Chapter 8
Liz
Iwoke up in a real bed for the first time in a week. The mattress in Reese’s RV was surprisingly comfortable, and I slept like the dead until my phone alarm blared.
Now, sitting at the tiny dinette table with my second Diet Pepsi of the morning, I finally felt clear-headed enough to take stock of my situation. I pulled out a notebook and pen from my backpack and drew a line down the middle of the page.
I started by listing what assets I had that hadn’t been squandered away.
There wasn’t much. What was left after Scott’s gambling had gone into shutting down the business—paying the crew, closing accounts, buying our way out of leases. After that, there had been the missed rent payments on the house.
I hadn’t had to file for bankruptcy, but boy, had I been close.
My list of what I had was depressingly short and included my decade-old car with over a hundred thousand miles on it, under three hundred dollars in my wallet, my laptop, and the ridiculously valuable knife.
On the other side, I made another list.
Job. Sell the knife. Health insurance, because perimenopause was a nightmare. New glasses. A dental checkup I’d skipped twice already.
I stared at it, then added one more.
Lucan.
Something about him made my skin prickle with awareness. The way he’d watched me from across the dinner table last night, like he knew something about me I didn’t.
I scribbled over his name several times until it was a black rectangle.
My phone dinged with the calendar notification I’d set as a reminder for Lucan’s visit to look at the knife.
I stood up too quickly and felt a wave of dizziness. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the knife from where I’d hidden it in a sock in my duffel bag and slipped it into my pocket. I drained the last of my Diet Pepsi and stepped outside.
The morning air was a bit crisp, but the sun was bright. I pressed the button for the awning, hoping to create a little shaded area for our meeting. The motor whirred as the fabric extended about halfway before making a grinding noise and stopping.
I’d need a stepladder to mess with it, but I hadn’t seen one in the storage compartment.
The rumble of an engine drew my attention as a white truck pulled up in front of the RV with “Ashford Basin Forestry Service” on the door. Lucan stepped out, and my mouth went instantly dry.
He looked as if he’d stepped out of some forest ranger calendar.
Aviator sunglasses reflected the morning light, and his tan work shirt had the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The green utility pants hugged his thighs, and my eyes lingered longer than was polite.
A radio was clipped to his belt, and he wore a baseball cap with the forestry logo on it.
He reached into the truck and pulled out a drink carrier and a pastry box.
I realized I was practically drooling and subtly wiped at the corner of my mouth. Holy hell, he was hot. Unfairly hot. No man who works outdoors for a living should look that good in a standard-issue uniform.
“Good morning,” he called, his voice deep and rumbly in a way that made my chest flutter.
“Morning,” I managed, trying not to stare at the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders.
He walked over to the picnic table and set everything down. He handed me a cup, and our fingers brushed. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up my arm that I didn’t need to be thinking about right now.
“I brought cream and sugar, too.” He opened a third, smaller cup that had a variety of sugar packets and creamer cups stuffed inside. “And the best donuts in Ashford… well, actually, they’re the only donuts in Ashford.”
He opened the bakery box, revealing a small assortment of pastries, with two gorgeous chocolate-glazed donuts dusted with chopped pistachios right on top.
Damn it.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m allergic to tree nuts.” I couldn’t risk any of the nuts having touched the pastries below.
For a beat, surprise flashed in his eyes, then it was gone so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it.
“No need to apologize.” He closed the box and set it aside without any fuss. “Good to know. Any other allergies?”
“Nope. Well, sometimes I want to throat-punch anyone who wears too much cologne or perfume, but that’s probably not really an allergy.” I grabbed a creamer and two sugars.
He chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. “That’s the worst, and they have no clue. Or maybe they do and want to torture everyone.”
We sat across from each other at the picnic table, the morning sun warm on my back.
I pulled the knife from my pocket and placed it on the table between us. “Here’s the infamous knife.”
Lucan picked it up and examined it, opening each tool.
“How long have you been in the area?” He placed the knife back on the table, his eyes meeting mine.
“About a week. Five nights camping, now this.” I gestured toward the RV.
“What brought you to Ashford?”
I took a sip of coffee, buying myself time. “I needed somewhere quiet to figure things out,” I said finally. “Ashford seemed like a place where nobody would bother me.”
His mouth quirked up at one corner. “How’s that working out for you?”
