The warmth seeped into Gracie’s fingers as she wrapped her hands around her cup.
“I guess this place is also our competition,” he mused, sipping his tea.
“In a way, but Atticus has a vibe all its own,” she told him. “It’s the embodiment of Park City, which is still a little bit historic mining town and a little bit upscale ski haven. Also, this time of year? Brace yourself. We go all-in.”
He looked around, his expression thoughtful. “It’s funny. I didn’t think I’d like that kind of thing—small-town festivals, neighbors who know your middle name. But I do. It’s… charming. And it’s been so good for Olivia. She loves it here, you know.”
Gracie smiled. “She’s a great kid. All I’ve ever wanted for Benny was a good friend and she absolutely fits the bill.”
He nodded, swirling his tea absently. “He’s a perfect, sensible foil for her tendency toward wild fantasies.”
Like Marshall and Gracie falling in love and getting married.
She just smiled and they sat quiet for a moment, the soft hum of conversation around them. Taking a sip, Gracie found herself studying his face—the strong line of his jaw, the dimple that appeared when he smiled, the gentleness in his eyes. Right then, she just wanted to know more about him.
“I know you played for Pittsburgh, but is that where you grew up?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Across the state in Philadelphia, actually. Born and raised in the city. My mom worked two very demanding, physical jobs—hospital aid and waitress. I spent a lot of time on my own. Not a lot of chill places to hang out, so I found the football field.”
“Once again, sports saves the day.”
“Did it ever,” he said. “Football gave me focus. Something to chase that didn’t involve getting into trouble.”
Gracie leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. “You must have worked really hard to play professionally. I can’t imagine the dedication that takes.”
He shrugged, but there was pride in his eyes. “I figured out by tenth grade that if I hustled hard enough, I could get a scholarship. Penn State came calling when I was seventeen. Best day of my life.”
She smiled. “Until the Steelers, right?”
His laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. “Yeah, that was surreal. My mom cried for a week straight. I thought I’d made it. Then I learned fame’s a funny thing—it gives you everything except the stuff you really need.”
Gracie tilted her head. “Like what?”
He looked at her, serious. “Peace. Stability. Trust.”
Something in his tone made her chest tighten. “You have that now, though,” she said. “At least I hope you do.”
He gave her a small, grateful smile. “I do. Thanks to Olivia. And this town.”
“What brought you here?” she asked. “Why Park City?”
“I knew people who had second homes here and I’d visited,” he said. “I like the winter vibe, although after having spent a year here, and experiencing the other seasons? I like the year-round vibe, to be honest. Hiking, biking, skiing, and I have what looks like a great business. Long way to go,” he added quickly. “But I’ll get there.”
She considered asking about the business, but she didn’t want to get back into their competition for customers. This was too easy and fun with no “work” in the mix.
“You definitely have a local feel, Gracie,” he said. “Born and raised in these mountains, I presume?”
She nodded. “I’ve never lived anywhere but here. My family’s owned Snowberry Lodge for three generations. Park City was my home long before the Sundance Film Festival brought all you celebrity types here.”
“It’s still a great small town.” He glanced around again. “I like the predictability of the place. That sense of, I don’t know, everything you need is right here. I like festivals and events.” He lifted his brows. “If Eleanor finds out, I’ll be on the next committee because I won’t be able to say no.”
She smiled, caught off guard by how sincere he sounded. “So, you’re a softie, huh?”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he said. “Ruins my tough-guy image.”
They both laughed and sipped their drinks until Marshall leaned back in his chair. “Would it be super out of line for me to ask about Benny’s dad? I mean, since we’re trading origin stories.”
Gracie hesitated, tracing a finger along her mug’s rim. She wasn’t used to talking about Sam, not like this. But something about Marshall—his open, steady gaze, the way he wasn’t prying, justlistening—made it feel just fine.
