"Good to know," Savannah responds.
Griff clears his throat with obvious intention, breaking the moment before it can get too charged for public consumption. "I'll be at the Henderson site all day if anyone needs me."
He heads for the door, grabbing his work boots and tool belt on the way out.
Xavier sets down his coffee mug and pulls a face. "I have appointments until six. Dinner's on your own tonight."
"We'll survive," I reply.
"Will you? Because your track record with independent meal planning is questionable at best," Xavier points out.
"I can handle feeding two adults for one day," I insist.
"Can you handle it without giving anyone food poisoning?" Xavier asks.
"Fuck off, Doc," I retort.
But there's no heat in it, and Xavier's mint scent carries affection beneath his professional concern. He grabs his medical bag and heads for the door, pausing to look back at us with an expression I can't quite read.
"Have fun on your tour," Xavier says to Savannah, and there's something loaded in his tone that makes my chest tight.
Then they're both gone, leaving Savannah and me alone in the kitchen with the weight of eight years of history hanging between us like smoke.
"So," she says, finishing her terrible coffee with admirable determination. "Where does this tour start?"
"Wherever you want to see first?" I ask.
"The coffee shop that used to be Peterson's Hardware. I need to see what progress looks like in Pine Hollow," Savannah decides.
"Give me five minutes to change," I say, suddenly aware that I'm wearing yesterday's jeans and a flannel shirt that's seen better days.
"You look fine," Savannah tells me.
The words hit me harder than they should, carrying something warm that makes my skin feel too tight. "Yeah?"
Her brown eyes do a quick sweep from my face down to my boots and back up, and I catch the way her pupils dilate slightly. "The lumberjack look works for you."
Heat crawls up my neck, and I have to resist the urge to preen under her attention like some kind of peacock. "Lumberjack look?"
"Flannel shirt, work boots, general air of rugged competence," Savannah explains.
"Like a mountain man?" I ask.
"In a good way." She sets down her empty mug and moves toward the hallway. "I should grab a jacket. It's cold out there."
"Savannah?" I call out.
She turns back, eyebrows raised in question.
"You look more than fine too," I tell her.
Pink floods her cheeks, and her vanilla bourbon scent spikes with something warm and pleased. "Thanks."
We parked and start walking down Main Street in the kind of crisp October air that makes your breath fog and your cheeks sting. Pine Hollow spreads around us like a picture postcard, the mountains rising on all sides in layers of blue and purple and white. Snow clings to the pine branches and sparkles on the sidewalks, and the whole town looks like something from a Christmas movie.
Savannah's wearing a navy peacoat that probably cost more than my monthly salary, stylish and sleek, but more suited for Denver’s crisp Octobers than the chilly bite of the mountains.Her hands are buried in her pockets, shoulders drawn in just enough to show she feels the cold, and I have to resist the urge to pull her close, if only to share a little warmth.
"It really is beautiful here," she says, her breath creating small clouds in the frigid air. "I'd forgotten how the light looks different in the mountains."
