SHE PICKED AT HER GRILLEDcheese, managed maybe two bites, then carried her bowl to the sink without a word. I watched her rinse the dish—the water running too long, her movements distracted—then set it in the drainer.
She drifted to the living room windows and stood there watching dusk settle over the ridgeline. The gray sweater I'd given her earlier hung loose on her frame, sleeves pushed up to her elbows now. Her reflection in the darkening glass looked small and lost.
The fire crackled behind me. Outside, the last of the daylight was bleeding away—purple and orange streaking the sky above the mountains. We'd been circling each other all afternoon. Ever since she'd dismissed what happened earlier today as "fun." Ever since I'd realized she was running from something she wouldn't name.
The silence between us felt different than last night's tension. Heavier. More final.
I could try confronting her again—demand answers about why she kept pushing me away at every turn. But we'd essentially had that conversation yesterday. Different words, same result. It hadn't worked then. It wouldn't work now.
Sometimes you had to stop pushing and try something else entirely.
"I want to show you something," I said quietly. "At the main building."
She didn't turn around. "What?"
"Something I've been working on. Something that matters." I stood, grabbed my coat from where I'd left it draped over a chair. "Please. Just... come see it."
A long pause. I could see her reflection in the window—jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
Then: "Fine."
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, pulled it on while I waited.
THE TEMPERATURE HADdropped hard with the sun. Cold bit through my jacket as we stepped outside, and fresh snow had started falling—small insistent flakes that meant business, not the lazy drifting from last night.
Ruby walked beside me maintaining careful distance, hands shoved deep in her pockets. Our boots crunched on the path. The property was beautiful at dusk—lights glowing from cabin windows scattered through the pines, the main building lit up against the darkening sky. I'd designed it this way deliberately. Wanted it to feel welcoming. Like home.
But Ruby wasn't looking at any of it. She stared straight ahead, jaw set, clearly debating whether she'd made a mistake agreeing to come with me.
We passed the spa building—steam rising from the outdoor pools, a few guests visible through the windows in white robes. The smell of chlorine and eucalyptus drifted on the cold air.
"When you have enough capital and the right contractors, things move quickly," I said, more to fill the silence thananything. "And I was motivated. This was going to be my last project—I wanted to get it right."
"Your last project," she repeated quietly. "You said that last night too. Why is that?"
I stuffed my hands deeper in my pockets, felt the cold seeping through the fabric. "Tired, I guess. Twenty years of moving from property to property, development to development. Never staying anywhere long enough for it to feel like home. Always chasing the next deal, the next acquisition."
The words came easier in the darkness somehow. "At some point you realize the deals don't fill the void. They just create new ones."
She was quiet for a moment. Then: "What void?"
I should have deflected. Changed the subject. But something about walking beside her in the falling snow made honesty feel easier than evasion.
"The one left by people who mattered," I said. "The one that comes from building an empire but having no one to share it with."
I felt her gaze on me but didn't look over. Didn't want to see whatever expression she was wearing—pity or judgment or worse, understanding.
We reached the main building. The night manager looked up from behind the desk and nodded as I led Ruby through the quiet lobby. Our footsteps echoed on the stone floor. The massive fireplace was banked for the night, embers glowing but the flames died down. Late Saturday—most guests were either at dinner or settled in their cabins for the evening.
Ruby's gaze traveled over everything with that same unreadable expression.
Down the hallway. Past the contracted dining area that served adequate but uninspired food. To the double doors at the end that I unlocked with a different key.
My hand hesitated on the light switch.
This was it. The gamble. Show her what I'd built and hope it meant something to her. Hope she saw the vision instead of just expensive equipment. Hope she understood what I was really offering.
I flipped on the lights.
