8. Landry
Landry
W ildwood Brewing’s taproom smells of hops and malted barley. Locals fill the place this afternoon as glass clinks against wood tabletops and laughter tumbles around the room. It’s cozy. Welcoming. Exactly what this town needed when the place opened last year.
I usually like dropping by, but not today. I’ve never been one to wish for closed roads, but this morning, I did just that. Every minute snow kept the roads impassable was another minute I had Aspen to myself, in my cabin, in my bed. Every cup of coffee we shared by the fire, each meal we cooked together, the stories she told me about her mother, about growing up in the city, about her dreams of building her jewelry-making hobby into something more, made me fall a little harder. Hell, we nearly polished off the entire bottle of apple brandy getting to know each other.
But now, back in public, the wish makes me uneasy. I’ve never been the type of man to hope for anything, let alone something as foolish as to have a woman half my age.
I shift in my seat at the corner of the long copper-topped bar, pretending not to watch Aspen as she settles at a table for two by the window. I try not to picture the way she looked when she stepped out of the shower this morning. When she stood naked except for a fluffy towel, water droplets clinging to her flushed skin, and smiled at me, lying on the bed exactly where she’d told me to wait.
I push away the memory. Any minute now, she’ll be sitting across from the broker, making a decision that impacts the entire town. Simon’s legacy. Me. I’ve made my position clear. Aspen knows exactly where I stand. Her silver pendant catches the light streaming through the glass as she absently twists the necklace between her fingers. She’s as tense about this meeting as I am.
The door swings open, letting in a blast of cold air. A slick-looking guy in his thirties with perfect hair and an expensive wool overcoat step inside. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as he surveys the room. I’ve never met the man, but I know Derek Myers by reputation. Apparently, he specializes in small-town acquisitions, which I don’t understand, with him being from Vermont himself. He spots Aspen and heads her way, his clean-shaven face transforming into a practiced smile I’d love to erase from his face with my fist.
Her shoulders stiffen as he extends a hand. She crosses her legs and leans away from him even as they meet. A twinge of satisfaction ripples through my chest. With me, she’s all soft curves and relaxed limbs, her body open and trusting. Not at all with this joker, though he’s closer in age to the guys she should be dating.
My teeth grind as he slides into the seat across from her. Even from a distance, the calculating gleam in his eyes is as slick as the smile curling his lips. Derek isn’t a man who cares about Wildwood or the people here. He only sees dollar signs.
“Landry McCord, you look like you could use a drink.”
The voice startles me, dragging my attention from Aspen to the man who’s materialized behind the bar. Rhys Wilder regards me closely, the lines around his eyes crinkling. I didn’t notice my friend approaching, too caught up in watching Aspen’s meeting unfold, and boy, does Rhys know it.
“You know me well,” I admit, heaving a sigh.
He fills a pint with amber liquid from the tap, foam rising to the top in a perfect head as his gaze darts to Aspen. “You’re wound tighter than a spring. Something to do with Simon’s daughter meeting with the broker over there?”
I grunt noncommittally. Of course, the town gossip mill is already churning. In a place like Wildwood, news travels faster than a wildfire in August.
“Heard she showed up at the Sugar Plum the other day,” Rhys continues, setting the beer in front of me. “And then got caught up at your place during the storm.” One eyebrow lifts suggestively.
My eyes drift past Rhys to where his wife, Piper, is arranging glasses behind the bar. She smiles at me, then when Rhys turns to see who I’m waving at, flashes him a smile so tender, so full of understanding, that my chest constricts painfully. Rhys returns the smile, a silent conversation passing between them in that brief exchange. They’ve somehow made it work, a relationship built on mutual respect and deep affection despite their age difference. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have that with Aspen, to exchange such looks across a room, to build a life with her.
I shut down that thought hard and fast. A scarred, broken man like me has no business dreaming of such things. I take a long pull from the glass. “Just helping out Simon’s kid.”
“Uh-huh.” Rhys’s tone indicates his disbelief. He leans a hip against the bar as his attention returns to Aspen. “She’s a beauty. Got Simon’s eyes.”
My gaze drifts back to her. She’s nodding at something Derek says, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. I want to charge over there, interrupt, but I resist. “She does.”
“Landry, good to see you.”
I spin at the sound of Piper’s voice. “You, too. This old man taking care of you.”
She smiles fondly at her husband. “Always.” Rhys pats her on the ass. “What are you up to today?” she continues, “I heard something about—”
“He’s watching Simon’s daughter meet with the developer’s broker,” Rhys explains, amusement lacing his voice as he tilts his chin toward the table by the window. “And pretending he’s not interested in her.”
Piper laughs, a warm sound that fills the space between us. “Oh, is that all? Because to me, it looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin.”
I mutter a curse under my breath and take another drink as she kisses Rhys on the cheek then leaves us alone.
“You know, when Piper first showed up at my cabin,” Rhys says, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watches her walk away. “She was a young thing, full of fire.”
Despite my foul mood, I snort. “She’s still a young thing.”
“Not too young for me.”
“Didn’t she slap you across the face within five minutes?”
A wide smile breaks out across his face. “That she did.”
Rhys and I aren’t close, exactly, but we understand each other. We’re both mountain men who prefer solitude and have found our peace in the quiet of the Vermont wilderness. And now, I realize with a jolt, we’re both fallen for women half our age with direct connections to men we respected more than anyone.
“You gonna tell her?” Rhys asks quietly, placing both hands on the bar. “About the ownership?”
