6. Grape
Grape
F our a.m. was better than three. At four, Ryder wouldn’t have to force his eyes to stay closed until a respectable time to wake.
Without even opening the five unread new texts and twelve emails, he knew at least one of the waiting texts would be from Steve, his new second in command.
Brilliant, but the poor guy was terrified of making a mistake.
He tossed his phone to the foot of the bed and flipped the sheet off. If it was this hot in June already, Phoenix was going to be a hundred twenty by July.
Years ago, he’d learned to not show up to the office too early, or Gene would consider it a perfect time to connect, meaning Gene would regale him with tales of the good old days while Ryder kept his knee from vibrating while imagining his inbox growing bigger by the minute.
The iconic shirtless construction worker gulping a refreshing diet soda.
The bikini girls squirting gooey white sunscreen over each other’s tan legs on the back of the boat.
Early in his own career, Ryder had fallen into that same trap of leading with “sex sells,” only to discover that tactic was more clickbait than a sustainable return on investment.
He eased open the closet door and snagged a pair of shorts and sleeveless workout shirt.
As soon as he was dressed, he laid out a suit and coordinating rest of the getup.
Smooth black fabric, contrasting attention grabbing blue in a pleasing color, with a tie that blended but mesmerized.
A sweat-trap of an outfit if he had to leave the crisp air conditioning of the office and venture into the heat.
Minty paste coated his tongue, his teeth as he brushed circles over each tooth, his mouth filling more with suds with each motion.
The lights over the mirror shined excessively bright this morning and did nothing to help the gray circles setting in under his eyes.
Each of the sprouting gray hairs glinted in the stark light.
Only thirty-three, and his sideburns were ready to star in a prostate drug ad.
His feet tapped the steps rhythmically as he dashed down toward coffee and hydration. Maybe a protein bar, but his stomach didn’t wake as early as the rest of him. In the dim light of the hall, his phone glowed in his face. He opened his texts first. Emails could wait until his coffee kicked in.
One of the new guys was already off on the go-getter foot, still working at nine at night and messaging Ryder with a request to meet up the next morning to discuss his genius new idea. Indeed, a sucker was hired every minute.
He scrolled past that one, not wanting to wake the poor kid just yet.
The next down was from the same area code as Foothills. Huh. As the few people who texted him from Foothills were already in his contact list, he paused before opening. Probably a scam.
Hey Ryder, it’s Zoe.
His breath froze in his throat. He was absolutely not expecting a follow up. He kept reading.
Evan floated your idea to Jagger and he’s interested. He’ll be in town this weekend, if you’re going to be in the area, you can swing by sometime.
His hand stilled as he read and re-read the message. Jagger. Networking.
He filled his cheeks with a puff of air. Okay. That was nice of her to help him out. He leaned against the kitchen counter, the phone heavy in his hand.
Or maybe she was looking for an excuse to see him again, as he’d been desperately trying to find a reason to come up for a weekend.
Finally, he texted back. Hey, Zoe. That’s fantastic, thanks for thinking of me. I’ll be up this weekend. An opportunity to recruit a Super Bowl champion quarterback was about the best excuse to get a weekend off that he’d ever had.
Maybe have more of that best sex he’d ever had, too.
I n a much less humiliating rental car than the pumpkin he’d wound up with for the wedding, Ryder eased into Zoe’s driveway. Why was he so nervous? It’s not like this was a date.
The place was adorable, in true Foothills style.
Not the uppity style of his mother and her friends, nor the alpine style of a lot of the newer neighborhoods, but more of a simple cabin a logger might have built in the middle of the last century.
A few upgrades in the details, a half sunburst window in the wooden front door, a porch swing with fluffy pillows.
No garage, so it must be a pain in the ass in the snow, but there wasn’t a speck of dust on Zoe’s shiny truck.
Always dress the part. Had this been a meet-and-greet in any other town, he’d have gone for a blazer and leather shoes to spruce up the white t-shirt and jeans. For Foothills, he’d ditched the blazer and went with high-end, functional athletic shoes.
No tie to adjust—a nervous habit he’d humiliatingly adopted early in his career and had since transformed the habit into a “casual guy” sort of gesture—he stuffed his hands in his pockets to look casual and sauntered toward the front door.
The wooden planks of the covered porch creaked under his feet—sturdy, just noisy from age.
