I just wanted to feel that ripple of warmth again that erupted around her and that flicker of something unsteady andgood.
Longing. That’s what it was.
A weird, inconvenient longing I hadn’t asked for and didn’t know what to do with.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned, heading for my rental car.
Maybe the town had a bar.
Maybe it had a bookstore.
Or maybe, if I was being honest, I just didn’t want to spend one more hour in this quiet lodge wondering where she went and why it mattered so damn much.
Chapter Seven
Fifi
The smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls hit me the moment I walked into my favorite coffeeshop, and my soul just about left my body with joy.
There were numerous perks to running a lodge with your family. Built-in support. Warm hugs. Access to your mom’s lemon scone recipe. But therealperk? An excuse to come to the one place in Buttercup Lake that opened before 7:00 a.m. and served caffeine strong enough to jumpstart a spaceship.
I’d claimed my usual table in the back corner, next to the shelf of puzzle books and the bulletin board with hand-drawn ads for everything from yoga classes to missing chickens. My laptop was open, with a honey latte on one side and a blueberry muffin the size of my head on the other.
I’d told myself I was going to look over room assignments for the week. Maybe draft the newsletter. You know—productive things.
But instead, I’d been staring out the window like a lovesick Jane Austen character waiting for her brooding gentleman farmer to ride by.
Which was absurd.
I didn’t have time to moon over guests. Especially not ones likeBen Jensen, who came with eyebrows that could scowl in five languages and a jawline sharp enough to slice brioche.
But that dang beard.
I took a long sip of my latte and tried to shake him off.
The door opened behind me with a jingle, and I didn’t turn.
I wouldn’t turn.
The energy in the place shifted, and little prickles of excitement skated over my body. This was nuts. I was a strong, independent woman with a muffin and an agenda.
Except—
A blur of movement suddenly appeared in my periphery. A body, tall and fast, beelined past my table toward the counter like he was on a mission. I started to scoot my chair back, and that’s when it happened.
Henearly ran me over.
His arm grazed mine, and the corner of his coat caught the edge of my laptop.
“Oh, watch it!” I squeaked, grabbing my cup before it could take a nosedive into my lap.
“Sorry,” came the low, gruff voice.
There was no eye contact, no real pause. The only thing that sounded was a deep rumble of a word that sounded like it had been reluctantly extracted from a cave.
I blinked up.
And of course, it washim.
