Chapter 17 Rowe
Rowe
As soon as Pane shook hands with Coleman, everyone cheered. Folks surrounded the billionaire, congratulating him before dragging him down the street to celebrate.
Which means we’re currently at Sparkle Bar, a local watering hole on the far end of downtown that specializes in craft brews.
Right now, Pane’s sitting at a table with Coleman, I assume going over the details of what he needs for the farm.
He and the store owner are nose to nose, with a piece of paper situated between them.
Every few minutes, Pane scribbles something on it and Coleman nods or shakes his head, making adjustments.
“So what did he whisper to you?” I ask Hilary.
Hilary snatches a handful of roasted peanuts from a bowl and shells them, tossing the waste over her shoulder. The floor is littered with shell casings, and more than once I’ve seen Pane glance at the debris with distaste etched across his face.
Yeah, this place is for sure lowbrow compared to what he’s used to.
It’s fascinating to watch this man who’d never eaten a biscuit see what the real world is like. Yes, there are peanut shells on the floor in a small-town bar. If he waits long enough, maybe he’ll witness someone drinking a beer from an actual bottle instead of a frosted glass.
Hilary smacks loudly. “What did who say?”
“Pane, when he whispered to you. What made you take his offer?”
“Oh, that.” She waves at me to come closer.
Her eyes are hooded. Hilary needs more than a handful of peanuts to soak up the shots she’s done.
She leans toward my ear and drops her voice to a whisper.
“He said that we have a free place to stay in Paris. He’s going to put us up at some hotel, a place called the Maddox.
” She pauses, scrunches up her face in thought. “Didn’t he say that was his last name?”
“I don’t think so,” I lie.
She shrugs. “Anyway, he said we could stay ten whole days. Can you imagine? I don’t know how he’s gonna pay for it, but for some reason, I believe that guy.”
Oh, I know how he’s going to pay for it.
Hilary leans in, and the stench of beer fills my nostrils. “He also said that we could take advantage of the spa. I plan to.” She grips my arm, the alcohol making her body sway before she straightens. “Do you know about this place, the Maddox Hotel?”
For some reason, my stomach clenches with guilt. “No, I can’t say that I do.”
Why should I feel bad? The man showed up at my house yesterday. Cristina’s the one who vetted him. Why should I look into his life filled with luxury hotels when he won’t be here in a few weeks?
Besides, the only reason I helped him today was to save the farm. I’d sworn to never touch those chain saws unless absolutely necessary. Keeping my dad’s shop in good condition means something to me.
And I never thought—scratch that, never believed I’d let a stranger use one, plus show him how to work it.
But Pane needed help, and so does the farm. So I did.
The surprising thing was that he didn’t act like an arrogant brat when I showed him how to work the saw. He listened and was respectful.
It did, I admit, throw me for a loop.
Pane glances up and sees me staring at him. My cheeks flush hot, and I look away.
I don’t know why I was looking at him. Our lives exist on two different planes. Planes that don’t intersect. They won’t ever converge, and the only reason why they’re sliding up to each other right now, for this brief period, is because he’s trying to become head of his company.
In a few weeks he’ll be gone, and I’ll still be here.
Hilary continues, snapping me from my thoughts.
“You should look up that hotel. There’s more than one, even, and all of them have spas.
Not only that, but they give you those waffle robes to wear in your room—for free!
There’s room service, of course—and the menus.
Oh my gosh. They have the most amazing restaurants, many of them Michelin starred.
There are also golf courses. I don’t play golf, but apparently they’re award winning.
Like I said, I have no idea how he’s going to pay for it, but his shoes are nice, so I figure he’ll be good for it.
Either that, or Coleman’ll have his kneecaps broken. ”
Well, that’s one way to make sure you get what you want.
Then Hilary slumps into my arm and laughs. “I’m just kidding. Coleman wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh, that’s good to know.”
As my gaze drifts over to Pane again, it hits me—he hasn’t talked about the hotels.
I mean, he introduced himself as being part of the Maddox Group.
Otherwise, I would’ve thought he was some sort of crazy person and I wouldn’t have listened to him.
Of course, he mentioned his family’s business but Pane never went into specifics.
He never bragged.
He also didn’t boast when he told me about his usual breakfast. It was simply put. I’m the one who jumped to conclusions about the snobby caviar and elevated his daily meals above mine.
Pane didn’t.
Besides, he loved the biscuits. Devoured them. He didn’t look down his nose at them.
It was for all of those things—the biscuits, the failure with Coleman, the need to save the farm—that I took him to my dad’s shop and helped him.
