Chapter 22
Grace
Well, that escalated quickly.
There are dozens of situations and opportunities flying through my head to make the most of this. But first and foremost, I want to make sure Dean’s onboard here and that requires a serious talk.
“I have to warn you, there’s going to be a bunch of trolls.” The only way I can possibly protect this man from the internet’s cruelty is by warning him up front.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what people say about me. No one even knows me. And I don’t have that fragile of an ego for some stranger’s opinion of me to make a damn bit of difference in how I see myself.”
“Good.” But that’s not what I’m worried about, to be honest. “They’ll say shit about me too.”
He stiffens and swallows hard, his gaze not meeting mine for a moment. Then Dean calmly asks, “Are you okay with that?”
“I told you I never care. It’s par for the course.” Except I do care with this. I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let people drag our relationship through the mud just for clicks. “Some people will do a deep dive on you. Try to find out your life story.”
Dean chuckles. “Good luck with that. I’m not on social media as my real name anywhere, and I’ve never done anything except live and work on this mountain, so whatever they could possibly dig up on me will disappoint them because there legit isn’t anything.”
I’ve been in the spotlight forever, so not having dirt won’t stop someone from trying to start shit. “Sometimes they make up stuff when they can’t find anything.”
“I can’t wait to hear the stories then.” He shrugs, truly seeming unbothered. “Honestly, Grace, I know what kind of man I am, and the life I’ve lived. I don’t give a flying fuck what anyone says about me—made up or true. I know myself and I like me. But I don’t want you made fun of for being with someone… below your station.”
“What, are we living in the sixteen hundreds?” I laugh to hide the fear that’s gnawing at me. A lot of people are going to have something to say about our relationship—and one of them will be that he’s using me for my money. It’s not true, but they’ll act like it’s a fact. Others will no doubt say I’m rebelling, just like they did when Mason married a camgirl who was also his house cleaner.
I really hate people.
Oscar slinks between us and nudges Dean’s leg. He rubs her head and starts scrolling again. “This is wild.”
“We have an opportunity here.” I make him lower his phone. “Let’s start a series where we work on the cabins together.”
His brow pinches. “With me shirtless or something?”
He’s so cute. “If you want, but I don’t think it’s necessary.” Okay, I’m about to let out a little secret. “ So, um…” I retrieve my phone and pull up a video edit I made that he doesn’t know about. “I’ve been secretly recording us all week and made this.”
Dean’s expression is completely unreadable at first as he takes my phone and watches the short clips I’ve combined.
It starts with us sanding drywall. Then he spins me around, because we’re dancing to music. Then I tug him by his tool belt and kiss him. He smears grout on my cheek. I smack his ass while he holds up part of a cabinet for me to mount. We eat lunch across from each other. Oscar runs through the snow. Dean throws her a ball, laughing with his head tipped back. He’s stacking wood into the fireplace, shirtless. The last is a selfie reel of me smiling big because I’m so happy.
“You little stalker,” he finally says, eyes narrowing.
“You’re not mad?”
“Grace, why do you keep asking if I’m mad?”
“Because… I keep doing things without permission.”
He cups my cheeks. “You’re a grown woman. You don’t need to ask anyone for permission to do things.”
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ve gone too long under my mother’s stilettos to understand that I have freedom to do anything I want now.
She’s going to shit a brick when she finds out about this. Perhaps it’ll be the final straw, and she’ll disown me just like she did Mason. It would be so much easier that way because the guilt of doing it myself would no longer be an issue.
Wow, I’m a mess .
“I won’t post anything without your approval first,” I assure him.
“You can post whatever you want.” He tips my chin. “I trust you.”
Dean keeps saying and doing things that make me fall deeper for him. How far does the Dean love hole go?
Eww. Remind me to never say Dean love hole again.
“I can’t believe you put this whole thing together without me catching you creeping,” he teases. “We make a pretty great team.” His dreamy smile stays in place as he watches the video again.
It solidifies my plan to give the internet what they’re looking for.
“They’re going to fall in love with you, Dean.”
“I don’t care about them. I just want you to keep falling in love with me.”
That won’t be a problem.
By two o’clock, we’re finishing lunch while going over the list of supplies we need in town. The sky’s grey, just like it’s been for the past week. “My weather app says cloudy. No snow.”
“Those things aren’t accurate.” Dean taps his temple. “I am.”
He’s been warning me about a huge snowstorm coming for over a week, and it’s yet to happen .
We polish off the burgers he made for lunch, and I collect our plates to wash them. Dean grabs my wrists, rubbing his thumb over my skin. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“You’ve done plenty.” His dark brown eyes lift to meet mine and I swallow hard. Not knowing how to respond in a proper way, I say, “Check the stats again, superstar.”
Excitement and nervousness dance on his face, but he lets go of me and opens the app. His numbers are climbing steadily. And when he hits my account, the number of views on the video I made of us is close to hitting five hundred thousand.
In less than an hour.
“This is incredible. Scary, but… incredible.”
“It won’t last,” I warn. “But we can use it to our advantage while it’s here.”
I’m just not sure how yet. Yes, getting him more followers and views will help his side hustle, and thus make Dean the money he needs for renovations, but I want more for him.
“What’s your five-year plan?”
Dean turns his phone over and lays it on the table. “I have no idea anymore. I’ve been living day-to-day, counting pennies for as long as I can remember.” He sighs heavily. “My roots are here. I don’t want to ever sell, but I can’t rely on the cabins to make me enough money to carry on, either. Not in the condition they’re in. And this property is too much for one man to maintain. Plus, with the surrounding ski resorts sucking up all the tourists, this business is destined for doom.”
