Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Galeana
I really should decline. Yes, I definitely should. Yet, as Ledger reclines confidently in his chair, an air of smugness surrounding him like an invisible crown, something within me snaps.
He’s sitting there as if he owns not just the café, but the entire town, perhaps even the chair he lounges in. That self-satisfied smirk and those piercing blue eyes challenge me, pushing against my resolve. I’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge.
“You want to give me a tour?” I question, raising an eyebrow, my voice laced with a mix of skepticism and intrigue. “Fine, let’s go.”
His smirk wavers slightly, betraying his surprise at my agreement. “Fine?”
Rising from my seat, I sling my purse over my shoulder and clutch my latte a bit too tightly—maybe this is a terrible idea, but curiosity and a hint of desperation propel me forward. After all, isn’t Erick Stinson potentially perfect marriage material? “Let’s go, Timberbridge. Show me your version of Birchwood Springs.”
He stands and gestures grandly toward the door, playing the part of a gentleman with a flourish. “After you, darling,” he says, his tone dripping with charm.
I climb into his SUV, the leather seat cool against my skin, and watch him settle into the driver’s seat with an ease that speaks of his comfort in this environment. The engine purrs to life under his confident touch.
Ledger casts a sidelong glance at me as he maneuvers out of the parking lot. “Rule number one of Birchwood Springs: everyone knows everyone. You always spot the newbie, and the newbie has to be careful. I can’t believe no one has taken you under their wing to protect you from . . . the rest of us.”
“I think Delilah is supposed to be that person for me, but she’s currently out of town,” I mention casually.
“Huh? You and Del?” Ledger’s expression shifts to one of mild surprise. “Makes sense. If I recall, your mothers were best friends, after all.”
“I heard,” I reply, keeping my tone light but curious.
We pass by Cozy Corner Books, the quaint bookstore that seems to whisper stories from its very walls. “I can’t remember who used to own it, but now it’s Mrs. Harper’s store. She’s a retired librarian turned bookseller. She’ll recommend twenty novels you’ll never have time to read, but you’ll buy them anyway because she looks so hopeful it’s almost heartbreaking.”
“And the florist?” I probe, intrigued by his encyclopedic knowledge.
“Mr. Edgerton. He and his wife started it. Now he’s a widower, grumpy as they come, but he softens if you mention dahlias. He grows them in his backyard and pretends to despise the adoration they garner from the local old ladies.”
Ledger rattles off each name and backstory as if he’s reading from a well-worn script, his familiarity with each detail impressive. It’s as though Birchwood Springs is etched into his very essence, a part of him that’s as undeniable as his intense blue eyes.
“You seem to know a lot about everyone,” I comment, my voice tinged with a mix of admiration and a dash of skepticism.
“Small town, remember?” He smirks, but there’s something else there, something harder. “You don’t get to be anonymous here. Not forever, anyway. Even when we haven’t been here for years, we still know. If anyone moved out, Mom would call and tell me. If someone moved back in, it’d be the same deal. Births, deaths . . . you name it, she let us know. It was like living here without living here.”
As we turn onto a narrower street, the quaint charm of Birchwood Springs unfolds with each small store and home boasting tidy front porches. “So, what’s next on the grand tour?”
“See that?” Ledger gestures toward a tiny hardware store adorned with a hand-painted sign and a row of potted flowers neatly stacked out front. “McNally’s. They sell everything from nails to lawn flamingos. It’s run by Old Man McNally and his son, Felix.”
I can’t help but snort, eyeing the quirky yard decor. “Do people actually buy those flamingos?”
“Not me, but maybe someone does,” he replies with a shrug.
We then drive past the candy shop, Heavenly Sweets. “Remember the guy from earlier?” Ledger asks suddenly, his tone casual yet probing.
I blink, caught off guard by his sudden shift. “What guy?”
He shoots me a look that’s part amusement, part challenge. “Erick Stinson.”
