Chapter 7
Seven
Luke
The moment I push through the heavy oak doors, I regret agreeing to meet my brothers for an après-ski beer at The Powder Keg lodge, their favorite place to “slum it” when they’re in Vermont.
The ancient lobby reeks of wet wool, spilled beer, and the tangy sweat of lunatics who’ve spent an entire day hurling themselves down mountains for fun.
Every surface is covered in either antlers or reclaimed wood, and there’s a fireplace large enough to roast an entire reindeer crackling away in the corner.
After my encounter with Willow’s woodpile, I’ve had my fill of all things rustic. I would have preferred to meet Bran and Elliot at the wine shop one town over.
Or, even better, in our own living room.
Call me a homebody, but I’ve started to enjoy lingering in the great room with my siblings in the evenings, chatting as we sip something from grandfather’s collection and watch the stars come out over the valley.
In New York, it seems like I’m always either working late or grabbing dinner at a restaurant on the way home.
I rarely get back to my penthouse before ten.
That never bothered me before—if you’d asked me a week ago, I would have said I preferred it to a night at home, in fact—but now…
Well, now, everything is upside down.
I’m starting to long for quiet nights on the couch and, even worse, look forward to Friday nights with the most tempting blackmail artist ever to ply her trade.
The thought is enough to prompt my brain to replay memories of this afternoon all over again—Holly’s laugh, her blush.
Her hand in mine, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip.
Her eyes, wide and filled with a silent invitation.
The gravitational pull between us that had been about to reach its inexorable conclusion when—
“Luke!” Elliot’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “We’re in the corner. By the sheep’s head.”
I glance over to see him waving from a booth beneath a depressed-looking taxidermy sheep. Bran sits beside him, hunched over his phone, looking unusually miserable.
Huh. I wonder what that’s about…
I weave through the crowd of après-ski enthusiasts, their faces glowing with windburn and alcohol, and slide into the booth across from my brothers.
“Well, well. What have you been up to? Looks like you’ve been doing actual work,” Elliot says, his eyes bright with amusement. “Is that sawdust in your hair?”
I run a hand over my head, sending wood particles filtering onto the table. “Sorry. I got sucked into splitting some wood after I dropped the chipmunk off. Willow was running low on firewood.”
Bran sighs, continuing to flip through his phone as he says, “I’m going to miss Cheeks. He was fun.”
“Is that why you’re depressed?” I ask, earning an eye roll from Elliot.
“No,” he says, before adding in a stage whisper, “Girl troubles.”
“She’s not a girl,” Bran says, finally looking up from his phone. “She’s a woman. And I think she might have been The One.”
Elliot snorts. “Rachel was not the one.”
“How do you know?” Bran demands. “You only met her once.”
“I heard all your stories about this woman. That’s how I know,” Elliot insists. “She did not have ‘The One’ energy. Not even close.”
I flag down a passing server, ordering a bourbon and another round for the table before turning back to them, “Should I know who this is? I thought the last girl you were seriously dating was named Kiera.”
“Kiera was two ‘maybe she’s The Ones’ ago,” Elliot says, earning a glare from Bran.
“You’re being condescending,” he insists. “And who are you to judge, anyway? I can’t remember the last time you made it past a second date.”
Elliot shrugs. “I’m looking for something specific.”
“You’re looking for Nancy Tucker, that’s who you’re looking for,” Bran counters, making my brows shoot up.
“What? Kathy Kountry Store’s granddaughter?” I ask, glancing between them. “I thought you two were just good friends?’
Elliot laughs. “We are! Bran’s just lashing out because he’s sad about silly little Rachel. Who is silly. And petty. And was not the one.”
“Fine, fine…” Bran rubs a weary hand down his face. “You’re probably right. She was just…so beautiful. Seriously. Just a total angel. Want to see a picture, Luke?”
I don’t really, but I nod to show Bran I care. He turns his phone my way, revealing a brunette who looks like she could walk the runway at any international show of her choosing.
She’s undeniably beautiful, but, “There’s something in the eyes,” I say. “She looks…detached.”
“Right? Cold as ice,” Elliot agrees. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she tested positive for sociopathy, honestly.
As far as I’m concerned, you dodged a bullet, baby brother.
” My bourbon is delivered, along with fresh beers for Elliot and Bran.
After thanking the server, Elliot reaches for his coffee porter, lifting it into the air, “To dodging bullets and moving on to find your real ‘one.’ And to Luke finally kissing that adorable woman he was mooning over at the tree lighting.”
I pull my glass back, refusing to condone that toast addendum. “What? I was not mooning. I offered to help out at the festival and was assigned to the pet portrait booth. That’s it.”
“Right, and since when do you volunteer to help at holiday functions?” Elliot turns his bullshit seeking radar my way with the precision of a submarine captain. “You hate Christmas. You always have.”
Being unable to tell my siblings why I’m actually “volunteering” puts a dent in my ability to defend myself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.
“I don’t hate Christmas,” I insist.
It’s half true.
I didn’t always hate the holidays, just since they were ripped away from me as a child, along with my sense of wonder. That sense of wonder Holly seems to be stoking back to life with alarming ease…
“So why were you mooning over her again today, then?” Bran asks, a hint of his usual mischief creeping into his eyes. “Out by Willow’s woodpile?”
I nearly choke on my terrible bourbon. “What? How did you—”
“Farmer Johnson saw you two canoodling while he was out feeding his cows,” Elliot supplies.
