Chapter 16
Zoe
The doorbell rings, pulling me from the budgets I’m reviewing for the next town council meeting. My eyes dart to the clock.
Would Landon show up at my house early? Yes, yes he would.
I glance at my yoga pants and oversized Seahawks T-shirt. This look should scare him away.
The urge to run my fingers through my unwashed hair and check my face in the mirror itches under my skin, but I ignore it. I need Landon to leave me alone. What billionaire wants a woman who looks like her outfit was stolen from the garbage bin at the back of a thrift shop?
Hopefully not this one.
The doorbell rings again followed by three swift knocks.
Impatient much?
I pull the door open. Landon is on my front porch with two linen sacks in his hands. He’s wearing his ubiquitous cream wool coat. A lock of hair falls across his forehead. I tuck my hands under my arms so I don’t brush it back to see his eyes better. “I said I wasn’t going to your condo.”
“I know.” He brushes past me into my entryway. “I brought dinner to you.”
“Landon, you can’t ignore me when I say no.”
He lifts the bags. “You need to eat.”
“That’s what frozen pizza is for.”
“We can do better than that.” His lips graze my cheek. “You look beautiful.”
“No, I don’t. I look like a bag lady.”
“You look comfortable, and I appreciate you not pretending to be someone you aren’t. It’s a nice change.”
“I didn’t agree to dinner, so why would I get dressed up?”
“Kitchen through here?” He walks down the hall to the back of my house.
My home is a quaint two-bedroom craftsman bungalow I bought with my college fund, since I earned a full ride to the University of Washington. I refused to move back in with Dad after graduation, much to his annoyance.
But what twenty-something woman wants to live with her dad? Only one that doesn’t hope to have a social life.
But maybe that would have kept Landon away.
Too late now.
Landon sets his bags on the counters and shrugs out of his coat. He tosses it on the back of one of the dining chairs and pushes up the sleeves of his Henley. “Bottle opener?” He pulls a bottle of wine out of one of the bags.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Not until we talk.”
“Thirty cabins. Talk over.”
His gaze sweeps over my face and softens. “That’s not what we’re talking about.”
“But you said…” What else is there to talk about? It’s been almost two months since our kiss. I’m never going to admit I think about it as I’m drifting off to sleep. I’ve convinced myself he’s not thinking about it.
So what can we possibly have to discuss?
He wiggles the bottle. “Opener?”
The fastest way to get rid of Landon is to go through the motions. The bottle opener is in the drawer next to the stove. I hand it to him, and he uncorks the wine while I grab two glasses.
He hands me the golden liquid. “To fresh starts.”
I touch my glass to his. “To you leaving me alone.”
“We can be friends.”
“I doubt that.” What would that even look like? The overly insightful compliments he gives always knock me off-kilter. How do we have a friendly dinner when I’m worried the next truth bomb out of his mouth will make me crumble at his feet?
Landon doesn’t do small talk. I’m too attracted to him to not stick my foot in my mouth. Friendship might be navigable terrain for us, but what if we slip into something more? Is it dumb of me to wonder what if?
What if we become friends, but I want more than he’s willing to give?
What if we become friends, but when he leaves, there’s a hole in my heart because he’s become dear to me?
What if we become friends, but he wants more and I can’t give him what he needs?
“Where would I find a pot to boil the pasta and another to make the cream sauce?” he asks.
I brace my hands on the back of my dining chair. “You weren’t lying about being a chef?”
“I will never lie to you. They say the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but I disagree. I think that cliche fits women better. In my experience, women find nothing sexier than a man who can serve them a delicious meal.” He winks.
There goes all the mental energy I wasted wondering what if we become friends. He’s blowing right by that interstate exit and headed toward More-Than-I-Can-Give-ville. “And do you want me to think you’re sexy?”
“You already do. This is me reminding you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Landon, you have to stop.”
He slides his hands onto my shoulders and rubs gentle circles across my collarbones. “And you need to relax. There’s no one here but me. You can let your guard down. I don’t expect anything from you except your company. You don’t even need to speak to me if you don’t want to.”
Why is he here, then? What’s the end goal? Why does he care? “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t need to.” His lips brush my forehead. “Sometimes you just need to accept things the way they are. And tonight, I’m taking care of you by making you dinner.”
