Sophie:You’re the best :)
He’d skipped running with her this morning because he planned to work on his next mystery novel, and Sophie hated tearing him away.
Denver Grant moved home to Sunset Ridge last summer after finishing his enlistment in the Army. He’d stayed with his mom, the Whitmore sisters’ neighbor, Tillie, while he waited to close on a house in town. Before the restaurant at their inn opened, Tillie often dropped by with baked goods or sent Denver to deliver them, which meant Sophie saw him almost daily.
He’d become an unexpected friend—always there when she needed him, never demanding she owed him anything. Though Denver wasn’t shy about accepting a tub of cookies or whatever quirky notebook Sophie offered him in thanks. Best of all, he never pressured her for more than friendship. After the disaster that was her divorce almost two years ago, dating was off the table until Caroline graduated. If then.
From the beginning, Denver seemed to understand and respect that boundary.
Denver:Just a warning: this ride will cost you a brainstorming session.
Sophie:What is our fearsome Malcom up to these days?
Denver: He just found a second dead body. We’ll talk more soon. Get ready!
Sophie set the phone on her nightstand, feeling a tad more excitement than she would ever admit to Denver when it came to helping him plot his mystery novels. Though she doubted she had the ability or talent to write an entire book, she loved helping him talk through his. It felt as if they were creating magic together.
She tripped over Caroline’s wadded-up moose jammies on her way to the shower, now with less than seven minutes to rinse off and look presentable. “I’d kill to have my own bedroom again.”
Caroline deserved her own room, and Sophie was eager to have her privacy back. Sophie had the local realtor on the hunt for an affordable two-bedroom rental that her rail-thin budget could cover. She loved her daughter with the fierceness of a mama grizzly, but she’d kill not to get kicked in the back just one night by those strong little feet.
In the middle of towel-drying her hair, Sophie’s phone chimed announcing Denver’s arrival. She tossed her damp hair in a messy bun and opted out of makeup completely. The days of spending over an hour on her appearance to win any man’s approval were long behind her. The freeing thought made her smile.
Grabbing her phone, her eyes locked on the run tracker app Denver insisted she install when she first told him about her goal to run the Moose Days Festival marathon. He hadn’t asked to see it in a couple of weeks, and she hoped to distract him from taking a peek. He wouldn’t approve of the extra miles she’d been logging.
She found Denver standing by the ceiling-height windows in the main lobby, one hand on his hip, the other on his chin. It was his thinking pose, and she’d bet Caroline’s birthday party decorations he was pondering what to do about his lead character Malcom and that new dead body.
Denver turned at her approach. “Hey, Soph.” The sunlight glared off his reading glasses. He pulled them off, folding them into his shirt pocket. Sophie’s breath hitched at his smile, forcing her to drag her gaze away. “Ready to go?”
She looped her purse strap over her shoulder, taking an extra minute to check the pastry case along the back wall. Tessa’s new restaurant, Whitmore Patio, was closed Mondays and Tuesdays, but on those days she left fresh muffins and scones for the guests. Only one lemon poppyseed muffin and two raspberry scones remained.
“Soph?”
“Sure you don’t mind?” She wasn’t sure what it would take to rid herself of these irrational feelings. She wouldn’t jeopardize such an invaluable friendship, yet Denver’s presence left her nervous when at first it always felt comfortable.
“I’m sure.” His deep voice held a finality that signaled Sophie not to push, alleviating any chance to change her mind, or guilt she might feel for robbing him of his writing time.
“Sherlock at home?” Denver brought his dog along on firewood deliveries, but only on occasion to the lodge. Sherlock was a calm old soul, but a rabbit could awaken his inner puppy and cause calamity. Still, Caroline loved that goofy dog, and he was growing on Sophie as well.
“Had an encounter with a rabbit earlier. Rabbit won. He’ll be passed out till lunch.” Denver held the front door open, no longer allowing her to stall.
She wasn’t ready for the lecture from the man who’d completed three marathons. In his truck, she asked, “How many words today?” She hoped to forestall questions about her morning run for as long as possible. She needed those extra miles today, for her sanity.
“Two hundred and thirty-eight.”
“Then it’s a good thing I called.”
On the drive through town to the post office, the two talked about the dead body Denver’s fictional protagonist had stumbled upon unexpectedly. Since Malcolm was already investigating one murder, a second body was a bit of a conundrum. But he refused to write it out of the story. “Not yet anyway,” he told her. “It’s a rabbit hole I have to go down. I’ll axe it later if it doesn’t work.”
Sophie was in awe of Denver’s wondrous imagination. She could always count on it to distract her from any troubling thought.
“What’s at the post office?” Denver asked when they pulled into the tiny one-story building’s parking lot, tucked away in the farthest corner of town from the lodge.
“Caroline’s birthday party decorations, for one.” She didn’t have a typical little girl who fixated on Disney princesses or ponies. Finding moose-themed party decorations was considerably harder than she’d bargained, considering she lived in Alaska. As it was, these took two weeks to arrive. “I have to make sure what I ordered will actually work. The pictures online were . . . questionable.”
“There’s still a little more than a week.” Denver set the brake. “We can always make a run to Anchorage,” he offered, key in hand.
Sophie gave him a warm, grateful smile. “You’re too kind.”