That breaks my heart .
“If you could have one wish for this place, what would it be?”
He grabs the dirty pan from the stove and playfully bumps me away from the sink with his hip. “A smart man would say to sell the property for a mint and move on. But I’m not a smart man. And I can’t break up the property into smaller parcels. It’s part of the land trust agreement.” Soap bubbles float in the air while he finishes the dishes. “If I could wish for anything … it would be to see this place not just be restored to its former glory in popularity, but...” His smile is so warm, it melts my insides. “I’d expand the cabins and glam them up. Add more luxuries for families.” He dries the dishes, his gaze focused on the past instead of the pot he’s drying. “I want to revive Bear Creek Cabins and make it something so spectacular that my grandpa would smile down on me and say, ‘Atta boy. I knew you could do it.’”
I shrug like it’s no biggie. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. That’s easy peasy, lemon squeezy, baby. We’re totally capable of making that happen.” I scoot out of his way so he can put the pan back where it goes.
“You’re incredibly optimistic.”
Yes, I am. “You have to put the good vibes out there. Be in the mindset to make shit happen and it will.”
“Mindset and money are not the same. I might have one, but I definitely don’t have the other.” Before I can say anything, he holds his hand up and shakes his head. “I’m not taking any of your money, Grace.”
“I know.” Which means these videos are more important than simple click bait. We have to generate interest fast. Get people invested in the process emotionally, so that later they’ll invest financially by staying here.
It’s not going to be a quick hustle.
My cell rings from the table and I smack Dean’s ass as I walk over and grab it. It’s Jackson. Chewing on my bottom lip, I’m torn between letting it go to voicemail and answering. “Hey.”
“Got an interesting call this morning,” he says.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmm hmm. You’re on Bryson Clyde-Smith’s shit list.”
“That jackass can choke on a bag of dicks.”
“Grace. He’s not someone to piss off.”
“Neither am I.”
“Are you trying to sabotage a deal of his?”
“No. Is that what he told you?” The way Jackson doesn’t answer is answer enough. I roll my eyes. “He’s just mad that he’s not getting what he wants.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“He threatened me first!” The line goes quiet. “Hello? Jackson? Did I lose you?”
His tone shifts from frustration to pure anger. “Threatened. You. How?”
“It was nothing.”
“Gracie, I swear if you don’t fucking tell me what he did, I’m going to—”
“He grabbed my arm. That’s all.”
“ What ?” He’s big mad now.
“It got handled,” I say as fast as possible. “Dean—”
“Who the fuck is Dean?”
I feel like I’m seventeen again, trying to sneak around with my boyfriend. “He’s the owner of the property Bryson’s foaming at the mouth to acquire.”
“And he let Bryson grab you?”
“No!” Damnit, why is he being so dramatic? “Bryson went after me when he accused me of trying to buy this place out from under him… on your behalf. Which, by the way, you know if you buy shit with Finch money, it’s hers .”
“Don’t try to change the subject, Grace. What happened when he grabbed you?”
“Dean went after him.”
“Good.”
“Not good. It’s what that douche canoe wanted. He tried to instigate a fight to use as bad publicity that would work in his favor.”
“Sounds like Bryson.”
“Right? So, we ran him off with a sledgehammer.”
There’s another pause, then Jackson growls, “Are you serious?”
“I might have also thrown it at him.” I wince. “Twice.”
“Jesus Christ.” There’s no hint of anger in his voice now. Only the typical big brother tone. “Did you miss both times?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Try harder next time.”
“You got it. I won’t let you down.”
Jackson laughs and I’m catapulted back to when we used to have fun together. I miss those days. “You know I love you, right?” Sometimes I worry that he thinks I hate him. I don’t. I never could. “I’m sorry I keep being angry with you about dumb shit. It’s not fair. Mom just…” I let the words die because I don’t want to blame our mother for every rotten feeling I have. Some of it’s on me. “I’m done with all of it. Especially with her.”
“I know you are.” Silence stretches for a few heartbeats. “I don’t blame you.”
“What if she makes you choose between us?” I think that’s my biggest concern. Fuck the money. Fuck the headlines. Fuck the whispers and country club memberships and upscale dinners. I can walk away from all of it, lose everything I’ve ever known… but I cannot lose my brothers. “You know she’ll make you pick.”
Mason and me…. Or the Finch legacy.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, sounding tired. “When you get back from wherever you are, want to grab dinner?”
“Yeah.” My eyes water and throat tightens. “Absolutely.”
He’s quiet again, and then my heart hits the ground when he asks, “You’re never going to come back, are you, Gracie?”
“Of course, I will.”
Jackson’s quiet for a long time before he says, “Don’t.”
Tears fall down my cheeks because he’s not saying it to be mean. He’s trying to protect me again. He’s giving me his support to cut off our family and be on my own.
My brother clears his throat. “And, hey, listen, if that cocksucker gives you anymore trouble, call me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay.” I’ll do no such thing. If Bryson shows back up here, Dean and I will handle it ourselves .
“I mean it, Gracie. Don’t try to take him on. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
Bryson doesn’t scare me, but I pretend to obey my brother’s wishes, anyway. “You got it.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up and Dean cocks his brow at me. “Everything okay?”
My poker face quickly sets into place. “Yup.” I kiss him on the cheek and head for the front door. “Ready to go into town?”