“You’re so used to being bossy. What if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”
“I am a billionaire. I inherited one of the largest corporations in the world. If I’m not bossy, nothing gets done the way that it should be. Now, where are those pots?”
I retrieve the tools he needs. “What do you want me to do?”
“Enjoy your wine.”
“Feels weird to just sit here and watch you.”
He pulls the chair out from the table and gestures for me to sit. “When was the last time anyone took care of you?”
I shrug. “That’s not how things work. Besides, I want to help. If you’re such a great chef, then teach me.”
His eyes brighten from iceberg-green to Mediterranean Sea. “Boil the water for the pasta while I prep the chanterelle mushrooms?”
We work in companionable silence. He is a master with the chef’s knife, dicing mushrooms, garlic, and fresh thyme, moving fluidly around the kitchen as if he’s been here before. Completely comfortable in his skin… and in my space.
When I add water to the pot, he sprinkles in two gigantic fingerfuls of salt. “Salty as the sea for the noodles to cook perfectly.”
I hate to admit his command of the kitchen is sexy. He could summon an army of chefs with the snap of his fingers but has chosen to cook for me himself. That’s more intoxicating than wine.
His muscles bunch beneath his tight shirt when he retrieves a spatula from the crock on my counter. They flex as he sautés the vegetables, hinting at the defined shape hidden beneath the fabric. I doubt there is an ounce of fat anywhere on his body.
Unlike me, who is soft and curvy on my best days.
I should have changed into a cuter outfit so I don’t feel so frumpy next to him.
Would it be weird if I snuck into my bedroom and changed? Or would that be too obvious?
He called me beautiful in my oversized T-shirt.
I can choose to believe him.
I can be beautiful.
When the pasta is done, he coats the noodles in the black truffle cream sauce and serves me as if I were a guest in a five-star restaurant. “Bon appétit.”
The first bite is heaven on my tongue. The earthy combination of mushrooms, cream, and spices is decadent and exotic. I groan despite myself. It’s too good to pretend I am not enjoying every bite.
Way better than frozen pizza.
A self-satisfied smirk plays across Landon’s face. “Good?”
“I would hire you, but I can only afford minimum wage.”
“Anytime, Comet.”
“No, not anytime. This is a one-time thing. I appreciate you cooking for me, but no one can know you’re here.” My reputation can’t handle any more whispers. After my fight with Dad at the Red Wood, his prolonged absence earns new quiet conversations at The Bright Spot every morning.
“Then I probably shouldn’t have parked in your driveway.” Landon winks.
I slurp another bite into my mouth. So good.
“They will excuse one meal if I tell them it’s town business.
Lucky has the council up in arms about the extra cabins.
” I tell him about our repeated debates during town council meetings and the messages she’s left on Dad’s answering machine.
“I’ll tell them I convinced you to build the extra cabins. ”
“I’m not building them. The location they want isn’t safe. And that’s not the vision. Intimate, boutique, exclusive. That’s the vision.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s a haven.” He closes his eyes and a brief smile flutters at the corners of his mouth. “Our escape. Mine and my brother’s.”
“What do you need to escape from?”
He places a spiral of noodles in his mouth. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs, and I’m not sure he’s going to answer the question.
It might not be easy for him to answer. I can’t begin to understand the demands for his time.
But an escape feels drastic.
As a man with unlimited resources, can’t he reorganize his life to be less stressful, something he doesn’t need to escape from?
I slide my hand to his. “Why do you need an escape?”
He intertwines our fingers. “Nine months ago, my brother’s girlfriend broke his heart, and it almost killed him.
He agreed to risky dives in bad weather.
He’d stay down longer than was safe and ascend too quickly.
It was a wakeup call. I had to drag him out of Turkey so he could see what he was doing to himself. ”
“You’re a good brother.”
“I’m not. It never should have gotten that far in the first place.
She wasn’t right for him, but I was too busy taking meetings and building my parents’ empire to take a break and talk to him about her.
One weekend—that’s all it would have taken.
Instead, I waited until he ended up in a decompression tank to come to my senses. ”
“You think sitting on a bluff overlooking Rainwater Bay will fix your life?”
“It’s not just the estate. It’s the kind of man I get to be when I’m here.” His thumb rubs circles on the back of my hand, shooting little lightning bolts up the outside of my forearm.
