“Good.”
The word leaves me gruffer than intended.
Her nose scrunches. “You mean like that Mountain Mates site?”
“Would that be better than my post?”
“No.”
The word comes too fast.
For a second something sharp flashes across her face.
Jealousy.
Which makes absolutely no sense.
She’s a stranger who ventured up my mountain with a violin case and a stubborn streak she can’t hide.
Still…
I make a quiet mental note of it, ruffling my hair with my hand. “And what do you think of their talk? The gossip about me… marrying a stranger?”
She shrugs. “Let them talk.”
I stand back on my heels. Plainspoken. Direct.
I like her.
Snow sweeps across the ridge in a heavy wave, visibility evaporating.
“Why this position?” I ask. “You’re young. Capable. You could work anywhere.”
“I prefer structure,” she says. “And quiet.”
“You think this is quiet?”
“I think it can be.”
My shoulder pulses once beneath the flannel. I ignore that, too. “You’re aware I declined the festival this year,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And that decision isn’t negotiable.”
“I’m not here to negotiate it.”
“Then what are you here for?”
“To work.”
The answer is simple. Unadorned.
“You’d handle the physical aspects of the property as well?” I grumble. “Snow? Wood? Repairs when needed?”
The words are more bluster than anything else. A test of her determination.
“Yes.”
