Chapter 8
Landon
“Twenty cabins. Not ten.” Zoe bangs through the Reeves estate front door.
I look up from my phone and smirk. She’s in her signature floral dress and cowboy boots, but today her hair is down and wild.
It flows in waves over her shoulders, the sunlight highlighting light brown strands at the crown of her head.
The soft appearance does nothing to mitigate the fire in her eyes or the flush in her cheeks.
“Nice to see you too, Mayor. How can I help you?”
“Ryan says you’re only building ten cabins, and they won’t be built until next year. Why?”
That same unwelcome churning hits my stomach as the man’s name tumbles out of her mouth. Ryan? “Who’s Ryan?”
Why does he matter to her?
“Why aren’t you building the cabins like we agreed?” She swats a folder on top of the blueprints spread across the folding table in the entryway.
“Why does Ryan think he can stick his nose in my business when I don’t even know who he is?”
She scrunches her nose. “You know Ryan, and don’t change the subject.”
“You’re the one who won’t answer my question. Who is Ryan?”
She huffs. “He owns The Bright Spot.”
“The guy who doesn’t know the difference between sugar-free and regular peppermint syrup?”
“Oh, he knows the difference. He never carries anything sugar free. Aspartame will kill you.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me that instead of lying about my coffee?”
“What kind of man orders a sugar-free peppermint mocha with macadamia nut milk?”
“What’s wrong with a peppermint mochas?”
“It won’t put hair on your chest.”
“You like men with hairy chests?” I smirk. Didn’t expect Zoe would like the hairy woodsman type, but I guess every woman has her fantasy. I definitely don’t fit that description, so we’re safe.
Flush creeps across her collarbones, up to the tips of her ears. “That’s not what I said.”
Not going to let her live this down. It’s too fun to mess with her when she’s worked up. “You think about my chest often?”
She taps her finger on each building on the site plan, counting as she goes. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.” Her glare shifts to me. “Ten cabins. We agreed on fifteen in the first phase. Where are the other five cabins, Landon?”
I lean against the table and cross one ankle over the other. “No, we need to go back to the chest conversation. Is it just my chest you fantasize about, or do you also think about the rest of me?” I flex my pecs.
Her eyes drop to my chest, then zip back to my face like I didn’t catch her checking me out. “I do not…I wouldn’t…that’s unprofessional.”
“You started this line of questioning.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You just wanted to insult my coffee order? How is that professional, Mayor Winslow?”
“That’s not what I meant either.”
I lift my hands like I’m weighing scales. “Either you’re insulting me or fantasizing about me. Which is it?”
“Cabins. There should be twenty cabins on this property by the end of the summer. That’s what we’re talking about.”
“Or what?” My chin ticks up with the challenge in her tone.
“If you don’t agree to our plan, we will petition the Washington Trust for a preservation easement to protect the property.”
“Easement?”
She thumbs through the papers in the folder and hands me a form with the seal for the Washington Trust for Historic Preservation.
“When partial legal interest in a historic building is conveyed to a governmental agency with the sole expectation of preserving and restoring the property.” Her elegant script has already fills the form.
I fold the page in half and tuck it into my suit coat. “I know what an easement is.” What she didn’t add to her elementary explanation is that an easement enables the public to have free, unfettered access to the property.
The last thing I need is random tourists knocking on my front door for guided tours, but I’m not rolling over like a submissive pup.
“Site work takes time. If we don’t do it right, those beautiful cabins won’t survive the first snowfall. The house is my priority.”
“You can do it all at the same time. You have billions of dollars at your disposal. Use them.”
“Let me show you what we’re working with.” I plop a hard hat on her head, cup her elbow, and guide her toward the main bedroom. I resist the urge to inhale her cinnamon scent.
“I’ve been in the house.” She tugs her arm free. “I know what it looks like.”
“You haven’t seen it with the sheetrock removed. Things are worse than we expected.”
Collin’s team works quickly. We signed the paperwork days ago and they’ve already gutted several rooms.
We walk over tarps and unassembled scaffolding in the living room, and I push open the door to the main bedroom.
