Chapter 14
Zoe
As I finish my swim, just like every other morning for the last two weeks, Landon is standing on the beach, wearing that same creamy wool coat with heavy wooden buttons.
It’s perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders and brightens the golden, terra cotta tones in his skin.
Too bad he looks so handsome. He’s easier to ignore when his piercing green eyes aren’t ravishing me as I walk out of the water.
Instead, I focus on the familiar thermos of coffee in one hand and the casserole dish in the other.
I wring the water from my hair and try to ignore the sweet cinnamon smell coming from the dish. My stomach growls in delight.
He pops the lid. “This is the recipe our chef makes for Christmas breakfast.”
“Of course it is. Did you fly them in to cook for you?” It’s the most logical explanation for all the delicious food Landon brings me every morning.
He shakes his head. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t allow that.”
My eyes narrow. “You have to ask permission?”
“To borrow the chef who has prepared every meal my mother has eaten for the last two decades, I need to drop to my knees and beg. I made these.” He holds out the dish. “For you.”
I scrub my towel along my arms instead. “I don’t understand why you bother.”
“Because I like talking to you.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about. I can text about the estate.”
“You’re right. We don’t have to talk. Making out seems like a much better idea. The back seat of my car is infinitely comfortable. Or we can try yours.” He nods to the Jeep sitting in the parking lot.
His sarcasm isn’t lost on me. If only I had the guts to turn down the gift…but she’s so pretty, I couldn’t.
I shipped the dry suits, cashmere coat, and flowers back to his room at the Cherry Blossom, donated the meat to the food bank, and took the cookies and tacos to Town Hall for everyone to enjoy, so I do have a backbone somewhere.
Emberly’s scowl fills my mind. She wouldn’t approve of our conversation. Time to redirect. “Collin sent me the blueprints for the cottages. They don’t match the aesthetic of the house.”
“Picking a fight? Not your strongest tactic.”
“Not picking a fight, just stating the obvious.”
“What do you suggest instead?”
“A combination of stacked stone and plank siding will blend in with the forest better. And no hot tubs on the balconies. Those are cheesy.”
“They’re romantic.”
“No one wants to hear their neighbors splashing around having sex.”
He clenches his jaw, and it seems to take a huge amount of effort for his eyes to stay locked on mine. He shifts his stance like he’s uncomfortable.
I don’t need to be telepathic to get that he’s imagining us in one of those hot tubs. I had that thought when I saw the blueprints too.
But they don’t fit the glamorous image the rest of the resort embodies. And his silence means I win this round. I wrap my towel around my shoulders. “The rolls smell good, but I’m allergic to cinnamon.”
His eyes narrow. “You ate a cinnamon apple pie muffin last week.”
“Did I? I don’t think I did.” I totally did, but how does he know that?
“Any other allergies I should know about?”
I circle my finger to encompass his face. “Playboy billionaires who don’t know when to leave a woman alone. I break out in hives.”
“Good thing I’m not allergic to snarky mayors who like playing hard to get.”
“Not hard to get. Just not interested.”
“Didn’t think you were a liar.”
“It was one kiss. Get over it. I have.” I’m a horrible liar, but I keep my back to him as I thread my legs into my sweatpants, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice.
He steps around me so we’re face to face. “Let me take you on a date.”
“Nope.”
“What are you so afraid of?”
“Enjoy your cinnamon rolls.”
“Zoe, please.” His pleading tone stops me. “What will it take?”
Landon’s arms hang in front of him. The casserole dish dangles from his fingertips like he’s forgotten he’s holding it, and the glass will smash against the rocks any second.
“Please,” he repeats.
I smother my sigh. “You only care because I told you no.” Straightening my posture, I pour resolve into my defense.
“We will finish the estate, and you’ll jet off to your next project, leaving me behind.
Then what? My job is to keep you in line.
I can’t do that if I let you seduce me. Our boundaries need to stay professional.
” I flick my hand between us. “I am not the kind of woman to engender this kind of devotion from anyone, let alone a man who’s been to more countries than I can name and owns more hotels than I could visit in ten lifetimes.
Stop pretending you care about me, and please let me live my life. ”
“I would give you the world.”
“That’s a line if ever I heard one.” I snort. “The world? Please. Why would anyone want the whole world? I have enough trouble with my tiny town and the town council to worry about the world.”
He steps close enough that his breath warms my frozen cheeks.
His green eyes blow wide like he wants to absorb every ounce of me.
“Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and tell me what you want.” He sets the casserole at our feet and cups my face, tilting my chin to line up our mouths.
“The woman who kissed me the other day wasn’t afraid.
She didn’t hide behind propriety and other people’s expectations.
She wanted to kiss me, so she did.” His lips whisper across my eyelids, and I can’t breathe.
“You are the kind of woman who inspires men to write sonnets and fight wars and—”
I jerk my face free before I lose my nerve. “That’s not who I am.”
“But it’s who you want to be. Don’t pretend you can’t be.”
Zoe
I need space. I need freedom to breathe and cleanse Landon’s voice out of my head.
It’s who you want to be.
How can he possibly know that?
How can he tell me who I want to be when he doesn’t even know me?
I don’t even know me.
How can he be right?
I want to be the kind of woman men pursue with passion and single-minded focus.
No, that’s not right. I don’t want men to pursue me. I want one man. One with golden skin and green eyes who bakes me cinnamon rolls, even if he is the last man on earth I am allowed to have.
What started as a wayward kiss has bloomed into an irresponsible crush. After our moment on the beach this morning, that crush is a forest fire driving me to seek refuge anywhere but Landon’s arms.
How can he have so much faith in me when no one else does?
How does he see me as worthy of sonnets when the rest of the people in my life can barely describe me with the words that fit on a post it note?
It doesn’t matter. He’s temporary. His ego is wounded. He’s spouting lines to get me to give in and make him feel like he isn’t a failure.
I pinch the bridge of my nose to shake off my pensive thoughts.
Dad and I are having brunch at the Red Wood today.
Family tradition dictates the meal on the last Tuesday of the month since mom passed away, and this is the first time since Dad’s heart attack that he feels well enough to pursue the tradition.
Dad is already at a table in the center of the room with several of his friends when I arrive.
He insisted he was well enough to drive himself, so I gave him his freedom.
His face brightens when he sees me. “Hey, Baby Girl.” He hefts his bulk out of the chair and scoops me in a bear hug, then shoos Jim Harrington out of a chair. “I was starting to worry. You’re never late.”
“My swim took longer than normal today, that’s all.” As did reorganizing my face so Dad wouldn’t be able to read Landon’s effect on me.
His forehead pinches. “Still don’t like you in that bay.”
“It’s good exercise.” I poke his belly. “Join me and you’ll look a little bit less like Santa Claus.”
“I prefer my jolly disposition, thank you very much.” He pushes my chair in after I sit down. “Now tell me all about the Reeves estate. You’ve been quiet the last few days.”
“No. The doctors said you need to lower your stress levels. We are having a family brunch, not talking business.”
“It’s more stressful not knowing.” He leans forward in anticipation, but I don’t give in. They said no stress. My silence means no stress.
“What can I get you?” our waitress asks.
Dad unfolds his laminated menu. “Breakfast platter.”
“Uh-huh.” I take the menu and point to the heart healthy section. “He will have the egg white and spinach omelet with whole wheat toast. No butter, strawberry jam on the side. Black coffee and orange juice, please.”
He flicks his napkin and puts it in his lap. “I can order my own food.”
“Doctor’s orders—because you do not get to have another…” I wiggle my eyebrows because he knows I can’t say heart attack in the middle of a restaurant surrounded by friends who know more about us than they should. “Not on my watch.”
Dad hands the waitress both our menus. “Change that whole wheat toast to banana bread, love.” He drops his glare to me. “I can still eat that.”
“No butter.” I order the same meal as Dad to support him.
He is a man who does not like change, but if I hope to watch him bounce grandbabies on his knee, he needs to eat better and exercise. I also need to convince him he needs to officially retire, but that’s a fight for another day.
“Mayor Winslow, what a pleasant surprise.” Lucky pops up at my shoulder like a demented jack-in-the-box. Too many teeth in a smile that doesn’t reach her wide eyes. “Hey, Zoe.” My name tumbles from her mouth like an afterthought.
Lucky flips the extra chair around backwards and straddles it. “Beautiful morning, wouldn’t you say? Lovely weather for a refreshing swim.”
I dig my fingernails into my thigh to prevent my teeth from grinding. Was she watching Landon and me this morning? Is that what she’s insinuating? We didn’t do anything wrong. Talking on a beach isn’t a crime.
But he cradled my face. The tension in our bodies can’t be interpreted as anything but longing and attraction. Shit, shit, shit.