Letha batted a hand in Grant’s direction. “Oh, heavens no. That house was struck by lightning twenty years ago. It burned to the ground with Mrs. Starner inside. Mr. Starner was away on business in the city. It was a terrible tragedy. Old Man Starner didn’t have the heart to rebuild. He went to live with his son in Austin and sold the place to the paper company.”
Avery sat back in her seat, her disappointment evident.
“Did Cook know of any other bootleggers in the area?”
Letha frowned. “Yes, he did. The man was a wealth of information. Apparently, he’s a bit of a local history buff when it comes to what families were knee-deep in hops. He came by it honestly when he inherited his uncle’s cabin off Simmon’s Road. It came with an entire distillery, jugs and bottles, some dating back to the twenties. It seems his uncle learned the trade from his father and continued making beer into his eighties. He even added taps to an old refrigerator, preferring his homemade beer cold.” Letha laughed.
“Would Cook mind if we visited him in the kitchen?” Avery asked.
“I’m sure he’d love the company,” Letha said. “But don’t you want to eat while your burger’s hot?”
Avery smiled. “Of course.”
“Need ketchup with your fries?” Letha asked.
“Yes, please,” Grant responded as Avery assembled her burger, leaving out the tomato.
She speared the tomato with her fork and laid it on Grant’s plate, again, remembering his preferences.
It felt so natural sitting across the table from Avery. He’d pictured them spending their lives sharing meals, spending time together. Always coming back to each other after a mission took them away.
Avery took a bite of her burger, chewed thoughtfully and swallowed, her gaze connecting with his. “Feels like old times, doesn’t it?”
He swallowed the bite he’d just taken and nodded. “It does.”
“It’s amazing how comforting something as simple as sharing a burger can be.”
“Like sitting in front of a fireplace in your favorite pajamas on a cold winter morning,” Grant said, recalling an image of Avery wearing her favorite plaid flannel pajamas, holding a cup of hot cocoa while sitting in front of the fireplace in their apartment.
“It was a gas fireplace,” Avery mused.
“We said one day we’d have a place with a real, wood-burning fireplace.”
She nodded and sipped her water with the slice of lemon perched on the rim of the glass. She tilted her head. “Did you find your fireplace in Montana?”
Grant smiled. “If you count the one in the shared great room of the bed and breakfast I rent by the month as my fireplace, I guess I did.”
“Did you find someone to sit with you in front of the fireplace?” she asked softly.
Grant nodded. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Her lips turned downward so briefly, Grant thought he’d imagined it. Her eyelids drooped over her eyes, guarding her expression. “Was she upset that you left her to help your ex?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “She was a little jealous.”
Avery looked up, her brows knitting. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you problems with your new lady.”
“She did ask if she could come along, never having been to Texas.” Grant fought a grin. “Dottie was born and raised in Eagle Rock, Montana. The furthest she’s traveled was all the way to Seattle and once to Reno for a girls' weekend with her friends.”
“And she was satisfied to stay in Montana all her life?” Avery asked.
“She said in all eighty-eight years she’s lived there, she’s never wanted to live anywhere else.”
Avery’s brow dipped and then rose. “Oh, you. Is Dottie the owner of the bed and breakfast?”
“Yes, ma’am. She opened her home as a bed and breakfast after her husband died when she was only sixty-seven. She likes meeting new people and living vicariously through their adventures.”
Avery smiled. “She sounds lovely.”