The lopsided, antique four-poster bed dominates the space. We’re waiting for a specialty bio-hazard cleanup crew from Seattle to remove the mattress and bedding due to the nest some animal built.
But that’s not what I want her to see. Through the bathroom where the rusty fixtures have been removed, we stop outside the closet door. She places her hand on the doorknob, but I tug her arm back. “Don’t open that.”
“Didn’t you want to show me something in here?”
“You need these first.” I hand her a face mask and goggles.
She eyes them like they’re infected. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
She grumbles but dons the protective gear. I do the same.
I step between her and the door and nudge it open, letting light from the windows spill in, rustling dust motes to life.
A wave of stagnant decay hits my nose despite the mask. What once held thousands of dollars’ worth of designer gowns transformed into a meth addict’s moldy den over the last fifty years. Drug paraphernalia litters the shredded blankets on the floor. Mold coats the drywall on three walls.
“We don’t know what we’ll find in the rest of the house or even on the property. Collin and his crew are taking every precaution. Precautions take time. Tell your town council it’s better to do the job right the first time than to let a little kid find an unwanted surprise.” I point at the needles.
Her eyes ravage the space. “And if they don’t believe me?”
“We schedule a fieldtrip.”
She nods, closes the door, and wanders into the main bedroom, removing her mask and goggles. “What else have you found?” Her uncoordinated movements and slightly glazed eyes give away how shaken she is. She didn’t expect her precious house to need so much work.
“Garbage. Broken pipes. Frayed wiring. Time robbed this house of its beauty because no one cared enough to stop it.”
“They wanted to.” She meets my eyes. “Do you care? About the house, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The single word hangs between us.
I want to whisper, I’m not such an asshole in her ear, but there’s a reason I force myself to think of her as the mayor, not Zoe.
Zoe is a beautiful woman who snags my attention. The mayor is a professional adversary who I can’t let boss me around.
The distinction is vital to my wellbeing despite our playful banter earlier.
Zoe drops her eyes to her hands. I don’t miss the way she bites her lip until it blanches. She wants this place restored, so why does she look sad? Is it because I’m the one fixing the house? Her mom was involved, but she died. Is that it?
What happened to the fiery woman who was excited about restoring this treasure?
I tuck my hands in my pockets so I don’t slide one to the small of her back and lead her to a better part of the house. One that I know will put a smile on her face. “Do you want to see the other work they’ve done?”
She steps away from me. “No, but you need to add ten more cabins to the blueprints, even if they’re just for show, for now. That’s the only way the council approves the permits and doesn’t petition for an easement.”
“You want me to lie to them?”
She wanders into the living room and runs her fingertips over the hearth.
“This house wasn’t meant to be a hotel. It will lose a lot of its glamour and lore during the renovation, but it needs to be restored.
We can’t let this key piece of our history crumble, but we can’t turn it into Disneyland either. ”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
She scoffs. “If Lucky has her way, there will be roller coasters and funnel cake stands on every corner.”
“How depressing.”
“I know. Can you imagine anything more tragic?” She swallows thickly.
“I’ll tell Collin about the plan.”
We share a hesitant smile. Her eyes sparkle with gratitude.
My stomach doesn’t feel clogged with bile anymore. A warm sensation climbs into my chest and tingles down to my fingertips with the urge to brush my thumb across Zoe’s cheek. Is her skin as soft as it looks?
I fist my hands.
What am I thinking? It’s got to be the mold infecting my brain. She’s the mayor. There can be no touching. No caressing her cheek.
“Will ten additional cabins satisfy them?”
She nods. “I’ll need copies of the revised blueprints.”
“Collin will submit them to the city.”
“No, I mean, I need my own copies. Today or tomorrow, if possible.”
“Why?”
“Just because.” She shrugs and walks toward the windows overlooking the forest.
“Zoe?” What isn’t she telling me?
“It’s just…I mean, for my records. So I don’t have to wait.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Well, now that you mention it, no. I don’t. I can’t. You said you’d build twenty cabins before, but then you didn’t have Collin put them on the plans, so I can’t trust you this time either. I need proof.”
“And what we submit to the city isn’t good enough?”
