“Final one,” I said, reaching for the envelope. “Most teams won’t finish this hunt, but thanks to your excellent sleuthing skills, we’ve got a solid shot at winning.”
I read our last clue, which had us searching for a piece of ice, of all things. I spotted a cooler and charged for it, determined to beat Zaila to the punch. However, in my haste, I slipped on a patch of wet grass. I grabbed for something to steady myself, but instead of finding support, I found Zaila’s hand. We went down in a tangle of limbs, sliding toward the lake and sending ice cubes flying everywhere.
Thankfully we stopped before reaching the water, and for a moment, we lay there, stunned. Then Zaila started laughing, and I did, too. After a moment, I realized how close we were, her body warm against mine.
“You know,” she said, her voice low, “you’re not very graceful on your feet.”
I grinned, making no move to get up. “I’m usually more coordinated, both on and off the ice.”
“I’d like to see you play again,” she replied, her eyes meeting mine.
When we finally stood and brushed ourselves off, I decided this corporate retreat had turned out far more entertaining than I could have imagined. As we walked towards the resort entrance, I glanced at Zaila. Maybe, these team-building exercises weren’t so bad after all.
Chapter 12
Zaila
When we began the scavenger hunt, the Texas sky had burned a brilliant, cloudless blue. But now at the end of it, a churning mess of dark gray clouds had boiled up from the horizon, and the wind began to howl like a banshee. The downpour hit as we hurried back to the resort’s main building.
I squealed as the rain pounded my skin with its stinging needles. Gunnar grabbed my hand and towed me toward a building I couldn’t make out through the sheets of rain, but once we entered, the musty smell and grass-covered tools informed me that we were in a garden shed. I heaved a sigh as I shoved my wet hair from my forehead. Looking out onto the resort grounds through the torrent of water, I felt a pang in my chest.
“It’s so pretty,” I breathed. “Like a blurry watercolor.”
“You mean a painting?” Gunnar asked. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the ends to get the strands dry.
“Yeah. Kind of dreamy. Like a…a…Susan Weintraub.”
“Who is Susan Weintraub?” Gunnar asked. “Should I know her?”
I shrugged. “Probably not. My daddy liked art, especially watercolors. Said it soothed him. I used to go with him when he toured galleries.”
“You, Zaila Monroe, continue to surprise me,” Gunnar murmured as he stared out at the downpour.
“Your suit’s clean, thanks to the rain.”
He barked a short laugh. “So it is. A bit of good to come out of what’s been an eventful day.” He paused. “You know, I never talk about my brother. Ever. But I mentioned him to you earlier today. It seemed so natural.”
I shoved my chilly hands into my pockets. The ambient temperature still had to be over eighty degrees, but this conversation had turned heavy, and I wasn’t prepared after the lightness of our day together. “You don’t have to say anything,” I murmured.
Gunnar turned to look at me, blinking as if to bring me back into focus. “That’s the thing; I want to, which has never happened before.” He shook his head, rubbing his large palm across the back of his neck. “I’m old enough to be your father.”
“Uh…not my dad. He was fifty when he adopted me. You’re not even fifty now.”
Gunnar offered that tiny lip flip I craved. “Getting close, though.”
“Whatever. You can claim age or maturity or…whatever, but you know what really matters? Connection. Respect. Intimacy.”
A clap of thunder shook the shed, and I yelped and shrank back, away from the opening.
Gunnar never flinched. “You don’t like thunder,” he said.
I shook my head. “Bad things happen during thunderstorms,” I whispered.
“Like what?”
I had only hazy memories of my time in the orphanage, but I had a clear memory of one of the older boys taking things from the little kids during storms. He often hit or pinched them, timing their cries with the claps of thunder, which allowed him to get away with his cruelty.
That wasn’t something I would share, though. “My dad was injured during a thunderstorm,” I said instead.
