Chapter 4
four
THE FITZGERALD FAMILY CHAT
AUTUMN:
Has anybody heard from Zach? I’ve called him four times and I think he’s ignoring me.
ASHER:
So, a normal day?
HUDSON:
Saw him at the hotel this morning. Looked healthy. Mobile. Fully capable of answering a phone.
ZACH:
I’m not ignoring you. I’m busy.
AUTUMN:
You’re on the art committee, Zach. There’s a meeting TODAY.
ZACH:
It’s today? Why didn’t you say so? Sadly, I’m washing my hair.
EDEN:
You’re ghosting the Liberty Art Trail Committee? That’s a bold move. You know Autumn’s going to hunt you down and hurt you, right?
WYATT:
ZACH:
You’re all enjoying this way too much.
ASHER:
Absolutely. It’s good to have you back, my man.
AUTUMN:
You volunteered to co-chair, Zachary. CO-CHAIR.
ZACH:
Er… no I didn’t. I said I’d help. Nobody said anything about chairs.
AUTUMN:
You’re an idiot. 3pm at the Salty Dog. Be there. Or I swear I’ll make you regret it.
SADIE
“You’ve got two minutes, Red. Two minutes until I start hunting you down. And when I find you, you’ll be too busy screaming to run away from me again.”
I blink at the words on the page. It’s surprising how stupidly hot this book is. And no, I shouldn’t be reading it when I’m behind the counter, smiling at customers who walk in looking for a sweet vacation read, but it’s addictive, dammit.
Thank God they have no idea I’m reading beautifully written smut, imagining I’m being chased by a hot, muscled hunter, frantically turning the pages because I’m desperate for the moment that she gets caught.
Because the one bonus of being a shop owner is the freedom to sample the merchandise. It almost makes up for the stupidly long working hours, the panic every time a bill comes in, and having to deal with customers who bring books back after reading them because ‘it really wasn’t their thing.’
“Aren’t you going to be late?” Romy asks, wandering in from the storage closet. She puts a stack of books on the counter and rolls onto her tiptoes, peeking over to see what I’m doing. When she sees the title of the book I’ve got clasped between my sweaty palms she smirks.
“Told you it was good.” Her brows lift. “Have you got to that bit with the rope and the two trees yet?” Her grin is wicked.
My mouth goes dry. “No,” I lie.
“Of course you have,” she says, laughing. “You’re bright red.”
I snap the book closed before she can see the page number. “I was doing research. This is our best selling book this week. It’s important to understand our customers’ wants.”
Romy props her elbows on the counter. “Of course it is. But now you need to go. Because it’s…” she glances at the clock behind me “Five minutes past three. Which means Autumn is probably three seconds away from hunting you down herself.”
“Damn.” I shove the book under the counter. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“I did.” She picks up a pen and points it at me. “You just weren’t listening. You were too busy being chased through the forest by a hot angry guy.”
“Shut up,” I say.
I flip her off on my way to the door, the bell jangling behind me. Outside, the spring air hits my cheeks, feeling sharp and salty against my skin. I break into a half-run down Main Street, muttering under my breath about fictional men and real deadlines.
I’m not a bad runner. In school I ran cross-country, mostly because I couldn’t throw or catch a ball to save my life. But as an adult, running has always been for a reason. To keep my weight down – thank you, asshole ex – or to make up for being late, like today.
I’ve never really paid attention to how it actually makes me feel.
But as I sprint down Main Street in jeans and sneakers, my feet thudding against the pavement, my hair flying behind me, something shifts.
My body knows this rhythm. This push and pull.
The way muscles tighten and release. The way air floods in and out like it’s been waiting for this reminder.
And yes, somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about that book. About her run. I can almost feel it. The thrill. The heat. The knowledge that she’s being hunted by someone strong enough to catch her, and gentle enough not to hurt her when he does.
It’s less than a minute before I reach the Salty Dog Beach Bar where today’s committee meeting is taking place.
But I’m still buzzing with the leftover adrenaline when I slow outside.
My chest is tight, my pulse pounding like I’m the one being hunted.
The glass doors reflect a flushed, windswept version of me, cheeks pink, hair escaping its clip.
I drag in a deep breath, trying to steady the wild rhythm of my heart.
Inside, I can see the committee gathered around the long wooden table by the windows, sunlight spilling across the varnished floor. Autumn’s dark hair bent over her notes. Mylene with a clipboard. Jesse, the young guy who runs the ferry looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but here.
And one more person. Zach Fitzgerald.
He’s sitting at the far end, one hand wrapped around a mug like he owns the room. His gaze lifts as I push open the door, and for a second the air feels too thin.
All that talk of running and chasing suddenly doesn’t seem so theoretical anymore.
He blinks slowly as I walk through the door into the bar, his eyes lazy as they assess me.
“Here she is,” Autumn says, jumping up to hug me. “Oh, your cheeks are burning up. Are you okay?”
“I had to run. I was running late.” I’m so stupidly aware of how disheveled I am. And I shouldn’t care. What does it matter if Mr. Asshole Art Dealer sees me with my hair falling out of my bun and my cheeks flushed?
But for some reason, it does. I take a deep breath and sit down at the table, choosing the chair furthest away from him.
It doesn’t stop me from looking at him though. Or seeing that his gaze is still on me. His mouth twitches like he’s amused at my appearance. I lift a brow at him because no, I’m not intimidated by him.
“Okay, we’re all here. Let’s get started,” Autumn says. “First of all, thanks to Zach who’s agreed to help out.” She looks at me. “I know how much work we’ve put on you to organize the artwork and the placement. I thought Zach could help.”
I try to keep my expression smooth, but I swear he’s smirking.
“Honestly,” I tell her. “It’s fine. I have everything covered. I’ve already sourced most of the art, and the placement just needs to be firmed up.”
The trail will last the whole summer. Making sure the right piece is placed in the right shop window, or the right room in the hotel, has been my job.
Autumn is organizing the rest. Jesse is here to make sure there’s a transportation plan – to bring in guests for the gala as well as the steady stream of day tourists we hope the trail will bring in.
And Mylene is here because she brings coffee.
“I’d love to help,” Zach says smoothly, like he’s enjoying goading me.
“I’ve got it,” I say again, my voice tighter this time.
“Oh no.” There’s a smile playing at his lips. “Autumn wants us both to do it. And who am I to deny my sister?”
“Great.” Autumn claps her hands together. “Teamwork,” she says brightly. “See? This is already going so well.”
Zach’s eyes flick to mine, that half-smile still there.
I stare back at him, trying not to show the way my pulse has started to race again. He’s smug and impossible, but there’s something about the way he looks at me that makes it a struggle to breathe.
God, I need to stop reading that damn book.
“Okay, let’s move onto the gala itself, because that’s our weak area right now,” Autumn says.
“Zach has added some suggestions to the guest list. Mostly rich people who love to donate to charity.” She smiles widely.
“And I’m working with the hotel on the menu.
I think next time we meet we should do it at the hotel.
We can take a walk through, and see any pitfalls there might be. ”
“Fine,” I agree. The others nod too. But I’m so aware of him looking at me. Watching me. For a second he blinks, like there’s something in his eye. But then he smiles softly and looks away.
Thank God he can’t read minds. Because mine is so messed up now.
Autumn starts talking about deadlines, budgets, and promotional materials, but I barely hear a word. Because all I can think about is the fact that I’m now officially stuck working with Zach Fitzgerald.
And worse, the part of me that should be dreading it… seems to be too busy imagining his face when I start to run from him.
And how long it would take him to catch me.