“Just get me my own copy, okay?” She slams the mask and goggles into my chest and marches outside. “I have Mom’s research in the back of my car. Do you want it, or should I give it to Collin?”
Thunder crackles overhead, and the first gigantic raindrops hit my head. “I want it.”
Carrying the boxes to the house, I hunch over them to protect them from the weather as the rain intensifies. Zoe’s reasoning for the extra set of blueprints isn’t good enough. Once we’ve moved the boxes, I corner her next to her car. “Why do you need your own copies?”
She tosses her purse onto the passenger seat. “I told you why—to keep you honest.”
“I don’t believe you. Why do you look scared?”
“What would I have to be scared about?” But her voice trembles.
“You tell me.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you. What is going on? Is the town council giving you a hard time? Do I need to talk to them about the house? Explain everything?”
She cackles. “Goodness, no. That’s the last thing I need. A savior? Give me a little credit.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“You don’t live in my world. I can’t explain it. You don’t understand the pressure I’m under.”
“Face-off with a tech bro during a hostile takeover, then we’ll compare notes.”
“At least you have privacy. Living in a small town means every minute of every day, I’m under a microscope. Watched, judged, gossiped about. If I don’t do my job perfectly—”
“They’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. They elected you mayor.”
“Ha.” Her shoulders shake with sarcastic laughter. “No. No, they did not.”
My mouth drops open. “You weren’t elected? How are you mayor? Or…” Has she been gaslighting me this entire time?
“I lied to you. My dad was elected.” She blinks rapidly and shifts her gaze to the overlook.
Raindrops cling to her eyelashes. “He’s been sick, so I’m helping out.
Filling in when he can’t meet with people face-to-face.
You wouldn’t have given me the time of day if I’d told you I was the mayor’s assistant.
You would have walked over me like you did that day when we were kids.
Dad needed me to do his job better than he could have.
So I lied. Go ahead, judge me, hate me. I can take it. ” She lifts her chin defiantly.
I step back. Rain splats against my shoulders, soaking my suit. Droplets stick to Zoe’s lips. That urge to caress her cheek intensifies.
I should be pissed off. She lied. She impersonated a government official.
Manipulated me into turning my haven into a hotel.
But she’s shivering.
I need to get her somewhere warm and dry. Every minute we stand in the rain, she sinks deeper and deeper into herself.
She’s here to protect her dad. To make him proud.
I understand that need better than she can imagine.
My parents created our corporation one invention, one acquisition, one expansion at a time. After Mom’s first big break, they were unstoppable.
Dad is the marketing wizard.
Mom is the inventor, with an innate sense about which branch of the economy would be our most lucrative next step.
Filling their footprints hasn’t been easy since it’s just me doing the job they tag-teamed. Oliver helps, but he’s following his passions on deep water rigs and impossible dives year-round. He gets that from Mom, so I’m alone to fight and build and carry on our family reputation.
Zoe’s fighting alone too.
She and I want the same thing. We both need to prove we can do the jobs we were born to do. Our methods are different, but we have the same goals for this property.
I cup her elbow. “We can talk about this later.”
She twists free. “No. Now. Yell at me. Tell me I’m an idiot.”
I hold her hazel gaze. Bravado gone, she lets me see into her soul. She’s so scared she won’t live up to everyone’s expectations that I can’t help but wonder what she expects of herself.
She let a surly teenager crush her dreams of being a senator. What other dreams has she buried because other people keep telling her who she is instead of letting her decide for herself?
“I can’t tell you you’re an idiot. You made a choice given the information you had at the time.
I wish you hadn’t lied, but given the circumstances, it makes sense.
I would have demanded to see your dad, and I wouldn’t have agreed to your terms. You’re soaked to the bone.
Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee full of sugar, and then we can decide what to do next. ”
“I don’t like it when you’re nice to me.”
“I’m not always an asshole.”
“It’s easier when you are.”
“Why’s that?” My gaze drops to her lips, and she sucks in a breath.
Rain coats her skin. Her lips are plump and kissable, but they’re also turning blue.
As much as I’d love to let this tension stretch, to see what she does with it, I can’t let her catch hypothermia. Lightning shatters the sky, and we flinch.
I hold my hand out. “Coffee?”