Page 13 of Silver Brewer

“It’s called survival.”

“It’s called there’s a grocery store.”

“How do you think that meat gets into those stores?” He glares back at me. His hands come to his hips with a water container in each one, making him look imposing as well as ridiculous.

“The freezer fairy.” I meet his stare until his face cracks. His mouth remains closed, but his chest rumbles. Was that a chuckle? He shakes his head as he closes his eyes for a second.

“City girl,” he murmurs, before opening his lids and holding out my water bottle. He squats next to me to refill his canteen, and then we silently watch the deer trek away.

“Beautiful,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says just as quietly, but he isn’t looking at the buck. His eyes weigh on the side of my face.

“You scared him with your evil thoughts,” I mock.

“I hope not.” His voice remains low, gravelly and rough, as his eyes linger on me. Then he shakes his head again and effortlessly stands. “Let’s eat.”

Following him, I suddenly don’t feel hungry.

+ + +

“What’s this?” I ask although I know full well what he’s offering me.

“It’s from a grocery store,” he mocks me, holding out the long twig with meat on the end.

“That’s a hot dog.” I can’t remember the last time I had a hot dog, let alone one roasted over an open fire.

“Don’t tell me you’re some highfalutin, non-meat-eatin’, I-won’t-even-eat-a-vegetable-because-it-hurts-the-plant kind of person?”

His sass gets under my skin, and I want to wipe the smirk from his face with the bun he offers me.

“I’ll have you know I eat meat.” The tone of my voice is suggestive as I stare back at him. He sits perpendicular to me, but he’s close as the fire pit is small. The temperature has dropped considerably under the cover of darkness, and with the elevated location, I expect nothing less.

“I’m sure the hot dog gods are grateful.”

“Hardy-har,” I snap. “I eat hot dogs. Once a year at the ballfield.” I’m a Cubs fan, and the food is part of the experience in Wrigley—hot dogs with bright green relish, peanuts in the shell, and an ice-cold beer, which reminds me…

“Got any Giant Beer in one of those coolers?”

I’m not really a beer drinker, but I’m curious. His proud grin returns, and he reaches back for one of the coolers to remove two bottles. Cracking each open on the edge of the container, he hands me one.

“It’s our October blend. We haven’t distributed it yet because we save it for Oktoberfest, our annual street party.”

“So I should be honored to taste an early sample?”

“Among other things,” he snarks.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He can make me go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

“Nothing.” He tugs the hot dog stick from my hand and holds it over the flames. “Burnt or lightly roasted?”

“Roasted, I guess.” I sound sullen when I should be grateful. At least he hasn’t tossed me off the mountain. He was even slightly sweet when I tripped. And he hasn’t said no to selling this property. It’s a pretty piece of land, and I imagine future resort goers sitting under a starry sky around a blazing fire pit. Of course, that pit will be in a raised fireplace made of stone with cushioned bench seating around it and a wine bar nearby.

Giant hands me the perfect hot dog, and I hold out the bun, using it to tug the frankfurter off the stick. Marcus would have a million innuendos for this meal.

“So why do you want this land so badly?” It’s an honest question, and I wonder if I can give him an honest answer without revealing too much. I need the deal for the commission.

“Have you heard of McIntyre Farm?” His head pops up, so I’ll take that as a yes. “Rumor is a corner of the farm will be used for a music festival in the future.”