26. Colt
COLT
The last of the day bleeds through the pines, giving me just enough light to see what I’m doing.
I have the miter saw set up on sawhorses as I cut through a length of picture frame molding.
My sleeves are rolled up to my elbows—a halfhearted attempt at keeping the dress shirt clean for our fake date.
The screen door to the backyard swings open and Alice steps out. When I glance up and see her, the soft evening light making her skin and hair glow, I nearly send my fingers under the blade. The whirring of the saw stops and I tug my gloves off, gawking.
“God, Alice,” I manage, taking in the skirt, the knee-high boots, the little white cardigan that dips toward her cleavage. “Are you trying to kill me?”
Alice grins. “Maggie is here.” She winks and slips back inside.
I dust off the front of my shirt and roll the sleeves down as I stride after her.
My feet feel like lead as I head inside, because I don’t want a phony date with Alice.
I want a real one. I want to bring her flowers from her friend’s shop, linger over a candlelit dinner, and then walk her home, her small hand securely in mine.
Also, I want Grant out of the damn house when we return, so I can enjoy eating my dessert—the kind found between Alice’s thighs.
Inside, Maggie is already filming B-roll of the bookshop. “You two need a rundown of the plan?”
Alice shakes her head, lifting the sketchbooks and manila folder she’s carrying. “No, I filled Colt in. We’re ready.”
Maggie nods. “Okay, then. Let’s give the people what they want.”
Maggie walks through the front door and down to the sidewalk, and Alice and I follow along.
I put my hand on the small of Alice’s back and guide her to the inside of the sidewalk, taking the street side for myself.
Lately, the nightmares I collected during deployment have been replaced by ones that feature terrible things happening to Alice.
I can’t be too careful where she’s concerned.
Maggie walks backward in front of us as we head toward Hillstone, where we’ll have dinner and discuss the soft opening.
Maggie is filming for marketing reasons, but this dinner will serve another purpose, because Alice came home from Maggie’s place with a hangover and a head full of ideas, but we haven’t discussed the details yet.
Maggie taps her screen and there’s a quick chime sound. A moment later, she points the phone in our direction. “So, you two are on your way to a business dinner?”
I immediately begin to sweat as Alice jumps in, not missing a beat. “That’s right,” she grins. “We’ve decided to do a soft opening for my bookshop next weekend. And there’s a lot to go over to ensure it’s a success. Maggie, am I doing this right?”
Maggie removes one hand from the phone and rolls her wrist. “Perfectly, girl. Keep going.”
I glance at Alice, the urge to touch her nearly impossible to resist. I want to brush my thumb over the back of her neck.
I want to press a kiss to her temple. But mostly, I want to hold her hand.
To assure myself that she’s safe, and that I can keep her safe.
With each passing day, it seems I worry less about who knows about us, and more about Alice not getting everything she wants.
“Colt.” Maggie interrupts my spiraling mind. “I asked if you two were together.”
I swallow, then force the lie past my lips. “No,” I grunt. “Just business partners.”
Maggie keeps filming, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she doesn’t trip over the hay bale and pumpkin display outside the pharmacy. “And you’re both single?”
Alice smiles at me quickly, a secret passing between us.
My chest tightens because I hate this secret.
I want to cup her face between my hands and kiss her until we can’t breathe.
I want to look straight into the camera and tell Maggie, tell the whole damn town, No.
She’s not single. And neither am I. But Maggie explained that Alice’s followers are riveted by the will they, won’t they tension, so I bite my tongue.
Alice glances back at the lens. “Yes, we’re both single. I have too much at stake to entertain a relationship right now.”
My eyes dart to her. Is that true? Or was that just for the camera?
I’ve told myself the same thing a dozen times—that a relationship, or even messing around, could screw this up for her.
But that line of thinking went by the wayside the moment I got a taste of Alice, and now I can hardly breathe when she’s not around.
Maggie plunges onward. “Just one last question, one I’m sure we won’t get an answer to, but your followers are dying to know. Do we have a name for the bookshop?”
Nope.
“I do, actually,” Alice responds coyly.
My head snaps in her direction. “You do?”
Alice beams at me. “I do.”
Maggie releases a squeal. “Ooh, the entrepreneur has been keeping secrets, folks. Well, go on then, tell the world what it is.”
