Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Luke waves at my father, a smile curving his lips as he murmurs for my ears only, “Deliver the cheese. That sounds dirty, too. But not as dirty as handling the wood.”
Cheeks hot again, I drawl, “Yeah, well, what can I say, I—”
“Holly Jo, please,” Dad calls again, a pleading note in his voice. “If I don’t get this rosemary and thyme to the chef before three o’clock, the people at the French restaurant are going to have my—”
“I’m coming, Dad. I’m coming!” I shout, starting toward the truck. “Sorry,” I call back to Luke, hating to leave him while he’s in a flirty mood more than I can express. “Talk to you later?”
He nods. “See you Friday.”
Friday. Argh!
I would have preferred to see him sooner, but…Friday it is.
And he’d better be ready to pick up where we left off.
I know I will…
Seven
Luke
The moment I push through the heavy oak doors, I regret agreeing to meet my brothers for an après-ski beer at The Powder Keg lodge, their favorite place to “slum it” when they’re in Vermont.
The ancient lobby reeks of wet wool, spilled beer, and the tangy sweat of lunatics who’ve spent an entire day hurling themselves down mountains for fun. Every surface is covered in either antlers or reclaimed wood, and there’s a fireplace large enough to roast an entire reindeer crackling away in the corner.
After my encounter with Willow’s woodpile, I’ve had my fill of all things rustic. I would have preferred to meet Bran and Elliot at the wine shop one town over.
Or, even better, in our own living room.
Call me a homebody, but I’ve started to enjoy lingering in the great room with my siblings in the evenings, chatting as we sip something from grandfather’s collection and watch the stars come out over the valley. In New York, it seems like I’m always either working late or grabbing dinner at a restaurant on the way home. I rarely get back to my penthouse before ten.
That never bothered me before—if you’d asked me a week ago, I would have said I preferred it to a night at home, in fact—but now…
Well, now, everything is upside down.
I’m starting to long for quiet nights on the couch and, even worse, look forward to Friday nights with the most tempting blackmail artist ever to ply her trade.
The thought is enough to prompt my brain to replay memories of this afternoon all over again—Holly’s laugh, her blush. Her hand in mine, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip. Her eyes, wide and filled with a silent invitation. The gravitational pull between us that had been about to reach its inexorable conclusion when—
“Luke!” Elliot’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “We’re in the corner. By the sheep’s head.”
I glance over to see him waving from a booth beneath a depressed-looking taxidermy sheep. Bran sits beside him, hunched over his phone, looking unusually miserable.
Huh. I wonder what that’s about…
I weave through the crowd of après-ski enthusiasts, their faces glowing with windburn and alcohol, and slide into the booth across from my brothers.
“Well, well. What have you been up to? Looks like you’ve been doing actual work,” Elliot says, his eyes bright with amusement. “Is that sawdust in your hair?”
I run a hand over my head, sending wood particles filtering onto the table. “Sorry. I got sucked into splitting some wood after I dropped the chipmunk off. Willow was running low on firewood.”
Bran sighs, continuing to flip through his phone as he says, “I’m going to miss Cheeks. He was fun.”
“Is that why you’re depressed?” I ask, earning an eye roll from Elliot.
“No,” he says, before adding in a stage whisper, “Girl troubles.”
“She’s not a girl,” Bran says, finally looking up from his phone. “She’s a woman. And I think she might have been The One.”
Elliot snorts. “Rachel was not the one.”
“How do you know?” Bran demands. “You only met her once.”
“I heard all your stories about this woman. That’s how I know,” Elliot insists. “She did not have ‘The One’ energy. Not even close.”
I flag down a passing server, ordering a bourbon and another round for the table before turning back to them, “Should I know who this is? I thought the last girl you were seriously dating was named Kiera.”
“Kiera was two ‘maybe she’s The Ones’ ago,” Elliot says, earning a glare from Bran.
“You’re being condescending,” he insists. “And who are you to judge, anyway? I can’t remember the last time you made it past a second date.”
Elliot shrugs. “I’m looking for something specific.”
“You’re looking for Nancy Tucker, that’s who you’re looking for,” Bran counters, making my brows shoot up.
“What? Kathy Kountry Store’s granddaughter?” I ask, glancing between them. “I thought you two were just good friends?’
Elliot laughs. “We are! Bran’s just lashing out because he’s sad about silly little Rachel. Who is silly. And petty. And was not the one.”