As he scuffed his feet on the football-themed doormat, he indulged in a quick listen as he lifted his hand to knock.
The shared laughter inside should have eased his anxiety, but people didn’t tend to laugh like that when he was involved in the conversation.
Not naturally, anyway. It was usually that canned laugh, genuine on the outside, the glee of business people who knew how to party hard and woo everyone in the room with a joke, but those shared laughs were more about networking than bonding.
He finally tapped on the door.
“Coming,” Zoe’s voice chimed, her feet tapping the ground in a light dash toward the door.
The door swung open, and damn, she looked… radiant. In her element. Not a trace of makeup, her hair a little frizzy but still those beachy waves. And that smile, cozy and enticing. “Hey, you.”
Should he reach out? Hug? Shake hands? A kiss would be nice, but she’d invited him up here for business, not a date.
Forgoing any sort of awkward physical greeting, he fell into an easy smile and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. “Hey, Zoe. Good to see you.”
“You caught your flight okay?”
His cheeks flamed pink. “Yeah. I, uh… for the record, I’ve only missed three flights in my lifetime, well, three in which I had no one but myself to blame.”
“Oh, it sounds like there have been other missed flights, for which you don’t shoulder the blame?” Like they’d just seen each other yesterday, she gleamed with an easy tease.
“Traveling with my boss—who might be the biggest narcissist I’ve ever met—and you’ve met my mother…
anyway, that sort of thing. With people I wouldn’t dare to rush.
And there was the time I did everything humanly possible to make the flight, but sometimes you just can’t be that asshole who needs to cut out early when you risk missing out on an epic opportunity.
Nailed a massive contract missing that flight, so I don’t consider that one an error. ”
“Ah. Always a man with a plan.” She stepped back and tipped her head to motion him in. “Speaking of…”
On the three-seater sofa, Evan and Jagger were making eyes at each other and laughing over a shared joke he wasn’t going to be invited in on. Evan popped up and dashed over. “Hey, Ryder.” He tipped a nod back toward Jagger. “You met Jagger at the wedding, right?”
The quarterback of the hour stood slower from the sofa and sauntered over.
“Not officially,” Ryder answered warmly as he switched to shake with Jagger. The bathroom bra rescue interruption had been awkward for both non-Halseths, and he definitely wouldn’t say they’d met. “I’m Ryder. Mallory.”
Jagger’s hand was twice the size of his own, long athletic fingers wrapping around Ryder’s.
“Jagger Prince,” he said as they shook. How did Zoe function in this family.
He was five-foot-ten, and he felt like a shrimp around Zoe’s dad and brothers, now around her brother’s boyfriend as well.
Zoe was a foot shorter than her brothers, but he remembered the late Brenda Halseth had been like Zoe in a lot of ways, petite and energetic.
Ryder quickly shifted to business casual mode. Zoe completely turned him upside down, but she’d invited him here for this very reason, and he wasn’t about to let her down. He inhaled deeply and savored. “Damn, that smells good.”
Instead of describing the fare or accepting praise, Zoe yelped and zipped into the kitchen. “God, I am such a flake lately. Sorry if it’s burnt.”
Evan ditched him too, and headed into the kitchen.
Not that it was much of a walk. Only a few feet away, really.
The small round table sat in the middle of the cozy eat-in kitchen.
It had been set neatly, with white and blue dishes on jute placemats, with linen napkins in silver rings at each seat, and a short bouquet in a vase in the middle.
The kitchen was only slightly smaller than the living area, and straight ahead, he could see the two bedrooms, and knew the layout was a very simple foursquare with a bathroom tucked in the middle.
The entire house could fit in his mother’s sterile front parlor.
“So,” he quickly said to Jagger, who was waiting equally awkwardly while Evan and Zoe messed with each other over whose fault it was that dinner was overdone.
Although, from the looks of it, the lemon chicken they were pulling out of the oven looked amazing, and much better than anything he could fix.
Admittedly, his oven hadn’t been host to anything but frozen foods.
“Had you been to Foothills before the wedding?”
Jagger shook his head no. “I’d only heard Finn’s stories about how adorable it is.
Evan’s been showing me around the last few days, and I get the appeal, but it’s…
it would take a special person to be able to live here full time.
It’s a great vacation spot…” He cringed and looked to the fellow metropolis dweller for agreement.