I WOKE TO THE SMELLof coffee and the knowledge that I'd royally screwed up my revenge plan.
The guest room was too comfortable—plush bed, soft sheets, morning light streaming through windows that overlooked snow-covered pines. Everything in Gil's cabin was perfect. Expensive. A reminder that he had everything while I had nothing.
Less than nothing, actually. The thought hit me like a fist to the stomach. I'd spent my last $847 last night. Every penny. The money that was supposed to cover this week's food truck supplies and next month's rent was now sitting in the veterans' center fund. By this time next week, I wouldn't be able to buy coffee beans or flour. In two weeks, I'd be facing an eviction notice.
I sat up, pulse racing. What the hell had I been thinking?
Revenge, that's what. Make him fall, destroy him publicly, make him feel a fraction of what I'd felt watching him build his empire on my family's bones.
Except he'd stopped. In the hot tub, when I'd been ready to seal the deal and move my plan forward, he'd pulled back. Saidhe wanted me "completely here." Brought up the age gap like it mattered.
Which meant... what? That he actually cared whether I was emotionally present? That he wasn't just looking for an easy weekend hookup?
That couldn't be right. Gil Pruitt was a developer. A man who'd bought my family's lodge and turned it into his personal luxury playground. He wasn't supposed to have a conscience.
But the way he'd looked at me last night. The way he'd made me come apart with his mouth and then stopped himself from taking what I was offering. That wasn't playboy behavior. That was...
No. I couldn't think about that. Couldn't let myself see him as anything other than the enemy.
I threw off the covers and padded to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection looked tired—green eyes slightly bloodshot, auburn hair a disaster, freckles standing out against pale skin.
Focus, Ruby. You didn't come this far to lose your nerve now.
I pulled on the jeans I'd worn yesterday and found a cream cable-knit sweater in my overnight bag, pulled my hair into a French braid over one shoulder, and opened the bedroom door.
Coffee's rich scent hit me immediately, making my mouth water. I followed it toward the kitchen and stopped short.
Gil stood at the stove, his back to me. Joggers slung low on his hips, deep green flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, hair damp from a shower. He flipped something in a pan—eggs, from the smell—moving through his kitchen with easy confidence.
Heat pooled low in my belly before my brain could catch up. My skin prickled with awareness, the urge to touch him nearly overwhelming.
Stop it. He's the enemy. Remember that.
Except my traitorous body didn't seem to care what my brain remembered.
"Coffee's fresh," Gil said without turning around. "Mugs are in the cabinet to your right."
I poured myself a cup, wrapped both hands around it, and leaned against the counter. Silence stretched between us—not comfortable, but loaded. Heavy with everything we'd almost done last night, everything that remained unfinished.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked, finally turning to look at me.
"No." The word came out sharper than I intended. "You?"
"Not at all." His eyes met mine, and something electric passed between us before he looked away. "Hungry?"
"Sure."
He plated food for both of us—scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttered toast. Set everything on the small dining table by the windows. We sat across from each other, and I tried not to notice how the flannel stretched across his shoulders, how the morning light caught the salt-and-pepper in his hair, how the stubble on his jaw made him look rugged instead of unkempt.
Stop. Noticing.
I ate mechanically, tasting nothing. Every time our eyes met, electricity sparked between us. Every accidental brush of our knees under the table made my breath catch.
The tension was unbearable.
"Ruby, about last night—" he started.
"Let's go see the property." I cut him off, pushing back from the table. "You promised me a tour."
