Chapter 3
GENNIE
T hey weren’t at either cabin. The cabin next door to Dayton’s was obviously the rental where my best friend was staying. Vanessa’s sedan was in the driveway, so that made it pretty obvious. Besides, they were the only two houses in this entire area.
Even though he was sure Dayton wasn’t home, he knocked on the door anyway. We were greeted by a series of desperate-sounding barks that seemed to be coming from the back of the cabin. Apparently, Dayton had a dog.
We knocked on the rental cabin door too. No answer, and the lights were out.
“Vanessa wouldn’t be sitting in the cabin in the dark, even if she’s working on her book,” I said as we descended the steps from the porch.
“I’m sure they’re just out running errands or something. We could wait here. Or we could go grab some lunch.”
My stomach growled in response. We’d come to a stop on the front lawn of his friend’s cabin, and there was something awkward about it. Like we were at the end of a date, trying to figure out if we were going to end it with a kiss or not.
We could just hop in his truck and go back to my car. He’d drop me off, and I’d either come back here and stake out these cabins or grab some lunch and come back when they were likely to be home.
But I didn’t want that to happen, and there was no logical reason for it. Not if I had zero interest in this guy. The truth was, I wanted to spend time with him. And if I didn’t see what this attraction was about, I’d probably wonder for the rest of my life.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving,” I said.
“Great. I’ll take you to lunch, and we’ll discuss our next steps.”
Next steps. That sounded like a business term.
It threw me off for a second, until I reminded myself that he was a businessman.
I’d assumed he was one of those hermit types who lived off the land, but none of these guys did that.
They worked hard and lived in air-conditioned cabins with running water and electricity.
“I don’t want to be trouble,” I said. “You probably need to get back.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I had a guy on lunch break when you came in.”
“I don’t normally do the tastings. I’m sure you could probably tell.” I bit my tongue on that one. “I’m game for lunch. My treat.”
“No way,” he said. “I’m paying. You’re a guest in my town. It’s the right thing to do.”
I’d argue with him, but I had a feeling this went deeper than good hospitality. This guy was a gentleman, and he would not take a woman to lunch—even if it wasn’t romantic—without paying.
But I couldn’t help but wish, as we climbed into his truck and exited the driveway, that this was more than a break in a busy day for a meal. I wanted to be climbing into this guy’s truck to go on a date. For real.
And that threatened to distract me from the reason I was in town in the first place. I couldn’t let that happen. But damn, it was tempting.