming back. Obviously, the food’s good.”
“The food’s amazing,” she said. “The staff is small—just Nina and Pedro, a wonderful couple who have worked for us for seven or eight years. They keep the place clean and running in tip-top shape. I think they’ll want to retire soon, so there’s that issue. What else did you ask? Legends? Well, during the 2002 Olympics, Bode Miller stayed at Snowberry Lodge, but he and my ex-husband were friends.”
He lifted a brow. “Really?”
“Jack, my ex, was an Olympic-level skier. Bode was probably our most famous guest. Ghosts? None that I know of, but lots of folks who stay in Cabin Four say they hear singing in the middle of the night.” She gave a conspiratorial smile. “I don’t have the heart to tell them it’s the water heater.”
He chuckled, and with each passing moment, she grew more relaxed. Could this guy be for real? Could he truly have that kind of cash to give Snowberry?
Well, not give.Invest. She couldn’t forget that this money wasn’t free.
He asked more questions, told her a little bit about himself and where some of his other investments were in Utah and other places in the West, talking until their coffee grew cold.
Finally, they both leaned back for a mutual and comfortable goodbye.
“I’d love to visit the lodge again,” he said as they stood. “Can I call you?” He handed her his cell phone. “Just type in your number.”
She looked down, forced her aging eyes to focus, and saw “Cindy at Snowberry” on a white screen. It seemed harmless and sweet, plus Gracie knew him. She could show him the lodge again, couldn’t she? That wasn’t…committing.
She typed in her number and handed the phone back to him, their hands brushing.
The reaction that Cindy felt was all too real and, once again, familiar.
“You remind me of someone,” she confessed, now comfortable enough to say that to him. “Are you sure we’ve never met?”
“I would remember,” he said with just a sweet enough smile to make her feel…seen. “I’ll call you, Cindy.”
When was the last time a man said those words to her? Well, probably after her last fight with the county inspector over that roofing permit. The roof that would have to be replaced…with money she didn’t have.