I dare to sneak another glance at Pane and watch as he pushes back his chair and stands, shaking Coleman’s hand. His shoulders strain against the rugged shirt he’s wearing. The cotton hugs his broad shoulders and defined pecs. I’m sure plenty of women are ogling him behind their beer bottles.
Pane glances up, spots me, and heads in my direction.
Those knee-quaking sage eyes of his make my stomach flutter.
Wait. No, they’re not.
That’s the alcohol that I’ve downed. I haven’t eaten in hours, and that’s why my stomach’s currently engaged in a double Dutch jump rope contest.
Though all that’s true, I find myself being drawn to Pane. Something about him pulls me in.
After excusing myself from Hilary, I drift toward him as he does the same, our gazes never straying from one another.
That kiss jumps into my head, and it’s impossible not to stare at his lips. They’re thick and luscious, looking like they ache to be smooched again.
What is wrong with me? Some guy cuts some logs, and I’m suddenly unable to think straight?
Apparently so, because I’m still inching toward him like he’s a magnet.
When we’re only a few feet apart, Cristina jumps in front of me. “Hey, I heard about the log-cutting. You should have called me. I would’ve given anything to see Coleman Barrier taken down a notch.”
My gaze flicks to Pane, but he’s already got company. Ron’s peppering him with questions, and Pane listens intently, arms folded.
I give Cristina my undivided attention. “Yeah, it was quite the spectacle.”
“How’d he learn to work a chain saw so fast?”
When I don’t answer, her jaw drops. “No! You showed him? On one of your dad’s? I thought you said that you’d never—”
“I know what I said,” I say tensely. “But he needed help, and we’ve got to have the supplies. I don’t know what for, other than slapping a coat of paint on the house and fixing the farm, but we need them.”
She eyes my nearly empty glass. “Want another?”
“No, I’m okay for now.”
Cristina glances around the room. “Where is Pane?”
“Behind you.”
My best friend discreetly glances over her shoulder, looks him up and down, and then turns to me. “If you don’t hit that, Rowe, I’ll never forgive you. I mean, what man can make a popover shirt look sexy? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Me neither.”
She grabs my arm. “Come on. Let’s sit at the bar.”
As she drags me to the bar top, I toss one last glance at Pane, who’s still in conversation with Ron.
One gin and tonic later, and Cristina’s deep in her cups. “All I’m saying, Rowe, is that it’s a tough dating pool out there, and you’ve got to look past Mystic Meadows.”
“I know. You’re right.”
She runs a finger over the rim of her glass.
“You can’t let one breakup ruin all men for you.
You just can’t—even though what Luke did is shameless.
And I’m not just talking about the cheating.
” She shoots me a pointed look before her phone beeps.
Cristina glances down at it, sighs, and looks up at me.
“Anything good?”
“No, just Jace’s mom asking me when I’m going to take back her son. The woman won’t give up.” She cringes. “I picked up the last of my things from his place a few days ago. Did I tell you that?”
I frown. “No, you didn’t. I would’ve gone with you to get them.”
She waves me away. “It’s fine. Totally fine. He was really nice and I was really nice. There wasn’t any drama.” She picks up her glass and shakes it, clinking the ice together. “I’m hungry. I’m going to head next door for an empanada. You want one, or three?”
“Not now. Maybe later.”
Cristina slides off the barstool. “I’ll be over there. Or I might bring it back here and eat.” She lifts her glass. “Can I get a to-go cup?”
Isaac, the bartender, approaches. His long, dark braids land in the middle of his back, and his earrings are black-rimmed gauges. He flashes a wide smile—a set of perfect ivory teeth against deep brown skin.
“Cristina, you’re not going to get in your car, are you?” he asks, grabbing a Styrofoam cup.
“No, no. I’m just going to Gloria’s to grab something to eat. You want something?”
“Oh yeah, will you grab me a Cuban sandwich?”
She mock-gasps. “Not an empanada?”
“Not tonight.”
“Sure.” He pours iced tea from a pitcher into the cup and pushes it toward her. “You know we don’t do alcohol to go,” he reminds her gently.
She pouts. “I know. But I was hoping.” Cristina raises the cup and takes a long sip, ending with a satisfied smack of her lips. “This will do. Be right back.”
As soon as she’s gone, my attention falls to my empty water glass, which Isaac swiftly removes.
“What’re you having?” comes a husky voice to my right.
My stomach does an entire gymnastics floor routine before I manage to calm it down with, “Whiskey sour.”