“He texted Gladys at the post office, who told Nevil Newson, who was at the desk mailing a package at the time. Then, he texted his brother, Leonard, who was picking up fudge at the Kountry Store, and Leonard told the checkout girl, who told her supervisor, who told Nancy, who told me.”
“The mind reels,” I mutter, truly stunned. “Don’t any of them have something better to do?”
“No,” Elliot says pleasantly. “According to Nancy, the entire town is very invested in Holly Jo’s love life. They’re ready to see Silver Bell Falls’ resident sweetheart happily settled down with a man who isn’t her jerky ex, Philip.”
“Or some guy named Kevin,” Bran adds, “who’s allegedly a total pain in the ass. Nancy thinks their first date was a pity date on Holly’s part, but no one wants to encourage a second. All parties involved agree she’s too good for him.”
I stare at him. “Involved? How is anyone but Holly, and this alleged douchebag, involved in that?”
“So, I guess you don’t want to hear about the message Willow posted on the town digital message board, then?
” Elliot asks, looking more amused with every passing second.
“The one where she swore you two would have kissed if Holly’s dad hadn’t interrupted and encouraging people to respect the universal flow of romantic energy? ”
I drop my head into my hands. “This fucking town.”
“Her dad hearted the message, though,” Bran says, making my shoulders hunch closer to my ears. “Looks like he’s planning to be more mindful of what he’s interrupting in the future.”
I drag my hands over my hair, bringing them to rub at the increasingly knotted muscles at the back of my neck.
“It’s not a big deal,” Elliot says in a gentler voice. “You like her! That’s great. And it seems like she’s into you, too. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that she’s a sweetheart,” I say, the words coming out more forcefully than intended. “The sweetheart. And I’m…from out of town,” I say, instead of any of the other words on the tip of my tongue.
For some reason, my siblings don’t seem to realize just how broken I am, and I intend to keep it that way.
I’m the closest thing to a real father they’ve had since they were teenagers.
It’s important to their own well-being to continue believing I’m fine.
Cranky and closed off, especially during this time of year, but otherwise emotionally functional.
Bran’s brows snap together. “And? You have a car.”
“And a driver,” Elliot agrees. “You could leave the office early on Friday, work on the way to Vermont, and spend the entire weekend with your new lady without missing a single meeting or urgent email.”
“There’s no future in it,” I say. “And I’m not looking for casual connections at this point in my life. If it doesn’t have long-term potential, I don’t have the time.”
“The time for what?” Elliot leans forward. “Fun? Happiness? A woman who makes you stare at her like a lovesick teenager?”
“I do not—”
“You do,” both my brothers interrupt in unison.
I take another sip of terrible bourbon, the burn welcome.
Do I stare at her like that? I suppose I could demand photographic evidence, but the chances that someone in town might have already posted something of the sort on the message board keep my lips firmly shut.
If I’ve been paparazzied by a matchmaking local, I don’t want to know about it.
All I really want to know is, “But how?” I demand.
“How?” Bran echoes.
“Yes, how?” I say, throat tightening as I add, “How do you tell a woman that you’re almost certain that you’re incapable of meeting her needs, but… Well, maybe you’d like to have a drink or something.”
The table goes quiet. Around us, the lodge continues its jovial celebration of another day survived on the slopes, but in our booth, there’s just the weight of my question. The one that likely reveals I’m not as “together” as Bran and Elliot might have assumed.
“Is this because of Dad?” Bran asks, startling Elliot as much as he has me, judging by the way El chokes on his beer.
We rarely talk about the problem of our father directly, preferring to skirt around him like a conversational sinkhole.
“Because yeah, he’s a shithead who can’t maintain an adult relationship,” Bran continues. “But you’re not him, Luke. You’re reserved, not cold. Careful, not controlling.”
“Well, maybe a tiny bit controlling,” Elliot interjects. “But in an understandable way. You had to take on a lot of responsibility when you were still very young.”
Bran shrugs. “Yeah. And you boss people around because you care. That’s nothing like Dad. He bosses because he wants to feel big and make other people feel small.”
Elliot nods, sobering as he says, “He’s right. When he’s wrong, he’s dead wrong. But when he’s right, he’s…really right.”
“I am,” Bran agrees. “You deserve a shot at something great with a woman as much as anyone else, Luke. So, stop overthinking it and ask her out already.”
I stare into my bourbon, processing. They make it sound so simple. Logical, even, but I know better.
Don’t I?
But I also know how good it felt to have Holly Jo Hadley’s hand cradled in mine. How right.
“Fine, I’ll ask her out Friday, after the gingerbread competition,” I mutter, cutting off their congratulations with a sharp, “But only if it still feels right. If it doesn’t, I won’t ask her anything, and I don’t want to hear a word from either of you about it.
” I pluck my whiskey from the table, giving it a swirl as I rumble, “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Subject change. Now.”
Elliot lifts a hand in surrender. “Understood. So, what do you think of Bran’s chances of convincing the Powder Keg owners to sell?”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m thinking of acquiring this place,” Bran says. “It’s rough around the edges now, but with some work, I think it could be a fantastic addition to my portfolio of high-end ski resorts.”
I take a more critical look around, evaluating, before turning back to him with a nod. “I’d say your chances are good. But if you make a bid, make sure to have them throw in that sheep.” I motion toward the stuffed creation winking at us from the wall. “It’s growing on me.”
“Me, too,” Elliot says, laughing.
Talk turns to Bran’s potential plans for the resort, then Elliot’s concerns about rapidly rising property taxes that might affect the rebrand’s bottom line, but all I can think about is Holly.
And Friday.
And what might happen if I actually work up the nerve to ask her on a date.
What happens if she says…yes.