“I don’t understand.”
“With you, I’m not a ruthless dealmaker strategizing how to acquire a corporation that doesn’t want to be bought out.” He gestures to my tiny kitchen. “I’m a normal guy cooking dinner for a beautiful woman so I can get to know her better.”
“I thought you like your job.”
“I love it. That’s the problem. If I don’t have this property, I don’t have a reason to walk away. I will work myself to death, and I’ll smile as I’m doing it. But when is enough enough? Why do we bother doing any of the work we do?”
“You need to take care of the people who work for you. Their livelihood is on the line if you don’t lead them well.”
He tugs a strand of hair by my ear. “That’s the most mayoral thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I snort a harsh laugh. “They don’t want my leadership. They want my dad’s.”
“Do you want his job?”
“What other choice do I have? There aren’t any jobs in Rainwater Bay for a disgraced mayor’s assistant.”
“You can conquer the world, if you want to.”
“Yeah, right. The world? You play on the global scale. I can’t earn the respect of people I’ve known my entire life. They all call me Baby Girl for a reason. They’ll never see me as anything else.”
“Then why do you worry about them so much? Screw them.” He flings his arms wide. “Walk away.”
“I can’t.”
“Won’t.” The word snaps.
“It’s not the same for me as it is for you. My dad is sick. I need to be here for him.”
“Even when he doesn’t appreciate that you gave up your life to be his shadow?”
“I didn’t give up my life.”
“What happened to the girl who wanted to be a senator?”
“You killed that dream.”
“Did I? Some kid you’d never met ruined your life plan. You didn’t want it that badly, if that’s the case.”
“I did want it, but you made me realize what a hopeless dream it was.”
“Let me guess—you told your dad what I said?”
“Of course. I was crying.”
“And?”
“It was your fault.”
He shakes his head. “Not what I meant. What did your dad say when you told him I laughed at you about being a senator?”
“He…” I shift in my chair. “He said I didn’t need to worry about what you said because my destiny was to be Rainwater Bay’s next mayor anyway. It’s tradition.”
He lays his hands palms up between us. “And that was enough for you? Tradition? That was enough to kill the spark in your heart?”
“Traditions are important.” I feel like they’re all I have left to cling to, sometimes. When I’m alone and unsure, knowing I can emulate the happy life Mom and Dad built gives me purpose.
Landon brackets my face with his hands. “Only if those traditions connect you to something you want to stay connected to.”
“Why are we talking about this? You’re supposed to be telling me about your brother.” I pick up our empty plates and clear the table. I won’t be lectured by him.
He steps between me and the sink. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll clean up.”
I elbow him out of my way. “I’ve got this.” I nod toward the front of the house. “Pour more wine and pick a record. The player is in the living room.”
“Not kicking me out yet?”
I should. I totally should.
We’re fighting.
He’s the reason I gave up my dream, not Dad.
Dad just reminded me of my responsibilities. I can’t fault him for expecting me to follow in his footsteps when a member of my family has been mayor of Rainwater Bay since before the Reeves moved here. It’s my legacy.
But…Landon’s right. I never pushed back against Dad’s expectations. I wanted to be a senator and change the world, but when Dad told me not to worry, what I heard was that he didn’t believe I could.
Who did I think I was, trying to be a senator?
Small town girls should stay where they belong.
Baby Girl, I need you to be my assistant, so political science is a wiser major than history.
Our town will vote for you when the time is right, but you aren’t ready yet. You have more to learn. I can’t retire.
“Zoe?” Landon cups my cheek. “You want me to stay?”
I lick my lips and find my voice. “I want you to stay.”
His hand drifts to the back of my neck. My gaze drops to his lips. Is he going to kiss me?
I want him to.
It’s such a bad idea, but, ugh, I want to feel his mouth against mine. I don’t care that we’re fighting. I don’t care that he’s making me reorganize the memories of my childhood and their implications.
I just want to kiss him and forget everything. I suck a breath through my nose and meet his eyes.
He drops his hand and steps back. “Thank you.”
My stomach plummets to my bare feet.
Please don’t leave. Please don’t say thank you for dinner and then leave. “For what?” My voice is all breathy and weird.
“Letting me be normal.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tucks his hands out of reach. “I’ll pick a record.”