Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Something passes between us. Maybe it’s an understanding that we’re not whoever’s hurt us in the past. Maybe it’s the clarity that we’ll never be anything more than friends.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts. His words pass through me like an unexpected static shock. Apologies were never readily handed around in our family. My mother wore the fact that she never apologized like a badge of honor. “I should have been more open about who I was—you know, that I own the Club.” He’s adorably awkward and suddenly seems ten years younger than the man who walked in here.
I sigh because I’m not sure he’s done anything wrong. We had a couple of conversations and an almost-kiss. From the outside looking in, Byron never owed me anything. But maybe he feels our connection as strongly as I do, because I appreciate the apology. It feels warranted, despite the short time we’ve known each other.
“It must have been a shock. Given what you’ve been through with Frank—”
“Thank you,” I say, interrupting him. There’s no point in rehashing anything. There’s a line in the sand that’s been drawn and now we can both see it—there’s no reason to make this bigger than it is. “I accept your apology.”
His blue-green eyes draw me in, and I can’t help but smile at him. Just being near Byron relaxes me, makes me more confident. I’m going to need to keep a close eye on that line in the sand.
I lift my chin toward my booth and Byron slips off his stool. We take a seat opposite each other.
“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I say, trying to sound breezy, like maybe I saw him, maybe I didn’t. Like I haven’t been thinking about him every minute since.
“Busy,” he says. “There’s a lot going on. Like you say, we need more staff. We’re trying to finish off the staff housing and implement health and safety protocols. Avalanche and storm procedures. That kind of thing.”
“It’s a lot of responsibility,” I say. Byron always seems so cool, calm, and collected, but there’s a lot resting on his shoulders. “How come you’re not living up there? The cabin is cozy and everything, but I’m betting the chalets are a little more luxurious.”
He shrugs. “I like the cabin. My chalet isn’t ready yet. Anyway, sometimes it’s nice to get away from the… pressure. Being the boss isn’t always fun.”
My stomach dips. The boss thing is an issue for both of us, it seems.
“I’ll move up there eventually. Staff housing and the last few chalets are the priority at the moment.”
“You’re going to live in a chalet like a member?” I ask.
“Sort of.” Before I can ask what that means, he says, “Did you find out who lost the cat?”
Rachel comes back with our orders, which are basically enough to feed the town for the rest of the weekend. I think I could get full just by inhaling the scent of the stack of pancakes. Each of them is as thick as my palm and the same golden color as the jug of syrup Rachel slides onto the table.
“Eggs,” I say, nodding at Byron’s plate. He furrows his brow like he’s wondering whether there’s more to that observation, or if I just like to state the obvious. “They look good.”
“They are. Will makes the best eggs. Or at least he did fifteen years ago when I last had them.”
“You never came back? Not even to visit?”
“You were talking about the cat,” he says, ignoring my question.
“Yes, let’s change the subject again,” I say with a grin. If he doesn’t want to talk about himself, that’s fine, but I’m not going to let him think I didn’t notice. “She didn’t have a chip and no one’s called looking for her. Donna said they don’t keep lost cats, not unless…” I run a finger across my neck.
Byron bursts out laughing. “Fred’s decapitating cats now?” he asks.
“Who the hell is Fred?”
“The vet.”
“Oh, I didn’t meet him. Just the receptionist. I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean literal decapitation. At least I hope not. But the end result would be the same. Athena would be no more.”
“Wow. Brutal.”
“Right? So I need to find the owner before I move into the staff housing on Tuesday. Donna said I should make some posters and put them around town. Then tell people in the stores that I’ve found her.”
“Sounds like a good idea. If you get me a poster, I can have my assistant make copies.”
“You’d do that?”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I’m sure Byron has bigger things to worry about than a missing cat.
“Thank you. I guess I’m going to spend the rest of the day going up and down Main Street, telling people I’ve found a cat. I need a megaphone or something.”
Byron laughs again, and I get a warm, gooey feeling inside at the thought that I’ve helped him relax. “It’s a way to meet people, I suppose.”