I laughed despite myself. “Well, I’ve been harassed by wildlife, found a mysterious knife, and gotten roped into family dinners with people I just met. So not exactly the hermit experience I was going for.”
“Planning to stay?”
The question hung in the air between us. I should have had a quick answer and said I was passing through, that I’d be gone as soon as I sold the knife. Instead, I actually considered it.
“Depends on a few things.”
He looked like he wanted to ask more questions but put his hand on the knife. “I’ll give you twenty for it.”
“Twenty what? Twenty dollars? Because if so, you’re insane.”
“Twenty thousand.”
The coffee cup stopped halfway to my lips. “The appraisal said eighteen.”
He shrugged. “In a few years, it’ll be worth even more. I don’t mind paying for quality.”
My mouth dropped open, and the bridge of my nose burned with the threat of tears. “I couldn’t possibly accept that.” I looked over at his work truck and lifted my chin in that direction. “Are you also panning for gold?”
He smirked. “Maybe I am. I’ve always been drawn to shiny things.”
I let out a long breath. “Okay. Twenty thousand.”
“How do you want the money?”
I stared at him, my brain apparently having taken a coffee break at the worst possible moment. The words bounced around in my head without connecting to anything resembling comprehension.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“The money.” He gestured to the knife still sitting between us. “Do you prefer a bank transfer? Cash? Check? Gold coins? I could probably rustle some up if you’re feeling particularly pirate-ish today.”
That broke through my shock enough to make me laugh. “I don’t think the grocery store takes those.”
I bit my lip, considering my options. The truth was embarrassing. Scott and I had been together for a decade, and once we’d gotten engaged, we decided to share finances. It made sense with us living together and running a business.
Then one day, everything was overdrawn. Accounts frozen. Creditors calling. The bank didn’t appreciate when you fucked around with money. Now, the only account I qualified for had ridiculous restrictions and monthly maintenance fees that I couldn’t justify when every dollar counted.
But with twenty thousand dollars?
“A check would work.”
“Great. How about we make the exchange over dinner tonight? There’s a place called Split Pine in town that has good food.”
The hope in his eyes should have given me pause. It reminded me of the way Scott used to look at me in the early days, before business replaced spontaneous weekend trips and lazy weekends. Before I became a means to an end.
I pushed the comparison away. This wasn’t the same thing at all. Lucan was being friendly. People in small towns probably did this sort of thing all the time—helped each other out, shared meals, conducted business over dinner instead of in sterile offices with bad fluorescent lighting.
I was making excuses because I wanted to say yes for reasons that had nothing to do with the knife.
“Six works for me.” The words came out steadier than I felt. “I’ll meet you there.”
His mouth opened like he was about to say something, then he closed it again. He nodded once, a bit too quickly. “Yeah. Six at Split Pine.”
A small, stupid part of me deflated. The part that had possibly thought he might offer to pick me up. Which was ridiculous because this wasn’t a date. This was a business transaction that happened to involve food.
I was selling him a knife. He was buying said knife. We would eat. He would give me a check. I would deposit it and figure out what the hell came next.
That was all.
“Great.” I forced brightness into my voice that I didn’t quite feel. “Split Pine at six. I’ll be there.”
I wanted to smack my forehead. Could I be any more awkward?
“Looking forward to it.” He stood, grabbing the donut box and his coffee cup. For a second, he stood there, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t make sense of. Then he cleared his throat. “I should get to work.”
“Right. Of course.”
He took a step backward, still watching me. “See you tonight, Liz.”
“See you tonight.”
He turned and walked to his truck, and I definitely didn’t watch the way his work pants fit as he moved. That would have been inappropriate and unprofessional, and I was absolutely not that person.
The truck engine rumbled to life. He lifted his hand in a wave before pulling away, leaving me standing beside the RV with half a cup of coffee and a head full of thoughts I had no business thinking about.
Twenty thousand dollars.
It was breathing room. It was options. It was the ability to make choices instead of reacting to whatever disaster came next.
I could return to Reno, find a cheap rental, and rebuild in a place where I had been comfortable. I could even get back into construction management.
But the thought made my stomach twist.
Reno meant running into people who’d known Scott and me as a couple.
It meant fielding questions about what happened, explaining over and over why the business failed, why we split, and why I looked so tired and worn down.
It meant walking past our favorite breakfast spot and the hardware store where we’d bought supplies for years, and that house we’d almost bought together.
I didn’t want the memories.