“Well,” she said quietly, picking up the menu. “That felt like more than a coincidence.”
Cal leaned back, studying her.
“Don’t take it personal,” he said. “He does that.”
Izzy looked at him over the edge of the menu.
“Does what?”
“Find what he likes,” he said. “And decide it’s his.”
A beat.
“He’ll circle back.”
Outside, the mountains stretched wide and quiet under the low, heavy sky.
Beautiful.
Still.
And suddenly—not quite as harmless as they’d looked on the drive up.
* * *
Cal was saying something about the course—membership, waiting lists, who owned what stretch of land.
Izzy nodded.
Didn’t hear a word of it.
Because all she could feel?—
was Grant’s hands.
Warm. Rough. Sliding under her shirt like he had every right to be there.
Her grip tightened around her glass.
And then—his face that morning.
Cold. Controlled. Like none of it had mattered.
“—Izzy?”
She blinked.
Cal was watching her.
“You with me?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Sorry. Just… taking it all in.”
Cal smiled faintly. “Happens.”
He reached for his coffee?—
—and a shadow fell across the table.
