Chapter 3
Alana
Walking into Branwen Beach Burgers, I see Mair has beaten me to the punch, sitting in the front by the window. She stands and gives me a hug.
"How did house hunting go?" She asks as we slide into the booth.
"Fantastic. I put in an offer on a small place right at the northern tip of Branwen Beach."
"Oh, that's awesome. I'm so excited, and I'll get to see you even more now!"
A handsome waiter approaches the table to take our order.
"Hey Hugh," Mair says to the server, "This is my friend, Alana Fairchild. She's about to buy a beach house here. Alana, this is Hugh Caldwell. He owns this place with his brother Clark. They've got the best burgers in town."
Hugh and I exchange pleasantries before he takes our order. When he walks away, Mair fixes me with a look that tells me she's plotting something.
"What?" I say with trepidation.
"I'm officially setting you up on that blind date," she says, determined.
I can't help but groan softly.
"Alright. Who is this man I'm being forced to go on a blind date with?"
"He's a professor at the academy, always reading. Did I mention he's drop-dead gorgeous? He's got a few years on you, which gives him that distinguished look," Mair says before raving about his blue eyes that she swears will captivate me.
"Wait though, how much older than me?" I say, stopping her mid-sentence.
"He's not old enough to be your father, so relax, Alana. Where's your sense of adventure?"
Laughing, I shake my head. "Alright. Fine, whatever. I am your helpless guinea pig."
The man sitting across from me at Mare Pacificum is incredibly easy on the eyes.
Mair was not wrong in her description of him.
His shaggy silver hair and full beard give him that rugged mountain man look.
His bright blue eyes contrast his rough exterior.
There's a gruffness as he sits across from me, politely answering my questions.
When Lorne first walked into the restaurant, I watched him scan the room as if he were looking for the nearest exit.
His shoulders stayed tense even after he sat down, and he kept glancing toward the door every few minutes.
Now, as I observe him, the way he holds himself suggests someone more comfortable in the wilderness than in social situations.
I'm a bit amazed that this man works with children, or anyone, in fact.
Every time he speaks, it comes off so gruffly.
He must scare off half the people he meets.
But there's something underneath that rough exterior.
When Lorne thinks I'm not looking, I catch glimpses of something softer.
The way his eyes crinkle slightly when he's thinking, or how he carefully arranges his napkin on his lap.
These slight gestures hint at a man who cares about details, despite his gruff presentation.
Mair said he often has his nose in a book, so maybe I just need to reach that aspect of him to find a sign of life.
Lorne does perk up when he tells me about the new literature wing coming to the academy. I can't help but pepper him with questions, keeping quiet about the fact that I am the anonymous donor. He's even more handsome when he's speaking about something that he is excited about.
When our dishes are placed before us, we eat quietly for a minute, trying our meals. Then the grumpy mountain man clears his throat and says, "So, Mair told me that you're a writer. An author," he says, looking up at me from his steak.
I almost giggle at how shy he looks suddenly. The transformation is remarkable. Lorne's voice softens when he brings up my writing, and his posture relaxes just slightly. For a moment, I see past the defensive walls he's built around himself.
"I am," I say.
"A. Childers," he says knowingly.
"That's me."
"So is it a pen name?"
His genuine curiosity surprises me, but I did wonder if talking about books would get him out of his shell.
"Yes. I started using it because I wasn't sure what direction my writing would take, so I wanted to keep my options open."
"Well, I'm glad that you continued writing in it. Your work has really resonated with me, especially your writings on class warfare here in the States."
The passion in his voice when he mentions my social commentary catches me off guard. This mountain man has a depth I didn't expect.
"Thank you. It's always been a genuine interest and concern of mine, and I guess my family status gives me a unique perspective on class and money."
"Your family status?" Lorne says, his handsome face furrowed in confusion.
"Well, I'm a Fairchild," I say, surprised that Mair didn't tell him who I was.
I watch his blue eyes reveal a dawning realization. The softness I glimpsed moments before vanishes, replaced by something cold and hard.
"Wait. The Fairchilds?" he says, sitting up straighter.
"Yes," I say, surprised by how quickly he went from a softened interest in my writing to a complete 180 into a miffed, grumpy mountain man.
"Billionaires are ruining the world," Lorne says, his fist slamming down on the table, making the silverware shake.
The violence of his reaction startles me, but underneath his anger, I sense something else. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment. As if I've somehow betrayed him personally.
"I'm not going to argue with that, but of course, we're not all the exact same carbon copies of each other," I say.
He snorts and shakes his head. "I can't imagine how anyone could possibly be a moral or ethical person as a billionaire," Lorne spits out. The judgment in his voice stings more than I expected. So much for hoping we might actually connect.
Standing, I grab my purse and dig through it for several bills. I toss an unknown amount onto the table before spitting out, "I didn't realize Mair set me up with such a pompous ass."
I head for the exit, but not before I catch something flicker across his face. Regret, perhaps. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
When I reach the door, I spin on my heel and stomp back to the table, a fire in my veins.