Alice shakes her head. “Not yet. I’m going to reveal it at the soft opening.” She points at the lens and adds, “So you’ll just have to hang around for a few more days.”
Maggie lowers the phone, raises a free hand, and snaps her fingers while swaying her head side to side, eyes closed. “That. Was. Money.”
A few blocks down, we reach Hillstone, Holly River’s only upscale restaurant. Maggie, Alice, and I step inside and are greeted with white tablecloths, dark wood, and the clink of polished silverware.
Maggie wastes no time scanning the room. “I’ll grab a nearby table and film a bit of you two eating and discussing plans. I won’t be able to pick up what you’re saying, so you’re free to discuss how devastatingly attractive I am.”
Maggie dashes off, and the hostess seats us at a corner booth. Alice slides in first, and I follow on the other side, the cool leather pressing against my back. Alice smiles at me, and I return it, happy to be here with her, even if it’s staged.
She leans across the table, her hair falling over her shoulders. “This is weird, huh?”
I shake my head. “No. Not weird. It’s good. It’s smart.”
When the waitress returns, we order—steak for me, salmon for her, and a bottle of red wine, which I know nothing about, but Alice claims is a good one.
While we wait for the food to arrive, Alice walks me through the soft opening details.
How June will bring enough Halloween-themed pastries to feed a battalion, and that Alice will help transform the space into a haunted house, which the ongoing construction—if any remains—will lend itself to.
She explains that I’ll string lights along the front porch and Grant will build a backplate for the bookshop with the name she’s chosen, which remains highly classified.
Alice also explains that she’s invited her parents, which causes me to seek out the waitress, because I could use that wine right about now.
Maggie films pieces of the conversation, occasionally sighing in frustration when waiters accidentally obscure her shot by daring to do their jobs.
Alice glances down at the sketches she’s drawn for the Halloween party slash soft opening, and casually shuffles some papers around as she asks, “Do you think…maybe you’d want to invite Warren?”
The name lands like a grenade. Warren come to the soft launch? I hadn’t even considered it. I can’t even get him to respond to my texts about selling our mom’s place. I can’t imagine he’d respond to a message about something he has no part in. “Warren’s still in Oregon, I think.”
She presses gently. “But would you want him there?”
I sit with that question, eyes searching the table, the room, as if I might find the answer there. Eventually, I realize it doesn’t matter what I think. “He’d never come.”
Alice nods and graciously moves past the subject, returning to the bookshop.
We open the folder she brought and sift through the sketches, budget spreadsheets, and materials lists she’s created over the years, many of them recently.
As she talks, pointing out things she still needs to buy and what she’s heard back from vendors, I watch her face, the way she moves her hands.
I study her expressions, how she smiles at the mention of certain things—like which books she plans to stock, and how she’ll host a monthly book club and serve croissants from Humble Pie and coffee from Mug Shots.
She glows as she speaks about these things, and there’s a confidence in her manner that I only see when she’s doing this.
When she’s dreaming about a permanent place for all the stories and worlds and fantasies that live in her mind.
I could spend all night listening to her and would be a better man for it.
Because Alice isn’t just a visionary, she’s an inspiration.
I’m practically vibrating in my chair, eager to return to work just listening to her.
“You’re incredible, Alice,” I blurt out, unable to keep the thought in any longer.
Alice smiles, tilting her head. “Colt…”
“No, let me say this.” I shake my head, struggling to find the words.
“You went out in the world and got yourself a college degree. You had an easy path to success through your parents’ company, but instead you chose to chase your own dream, and you’re making it look easy.
” I sweep my hand above the table, referencing the P&L projections and publisher discount tiers and wallpaper samples.
“You’re kind to every person in this town, even those who don’t deserve it.
You… You carried me when I needed it, Alice.
And when I look at you, when I think about the kind of person you are and what you’re capable of, I feel like… ”
Alice leans forward expectantly. “What, Colt? What do you feel?”
Inadequate.
Unworthy.
Maggie’s voice cuts in from the side. “Gah, that was great! You two were really bringing the drama there. That conversation looked intense. That was for me, right? For the camera?”
Alice’s gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer, and then she smiles up at Maggie. “Yep. We’re Grade A thespians."