My jaw locks as I stare into my beer. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Not relevant.”
“Like hell,” Rhys counters.
Heat sweeps up my neck. “It’s what Simon would’ve wanted.”
“Sure it is.” Rhys grabs a towel and starts polishing a glass. “But don’t you think she deserves to know the part you played? Especially if she’s considering selling the place to some developer who’ll tear it down?”
I don’t answer right away, watching as Derek pulls some papers from a manilla envelope and slides them across the table. My stomach churns. What’s he offering her? Enough to make her forget everything else? Enough to make her dreams come true?
“Piper was furious with me at first,” Rhys continues. “For leaving when her father died. For not being there when she needed me. For running from my feelings because I thought they were wrong.”
I tear my eyes away from Aspen to growl at him. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, I nearly lost the best thing that ever happened to me because I was too stubborn and too blinded by my sense of honor to admit what I really wanted.” He leans closer, his voice dropping. “Don’t make the same mistake, Landry. Life’s too short to deny yourself happiness because you think it’s the right thing to do.”
I’m saved from responding when Derek stands abruptly, checking his watch. My senses sharpen, focusing on Aspen, who looks flustered, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks. And she’s twisting that pendant again. He says something to her, and she nods, picking up the folder. I think that’s it. That he’ll turn and leave, but the bastard hesitates then leans in closer and says something more before laying a hand on her shoulder.
I surge to my feet, fists clenched at my sides, as he releases her then strolls by. A younger me would have trailed him outside, itching for a fight, but I've learned over the years that’s not the way to handle things. Plus, the concerned expression on his face gives me hope. It’s the look of a man who’s unsure he’s closed the deal. The frigid blast of air that hits me as he exits feels fitting for the chill he’s left in his wake.
Aspen sits for a long moment, staring at the folder in her hands, before she finally looks up and meets my gaze across the room. She rises and makes her way toward me, sliding onto the barstool at my side.
“How’d it go?” I ask, already knowing the answer from the tension in her shoulders but trying not to read too much from her body language.
“It was…informative,” she says carefully, setting the folder on the bar, and glancing up at Rhys, who shoots her a kind smile.
“This is Rhys Wilder,” I say by way of introduction. “He owns this place along with his wife, Piper.” I nod toward Piper, who’s chatting with customers at the far end of the bar.
“Welcome to Wildwood,” Rhys says. “I knew your father. A good man.”
“Aspen Taylor,” she replies, her voice shaky. “Everyone around here knew Simon, it seems. This is a beautiful brewery. And your apple brandy is delicious, by the way.”
Rhys grins. “You’ve tried it?”
“Landry had a bottle at his cabin.” A hint of pink colors her cheeks. “It got us through the storm.”
“Glad to hear it,” Rhys replies, exchanging a knowing look with me that makes me want to punch him now, too. “Can I offer you something from the tap? On the house.”
“Sure,” she replies with a sigh. “I could use a drink.”
“And some food,” I add. “She hasn’t eaten much today.”
Rhys cocks an eyebrow at me but wisely doesn’t comment.
“Pizza sound good?” he asks.
“Sounds great.”
He heads toward the other end of the bar to put the order in. Aspen and I sit in silence for a moment, the hum of conversation around us creating a bubble of privacy.
Finally, she speaks, her voice low. “The offer’s good. Really good.”
My heart sinks, but I keep my expression neutral.
“I’m torn, Landry,” she confesses quietly.
My fingers tighten around my glass and I’m grateful as Rhys slides a beer on a Wildwood Brewing coaster across the bar to her place.
Aspen takes a sip, her eyebrows lifting in appreciation. “This is delicious.”
“Heritage Apple Ale,” he explains. “It’s made with the same apples as the brandy. Grown right here in the area at a handful of local orchards. Your food will be out soon. Best pizza around, if I do say so myself.”
“You do know I’m from New York, right?”
He winks at her.
“The city ain’t got nothing on this small town,” he says before moving away to help another customer, giving us space.
Aspen traces the condensation on her glass with one finger, her voice soft when she continues. “The money Derek’s offering would change everything for me. I could start fresh, quit my job, open a real studio, and finally focus on my jewelry fulltime.” She looks up at me, her green eyes filled with conflict. “But then there’s the garage. The town. Everyone who depends on it.”
There’s us, I want to say but don’t. Whatever happened between us at the cabin, whatever spark ignited in that storm-bound isolation, I can’t ask her to factor it into a decision this important. Not when I don’t know what I’d offer her.
“He gave me twenty-four hours to decide,” she continues. “Said if I don’t take it, they’ll look elsewhere. There’s a property on the edge of town they’re considering as an alternative.”
The classic sales pressure tactic is so transparent it makes my blood boil. He’s forcing a quick decision before she has time to consider alternatives, to understand what she’s really giving up. But it’s not my place to call it out, not my decision to make. Still, every protective instinct in my body screams to step in, to shield her from being manipulated. And to keep her here.
My chest tightens at the thought of her leaving tomorrow, or the next day, heading back to New York with nothing but memories of our brief time together. I want to tell her how I feel. Want to lay my heart bare and ask her to stay, to give whatever this is between us a chance. But I can’t bring myself to be that selfish. She’s young, beautiful, talented. She can have any man she wants. Why would she choose me, with my scars, my nightmares, my solitary existence on a remote mountain?
Some things are better left unspoken, some feelings better left unrequited. I learned that lesson long ago, in the fire and chaos of a warzone. I won’t make the mistake of hoping for more than I deserve.