She hesitated, then swiped to answer. “Hello?”
“Did they make it?” Cal’s voice was a low, smooth drawl, devoid of the previous night’s pouting edge. He sounded like the man from brunch again—warm, polished, and entirely focused on her.
“They just arrived, Cal. They’re beautiful. How did you know peonies were my favorite?”
“I didn’t,” he admitted, and she could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “I just told the florist to send the most beautiful flower he had for the most beautiful girl in the county. It felt like a safe bet.”
Izzy leaned against the porch rail, her gaze drifting down toward the barn where she could see Grant’s dark silhouette moving restlessly in the shadows.
“They’re a lot, Cal. Thank you.”
“Isabella, look,” Cal’s tone shifted, becoming soft and contrite. “I’m so sorry about last night. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I hate that we left things the way we did. I let my ego get the better of me because I didn’t want the night to end. Can I start over today? I’d like to make it up to you. Let me take you to lunch at the Lodge. No fathers, no ‘associates,’ just us.”
Izzy bit her lip. She looked at the peonies, then back at the barn. Grant was currently treating her like a problem to be solved, while Cal was treating her like a prize to be won. Even if Cal was a “Hollis,” even if he was entitled, he was offering her a version of herself that didn’t feel broken.
Grant was still down there, probably mucking stalls with a vengeance. If she tried to have Cal pick her up at the house, it would be a bloodbath.
“I’d love to, Cal,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum. “But I actually have a few things to take care of this morning. I promised myself I’d hit that little shop on Main—Lulu’s—to pick up some things before I… well, before Idecide what my next move is. How about I meet you at the Lodge in two hours? I’ll drive myself.”
“I could just pick you up,” Cal pressed, his voice silky. “Save you the trouble.”
“I need the air, Cal. Truly. The mountain roads in a convertible? It’s the only thing that clears my head.”
A beat of silence. “Alright. The Lodge. Two hours. I’ll have a table on the terrace waiting.”
She hung up. She looked at the peonies—beautiful, expensive, and a perfect distraction. She moved the vase to the center of the kitchen table where it couldn’t be missed, then hurried to her room.
She wasn’t supposed to leave. Burke had been clear. Grant had been clearer. But Izzy was no longer the woman who took orders from men in starched shirts or dusty boots. And if she backed off now, Clara stayed buried. Izzy wasn’t built to walk away from a woman who never got the chance.
She traded her workout gear for a pair of slim-fit black trousers and a silk blouse the color of a bruised plum. She grabbed her oversized sunglasses, slid her phone into her pocket, and snatched her keys. She wasn’t leaving her independence behind.
She slipped out the side door, staying low as she moved toward the gravel pad where her silver BMW was parked. The engine turned over. She didn’t look toward the barn. She didn’t wait for a “clear” signal.
She eased the car into gear and rolled down the drive, the wind hitting her face as she cleared the Scott property line.
Tomorrow was the day she was supposed to fly back to Denver. She was supposed to go back to a gallery that wasn’t hers and a life that felt like a curated lie. But Marcus had taken the choice away, and in doing so, he’d given her something else.
Freedom.
She wasn’t going back. Not until she knew what happened to Clara. Not until she saw the look on Wade Hollis’s face when the truth finally climbed the mountain.
She accelerated as she hit the main road toward Sylva, the silver convertible a streak against the deep green of the pines.
Back at the barn, the sound of the silver BMW’s exhaust reached Grant’s ears. It was faint, but distinct.
He froze, a pitchfork full of shavings mid-air. He knew that sound.
“No,” he whispered.
He dropped the fork and ran for the barn doors, just in time to see the flash of silver disappear around the bend of Scott Valley Road.
“Izzy!”
He stood in the middle of the drive. He reached for his phone, his thumb hovering over her name, then stopped.
She was in the convertible. She was heading for town. And if he called her now, she’d just turn it off.
“Naomi!” he roared, turning back toward the barn.
