Page 91 of On One Condition

“Sometimes. Not often. I’m not a fan of opening if it’s not perfect.” I shrug, enjoying seeing her here in something so luxurious. It suits her. “Sometimes we have to, though. The guests would never know . . . but I would.”

“A perfectionist.”

“To a fault.” Just like my father.

A month ago, that would have filled me with a sense of pride. Now? I’m still struggling with how it makes me feel.

But I have the best distraction I can think of. Asher.

We move through the resort. I show her the gift shops with empty racks because the merchandise is en route. We go through each wing with me spouting more information that I’m not sure she even cares about, but she lets me without looking bored. She sighs when she sees each of the four pools. She sinks down onto a couch in front of a soon-to-be working firepit, which has been placed in a dome-shaped room made completely of glass.

“It’ll be incredible when it’s snowing outside and you can sit here by the fire. You’ll be warm but feel like you’re outside.”

“That was the hope,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving her while she looks at everything else.

Finished in a month.

When that month passes, what then, Sharpe? What happens to whatever this is? How do you hold on to something that isn’t yours and who has a life of her own here?

It’s not part of the ten-year plan.

She’s never even been on the plan and yet . . . I don’t know. I just don’t know.

What if I don’t want to move that goalpost just yet?

Confusion swirls in my head. Things I want. Those I thought I wanted. And then her—the unexpected.

I shake my head as I study her. She’s snuggled into the chair, her neck resting on its back, her eyes closed.

Asher.

She makes me feel things.

Want things.

This was supposed to be a fun way to pass the time while I’m stuck here. A relationship rooted in physicality.

Who the fuck was I kidding?

And how can a connection that began over seventeen years ago still feel just as strong?

I run a hand through my hair, about to give in to the need to go over and kiss her to quiet my head, but luckily find my senses because seconds later, there are footsteps nearing.

“Excuse me, Mr. Sharpe?” I turn to find Nate, Hillary’s right-hand, standing at the entrance to what we at S.I.N. have dubbed the Snow Globe room.

“I told you, Nate, it’s Ledger.”

“Okay, Mr. Sharpe,” he says and smiles.

“What can I do for you?”

“I know this is Hillary’s realm, but I wanted to keep you up-to-date on where we stand with the list of items from our morning meeting.” He holds up a clipboard with a list on it.

“I’d appreciate it.”

“The plants have been delivered, and our landscape architect will be here tomorrow to start his process with his crew. All of the fixtures and furniture for the spa will be delivered on Friday. I have a crew ready to start the install on Saturday. I have the local electricians we hired from town almost done with the finish electrical.” He looks up to meet my eyes. “The only things we have left—well, left on today’s list at least—are getting the fire marshal out here to test and sign off on the fire alarms. Oh, and also scheduling the painter to come back for touch-ups in a few weeks.”

I run over my mental checklist to see if he’s missing anything. He’s not. “Thank you, Nate. That’s all great.”