“First class and a car service? Fancy. Spoil me once and I might get used to it,” I tease.
“You better. See you on our video call tonight. Wear that thing I like.”
I rack my brain for any hints he might’ve dropped in the past two weeks, but come up empty. “What thing?”
“Nothing.” His deliciously deep voice slides into my ear like a caress, then the call ends.
The best non-goodbye ever.
Chapter Fourteen
CATE
The plans are made and in motion. Everything is in order. Hope will water my plants and do a general, off-hours check inside the building twice a week. Bookkeeping and payroll I can continue to do from the road because Grüsh said there’ll be plenty of opportunity for me to have internet connection.
I’ve promoted Jane to assistant manager and she’s ready to take on the weekly inventorying and ordering duties for the bar. She’ll also handle last-minute scheduling changes in real time, though I’ve talked with all the staff about vacations and other requested days off, and there’s a preliminary schedule in place for the next two months.
But things happen unexpectedly and sometimes quickly. I’m living proof of that.
A few weeks ago, I was firmly ensconced in my routine, control-freak life as a bar owner and operator in Harmony Glen. Haunted and bitter about the past. Single with no intention of giving anyone access to my heart again.
Now I’ve handed off care of my business to an employee and handed my heart back to Grüsh. Two suitcases stand beside meon the sidewalk, and when the car service gets here, I’ll be on my way to spend the summer traveling the country with the only person I’ve ever wanted to go through life with.
I’ll miss Hope and the baby. But Grüsh promised we’d make time to be here with our family, this summer and beyond. Even without his reassuring words, I know everything will be okay. As it’s meant to be, finally.
Even though I’m getting better at “being soft,” I insisted on being alone when the car picks me up. No crying in front of anyone until they’re happy tears because we’re all together again.
A sleek black Mercedes sedan with heavily tinted windows pulls into the service laneway at the rear of the bar. No logos anywhere. No taxi sign on the roof. Definitely not an Uber.
When Grüsh said “car service,” he meant limousine. Which shouldn’t surprise me, given his level of success and fame. And wealth, though I never look at him and think about any of that. I just see the handsome troll I’ve always known and loved. The man I’ve wanted to spend my life with since we met on a rock in the hills outside of town. If that meant living modestly in a secluded cave together, I’d be just as happy as integrating with Grüsh’s life of luxury.
A well-groomed human man in a nicely tailored suit exits the driver’s door and comes around the front of the car. “Ms. Beaufort, I’m Tomas, and I’ll be driving you today,” he says, handing me a business card. His full name and employee number are printed on the front in glossy, embossed ink.
A handwritten note covers the back.
See you soon. Then forever.
Grüsh’s distinctive handwriting brings a smile to my lips. The blue ink is definitely from a pen, not a printer. He must’ve sent the card by courier.
“Just the two suitcases, Ms. Beaufort, or are there more inside?”
“Just these.” I tuck the card into my pocket as the driver opens the rear door for me. “Thank you.”
Reclining against the plush leather, I watch the goings-on of Lakeview Avenue through the window as we drive south. People going in and out of City Hall, others enjoying a summer morning in the picturesque town square with its charming center fountain.
We should continue on Lakeview Avenue all the way around the bottom of the lake, then follow it northbound out of town, but at Verdant Street, we make a right turn. When the driver doesn’t turn left at the next corner to course correct, I lean forward, my hand on the backrest of the front seat.
“You’ll need to turn left at Harmony Road,” I say. “From there, I can direct you back to Lakeview Ave North.”
“Those aren’t my route directions, Ms. Beaufort.”
A knot forms in my stomach as we pass the Harmony Road cross street, then sail past Ogram’s farm and Harmony Market a few minutes later.
“Ithaca is east of Harmony Glen, and we’re going west.”
“We’re not going to Ithaca,” the driver says, smiling at me in the rearview mirror.
I pull out my phone and go to the electronic ticket. Departing from Rochester. In all my hustle and bustle to get things for the bar organized, I didn’t even look at the details on the itinerary, just the times. Rochester is twice the distance. It’d make sense if the flight was a nonstop, but it’s not. There’s a layover, just like there would’ve been if I’d flown out of Ithaca.