“Oh,” I respond, striving for nonchalance. “Right, he mentioned he’s new in town and here on business.”
“New?” He snorts. “Did he say what kind of business?”
I shrug. “Didn’t say much other than maple syrup business.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Ledger mutters under his breath, his jaw clenching like he’s got something bitter stuck in his teeth.
I tilt my head, watching him carefully. “How do you know him?”
“Let’s just say he’s not someone you want to trust,” Ledger replies, his tone flat and devoid of its usual teasing edge.
I narrow my eyes, suspicion prickling at the back of my neck. “And why’s that?”
He exhales through his nose, his grip tightening on the steering wheel like he’s holding himself back. “I want to say because I said so, but I have the feeling that won’t be enough for you.” He throws me a sidelong glance. “But answer me this first: why haven’t you taken over Maple Haven yet?”
And there it is. The real reason for this joyride. I knew there was an angle. “Oh, I get it now. This is your grand plan. Lure me into your car, take me out to the woods, kill me, and suddenly you’re the only one left in the running for Maple Haven.”
He lets out a bark of laughter, his smirk snapping back into place. “You’ve got an overactive imagination, darling. Should I be worried you’re plotting my murder instead?”
“Is it that far-fetched?” I counter, crossing my arms. “You’re my mom’s half-cousin, right?”
He shakes his head, his expression equal parts amused and exasperated. “No. That would be Erik’s dad, not me.”
I blink. “Wait. What?”
“My theory?” he continues, ignoring my confusion. “Erik’s sniffing around because he thinks he can get his hands on your inheritance. It’s probably the only reason he was playing Mr. Charming.”
“And what about you?” I snap. “What’s your game plan? You seem pretty invested in all this.”
Ledger’s gaze flicks to me, his smirk lingering, but there’s something unreadable behind his eyes. “I’m just looking out for you, darling.”
“I can take care of myself. Don’t need some knight in shining armor,” I say. “And you’re not getting Maple Heaven either.”
“I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself,” he says quietly. “But let’s get one thing straight. I’m not here to take anything from you. You and I aren’t related.”
The relief that rushes through me is immediate, but it leaves something else behind—something I can’t quite name. I glance out the window, trying to focus on the rows of tidy houses instead of the fact that Ledger Timberbridge is sitting next to me, not my cousin, and still the most aggravatingly attractive man I’ve ever met.
“So,” he drawls, cutting through my thoughts. “Why haven’t you taken possession of your grandfather’s company?”
I blow out a breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “My grandfather—who was a misogynistic asshole, by the way—left a clause in his will. I can’t inherit Maple Haven unless I’m married.”
Ledger stills, his head snapping toward me. “What?”
“You heard me,” I say, glaring at the dashboard like it offended me personally. “Married. Apparently, my dead grandfather thought women need a husband to validate their existence or something. So now I’m stuck scrambling for a solution while my lawyer breathes down my neck, reminding me how little time I have left.”
“And what’s the plan?” he asks, his voice lower now, careful.
I sigh, leaning back in my seat. “Not sure. I said I had someone just to buy myself some time.”
Ledger raises an eyebrow. “But you don’t.”
“Nope.” I give him a dry, humorless smile. “Remember the last time I was going to get married?”
His expression shifts, a slow smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I recall. You were in my room wet and needy, and then you ditched me.”
I groan, pressing my hand to my forehead. “You really can’t let that go, can you?”
“Not a chance,” he replies, his voice dropping into that low, teasing tone that makes my stomach twist. “You’re a hard woman to forget, darling. I thought I had seven perfect days with you and suddenly poof, you were gone.”
I roll my eyes, refusing to look at him. If I do, I know I’ll see the glint in his blue eyes—the one that says he’s enjoying this far too much. And I can’t let him know that, deep down, part of me might be too.
Because Ledger Timberbridge is dangerous. Not in the dark-alley kind of way, but in the way that he gets under my skin without even trying. And if I’m not careful, I might actually start to like him.
And that? That would be a disaster.