“Insomnia disguised as discipline.”
She laughed again. That surprised, unguarded sound. He was developing an addiction to it.
They sat on the deck while the tide went out, the fishermen staggered home, and the bartender started stacking chairs around them. They talked about nothing important. Her college years in San Francisco. His first posting, which he described in the vaguest possible terms, and she didn’t push. The books they’d read. The places they’d been. The things they wanted but hadn’t admitted to anyone, because admitting them made them real, and real things could be lost.
When the bartender finally turned off the deck lights, they walked to the parking lot together. Her car was the lone car in the lot.
“Goodnight, Ronan.”
“Goodnight, Lila.”
She opened her car door. Stopped.
“For the record,” she said without turning around, “this is the best night I’ve had in two years.”
She got in and drove away before he could respond.
He stood in the parking lot with his keys in his hand, the taste of beer on his tongue, and the memory of her fingers laced through his, and thought: I am in so much trouble.
Chapter Six
Warren Caldwell's office occupied the top floor of the Caldwell Building on Main Street, a three-story brick structure that had housed the family's charitable foundation since 1962.
Lila had been inside a hundred times over the years. Birthday parties in the courtyard garden as a child. Scholarship interviews as a teenager. Foundation meetings as an adult, sitting at the long mahogany table while Warren and his board discussed grant applications and community projects.
Today, the familiar space felt different. Smaller, somehow. More claustrophobic.
She was shown into Warren's private office by his assistant, a polished woman in her fifties who offered coffee and disappeared. When Lila stepped into Warren's office, she was surprised to find they were not alone.
Harrison Montgomery rose from one of the leather chairs near the window, setting aside a coffee cup. Silver hair caught the afternoon light, and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that had always reminded her of her grandfather.
"Lila." He crossed the room and took both her hands in his. "I was just telling Warren how impressed I've been with the centennial preparations. You've done remarkable work."
"Thank you, Mr. Montgomery."
"Harrison. Please." His grip was warm, his gaze genuinely kind. "I've known you since you were in pigtails, running around your father's office." Something softened in his expression. "Daniel would be so proud of what you've accomplished. Your mother, too. They would both be proud."
The mention of her parents hit harder than she expected. Harrison had been to her father’s funeral. He had spoken at her father's memorial service, his voice steady when everyone else's had broken.
"Thank you," she managed. "That means a lot."
"Well." Harrison squeezed her hands once and released them. "I'll let you two discuss business. Warren tells me there are some exciting opportunities on the horizon for you, Lila. I hope you'll give them serious consideration." He nodded to Warren. "Lunch next week?"
"Looking forward to it."
Harrison paused at the door, turning back with that grandfatherly smile. "The centennial is going to be wonderful. I can feel it." And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
Lila stood in the sudden quiet, processing. Harrison Montgomery had always been a fixture of her childhood - the man who donated the playground equipment at the elementary school, who funded scholarships for local students, who showed up at every community event with a handshake and a kind word.
If Warren Caldwell was the power behind Blossom Springs, Harrison was its heart.
"Please, sit." Warren gestured to the chair Harrison had vacated. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Water?"
She shook her head. "No, thank you."
She sat. Folded her hands in her lap. Tried to look like someone who wasn't silently cataloging every document visible on his desk, every name on the spines of the books, every detail that might matter.
His name keeps appearing, Ronan had said. Adjacent to everything.
