I liked being with her far too much.
Having her out at the cabin shifted things for me. Before, I was perfectly fine being up here alone. Now, the silence starts to grate on me, and I find myself glancing over at the other chair in the sitting room, expecting to see her there with me.
Which is ridiculous. She was only here for two days.
“Hello?”
“Evan,” a breathless voice says, and I am not a fan of the way my chest tightens in response to the sound of it. “Can you meet me in town tomorrow? I’ve been doing some research, and I think I have a plan.”
“Tomorrow?” I echo. “No. I go to town on Saturdays.”
“Well, move some things around,” she says, voice light. “It’s the only day I can come. And you’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”
Part of me still doesn’t believe that she’s right about McKay Capital Management having a good plan to take the land this time. But another part of me—the one run by gut feelings—says that a woman like that might just know what she’s talking about.
And after she left, I set up the internet satellite to do a little sleuthing on her.
Wicked smart, she earned her bachelor’s degree in only three years, then went on to get her law degree. She worked in New York City for a year before returning to Colorado and settling down in Denver, where she earned her MBA before taking an internship, then a job with McKay.
Her LinkedIn profile shows her in a much different light than how I saw her while she was here at the cabin. Smoothed, shining. Her hair is pin-straight, and her chest is covered by a blouse and a blazer. The kind of white smile that would normally make a shiver run down my back, if I didn’t know any better.
It was strange to think that her life in Denver could be so different from how she acted here. And yet, I find myself thinking about both versions of her, wanting to know more about who she is in the city, too.
“Fine,” I relent, and then, before I bring up what happened between us, try to do the adult thing, Amy takes a quick breath.
“Great!” she says, then goes muffled, like she’s talking to someone else. Returning to me, she says, “See you then!”
Not even a formal goodbye.
Maybe that’s how she is—a city girl who doesn’t care about this sort of thing. But I was raised to show a certain level of respect to a woman after being together, and I’ve chafed against the knowledge that she up and left that morning before I could make her breakfast or even walk her to her car.
For the rest of the day on Friday, I go back and forth on whether I should bring her flowers. On one hand, I want to treat her right. On the other, I don’t want her to think I’m taking this more seriously than she is.
When I walk into the diner Saturday morning, I’ve settled on something else.
“A pine cone?” Amy asks, her eyes darting up to mine when I sit down. Although I saw her in my cabin wearing casual clothes, she looks sexy in her work attire. I clear my throat, gesturing to the pine cone as I set it on the table.
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I do. I do.” She’s laughing, and I can’t help the little spark of joy that catches in my chest at the sight of her enjoying my gift. “It’s—uh, cute.”
“Cute,” I return, raising an eyebrow at her, and she laughs again.
The waitress appears, taking our drink orders—a water with lemon for her, a black coffee for me—and Amy sighs, setting down her menu as the waitress goes to fetch it.
“Downtown is cute, but I can’t believe there’s not a good coffee shop here.”
The renovation will include a coffee shop, if they ever finish it. I ignore the urge to tell her about it, like it matters how much she likes Granite Peaks.
“So what do you have to tell me?” I ask instead, lowering my voice and glancing around the place. I’m already on edge, being in town on the wrong day, and the last thing I need is for one of the locals to overhear this conversation and run to the gossip mill with new fodder.
“Well,” she says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a tablet, which she sets in the middle of the table, face up. “I’ve been looking into your dilemma, and I think the pinch point is thetown council. We need to figure out a way for you to get these people on your side.”
I raise my eyebrows. “These people?”
“Leticia Gates, retiree. River Carpenter, town mayor. Beverly Munoz, ski resort manager. Brendon Wickes, local baker. And Kendra Prentice, high school English teacher.”
“I know who they are,” I grumble, shifting uncomfortably. I know who they are, and up until this moment, I thought they all liked me enough to vote that I keep my land. Well, maybe except for Brandon Wickes and Kendra Prentice—both nearer to my age. I haven’t spoken to either of them since we were in school together over a decade ago.
