2. Sydney
Cole Fredrickson.
The mention of his name alone makes my mouth turn up with disgust. I haven’t heard his name spoken out loud in years. Not since shortly after he ran off and ditched town after…everything that happened. A deep, long-forgotten, unsettled feeling simmers in my gut. One that reminds me of yet another negative set of memories I’ve tried so hard to suppress.
Graham chuckles, shaking his head. “I figured you’d get a kick out of that one. You know, you never told me why you have beef with him—neither did he, for that matter. I never could figure it out.”
I transform the frown into an inauthentic cheery smile, doing my best to look unfazed, although, truthfully, I feel anything but.
“I don’t have beef with him,” I flat out lie. “I don’t feel any way about him.”
“Is that right?” He gives me a pointed look, clearly not convinced.
“Absolutely. And we need that property for my vision. It’s a must. There’s no other way around it, Graham,” I say emphatically. This whole renovation…it has to be perfect. It needs to be.
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He already said no.” He shrugs in a way that tells me he’s already accepted this particular roadblock.
“Well, that’s never stopped me before.” I wave my hand, dismissing it as if it’s nothing more than a minor hurdle. “In fact, I’ll ask him to sell myself.”
“Oh, you will, huh?” Amusement plays on his face as he runs a hand down the scruff of his beard. There’s also a hint of complacency, knowing full well from experience that he can’t stop me once I set my mind to something.
“Yeah, why not?” I brush my hands together to dispel any lingering muffin crumbs. “Is he staying there now, or did he leave?”
He shrugs. “As of yesterday, he was still here on the island, yes. But he’s not exactly an open book. I have no idea how long he’ll be here for.”
“Good enough for me,” I announce, hopping off the stool. “Tell Shirley I’ll be right back.”
“Syd.” It’s a half-ditch attempt to stop me, but I’m already halfway out of the room.
“I’m off to save the day! One cabin at a time!” I call back in a rush, pulling the front door shut behind me.
“I am a confident, persuasive, kick-butt-and-take-names kind of woman,” I murmur enthusiastically under my breath as I make my way down the creaky wooden steps of the porch. Shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun that comes off the lake, I round the lodge to where the large shed is nestled against the woods.
“I am a persuasive, powerhouse negotiator.” I’m not entirely sure if I’m saying these mantras to hype myself up or if it’s to distract myself from the sudden nerves that are ruminating in my stomach, but either way, they seem to be a necessity, so I continue sputtering them off as determination sets in.
Seeing Cole was absolutely not anywhere on the list of things I expected to do today—or anytime in the near future, for that matter. If I’m honest, it’s a reunion I’d rather not have.
Ever.
But alas, here we are. The fate of the new-and-improved Ruby Lodge is in my hands, so if I need to suffer through a few uncomfortable minutes, then I’ll suck it up and take it on the chin as best I can.
The four-wheeler is parked right in front of the shed with the keys left in the ignition, so I hop on, ignoring the reminder in the back of my mind that I haven’t operated one in years. How hard can it be?
“I am a capable, independent—ah!” The four-wheeler lurches forward as I ever so slightly give it some gas.
“Persistent…” Another lurch. “Graceful…” Lurch again. Luckily, it only takes two more small swerves before the four-wheeler steadies into a straight, smooth ride.
“That’s better.” I maneuver to the right of the main lodge and onto the gravel pathway that runs along the shoreline in front of a row of small log cabins, including the one I’m staying in, cabin number twelve.
Once past the cabins, I veer onto the trail that leads straight into the thick woods, following tree markings to get my bearings. I can’t recall ever visiting this particular cabin, but I know the general area well enough to know what direction to head in. Besides, there aren’t very many cabins on the island, so I should be able to find it by process of elimination if I need to.
The trail takes me on an incline as I narrowly swerve between thick, overgrown brush and towering trees. I pass Gilbert’s cabin before spotting a wooden sign nailed to a tree that says Fredrickson on it.
Perfect.
That was easy enough.
Slowing to a stop at the clearing on top of the hill, I shift into park along the tree line. I breathe a deep sigh as I hop off onto the grass, mentally attempting to calm the uneasiness that’s practically buzzing off me. As I make my way up the small hill toward the cabin, the lake catches my eye, and I can’t help but admire the view from up here. It has the longest stretch of open shoreline of any property on Takini Island, with a gorgeous view of the lake from the hill the cabin rests on. It really is one of the best pieces of land.
Which is precisely why I’m determined to buy it.
I clamp down a sudden wave of nerves that threatens to overpower me and zero in on the clearly unkempt state of the cabin as I approach it. Overgrown bushes line the front porch, their branches encroaching haphazardly over the rickety stairs. Branchy vines twirl all the way up the wooden posts, and the porch is littered with sticks and debris. The roof looks like it’s seen better days, and the windows have a thick layer of dirt covering them.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath, swatting at the foliage as I carefully climb the stairs. For somebody who supposedly has a strong attachment to this place, he’s certainly let the maintenance of it slip.
I rap on the solid oak door, shifting back and forth onto the balls of my feet while I wait patiently for any sign of life inside. A soft humming involuntarily comes from the back of my throat, an attempt to keep myself calm and centered.
A few heavy, muffled footsteps come from somewhere inside the cabin before the door swings open. What I see immediately steals the breath from my lungs.
Towering over me is an older, more manly version of the Cole Fredrickson I remember. A few slight creases frame his eyes and forehead, but to my annoyance, he’s just as handsome as he was back when he was barely eighteen. He has a strong, tanned jawline and short ash-brown hair with eyes to match.
He has rugged good looks, made even more refined with age and an underlying graveness behind his eyes that seems to have not gone away. The kind of piercing depth to his stare that threatens both a good time and an emotional collapse all at once. A stare that I fell for once upon a time.
The apex of his jawline pulses with the deepening of his frown.
The feeling is mutual.
“Cole,” I say cheerfully, albeit a bit sarcastically—if it’s possible to be snarky while saying someone’s name. I force a smile on my face, ignoring the way my throat suddenly feels thick.
Nope. No.
I’ve managed to make it this far without reflecting on what happened between us years ago. There’s certainly no point in starting now.
Regaining my composure, I cross my arms in an attempt to display authority. Or maybe it’s a subconscious way of protecting myself.
Could be both.
“Peterson.” Somehow the way he smugly refers to me by my last name makes the kernel of irritation swirling in my stomach even more profound. Add that to the way he narrows his eyes in vague annoyance at my presence, and this exchange is officially the worst part of my day.