The flash of memory caught me by surprise.
The crumble of drywall beneath my head. Falling onto my shoulder, dazed. Utter disbelief had a way of stopping you in your tracks. The throb in my ears that gave way to his screams.
Everything had whirled around for a while after that, until it all just faded to black.
Then, in the morning light, Mama leaned over me. Stroked my cheek. Whispered softly while a tear dribbled from her black eye. In the background, red roses lay scattered on the table.
A solemn apology, years too late.
With difficulty, I extracted myself from the memory. My voice was hoarse when I asked, “What does your perfect day look like, Tyler?”
If he was startled by the turn in the conversation, he gave no hint of it.
“I’d be up early to make you breakfast in bed. We’d lounge for hours making love. Maybe pop into a hot tub with champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. Enjoy a few movies at home, naked. Perhaps an elegant night out with you in an evening gown and me in a tux, finished off with dancing under the stars. Something along those lines. And yours?”
Confirmation.
“Books.” I spread my hands out. “Piles of them. And myself, tucked into a chair, with food and drink at hand. At the end of the day, and after about four books so satisfying I couldn’t stop reading long enough to eat lunch, I’d stop. I might get dinner with someone. Maybe they could even spend the day with me, but they’d have to be pretty special.”
Tyler straightened, gaze tapered. He threaded his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me something.”
“I am.”
He became solemn. “You’re telling me this isn’t a good fit?”
On some level, I wanted it to be. He was handsome and confident and wealthy. But I wouldn’t let him into my perfect day.
“Not in the slightest,” I whispered back.
He hesitated only a breath. “After all this? That’s . . . frustrating.”
His nostrils flared. A new sense of tension appeared in his shoulders, and all my internal alarms began to peal. Though I couldn’t identify why, a sense of panic pulsed through me. With it came the smell of alcohol. The distant sound of shouting, as if from a memory.
I stood unexpectedly. “I think it’s best if I go.”
Startled, he opened his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Thank you for this dinner, Tyler, and for meeting. Hopefully it was helpful.”
Before he could respond, I strode away, breath held. Once in the foyer, I whirled around. He hadn’t followed. Relieved, I sent JJ a text.
Lizbeth: Ready for you to come get me. Sooner than later would be preferable.
JJ: Almost there.
18 JJ
Lizbeth was quiet the whole ride home.
She didn’t say a word except a warm, “Thank you for picking me up,” and “It was okay.” Once back at Adventura, I helped her carry her packages to her cabin, then she thanked me again and closed the door before I could offer to build up her fire.
I hovered there for a second, torn.
Had something happened?
Was she really okay?
The urge to knock on her door and ask again almost overwhelmed me, but I pushed it down. Finally, I reluctantly retreated. The sound of paws on snow joined me as I looped around the office to enter from the front. Justin and Atticus were there. Atty greeted me with a quick lick on the hand.
“Everything all right?” Justin asked, studying me.
“Fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. I was worried and pissed and annoyed that I was worried and pissed. Justin hesitated, then nodded. He and Atticus headed back toward his cabin while I trekked to the kitchen. If I couldn’t climb, I could make and knead some dough for breakfast tomorrow. That would release some of this . . . tension.
The next day, Lizbeth started work before Mark and I woke up. When I made it down the ladder, she was sitting in Mark’s desk chair, her hair in a single ponytail over her right shoulder. A coffee mug sat on the desk next to her. She wore no makeup today. The flicker of light on her pale lashes fascinated me.
“Morning, Lizbeth.”
She waved distractedly but didn’t take her gaze off the laptop. “Good morning.”
A pile of papers sat next to her computer. Probably waiting to be scanned. How long had she been awake? The coffee was already lukewarm.
Once in the kitchenette, I paused. Something looked different. Before I could figure it out, Mark slipped down the ladder.
“I think we’ll be able to close on the pizza shop today,” he said as he yanked a jacket on and stepped into a pair of boots at the same time. “I’m late, see ya!”
He dashed out the door. Lizbeth glanced up, then back down. I turned back to the kitchen, completely confused. What was different? Wait, were our curtains a different color? At one point they’d been Mark’s old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pillowcases, but we’d swapped them out for the far classier old beige.
As I poured my coffee, stumped, Lizbeth broke the strained silence. Words flew out of her like they’d been stuffed inside waiting to get out.
“It totally sucked.”
My head popped up.
She stood behind Mark’s desk, hands planted on the papers in front of her, glaring at me.
“What?”
“The date.”
She straightened, arms folded across her middle. Her eyebrows knitted together as she swallowed hard.
“He . . . Tyler . . . might as well have walked out of a romance novel. Everything was perfect. His hair. His voice. He even smelled the way I’d imagined an alpha billionaire—or maybe just a millionaire—would smell.”
To give myself something to do, I had a sip of hot coffee. An alpha billionaire? What was she talking about? The scalding feeling in the back of my throat felt better than the one inside my chest. Lizbeth, on a roll, kept going. Except now she was pacing behind the desk and making almost no
