Page 14 of Silver Brewer

I might as well be speaking a foreign language with the way he stares at me.

“Does Magnolia know this is going to be done to her land?”

“Who’s Magnolia?”

He huffs and shakes his head, and I realize I’ve made another mistake. Magnolia must own the farm property.

“Do you really think people coming to a music festival want a resort? They want the experience of a night under the stars.” He glances up, tipping his head back, and I follow his gaze.

“Wow,” I mutter, my throat clogging at the beauty. It’s rare to see a clear sky in Chicago. It’s even rarer to see one like this—filled with pinpricks of light. I want to connect all the dots.

“Yeah. Wow.” Giant’s voice struggles. When I lower my head, I find him watching me. My face heats, but I attribute it to the fire. It’s a good flame for a small space.

“Do you need to call someone? Check in?” The questions surprise me; it’s as if he read my thoughts of home. I shake my head.

“How about you?”

He replies with a simple headshake as well. The sadness in his face makes my hot dog lodge in my throat. Cancer, he said earlier. He must miss his wife, and I wonder how long ago she passed away. Instead of asking, I take a hardy drink of the fall blend. Crisp. Light. Apple-ish.

“This is good,” I say with hopes of shifting our conversation, but Giant doesn’t take the bait. He only responds with a chin tip, and I realize discussion time is over. It’s going to be a long, quiet night.

6

A touch is too much.

[Letty]

Giant offers me privacy to change into something more comfortable for sleeping. It’s difficult on my knees and then on my back to slip into my pajama pants and a crew-neck sweatshirt, but I manage. A battery-operated lamp offers minimal light in the tent. He warned me not to use my phone for light.

“Conserve the battery as there’s obliviously no electricity around here.” Another thing I hadn’t considered—charging my phone. I really should have called Frank, checked in, and assured him things were going well. My family knows I want this commission almost as badly as I want the partnership. Although I haven’t secured the property or discussed the particulars with Giant, our companionable silence tells me he won’t murder me in my sleep.

I slip into one of the two sleeping bags, which seem relatively close in the narrow pop-up tent. Giant asks if I’m finished, and then he enters the tent as well. His big body fills the remaining space, and I catch a whiff of him. Manly. Musky. Soap. Did he bathe in the stream after all?

Crawling on his hands and knees, he reaches for the lamp and switches off the light. I hold my breath at the sudden darkness surrounding me, blinking several times in hopes to see something, anything. Giant rustles around in the blackness before sliding into the bag next to me. A heavy exhale from him fills the air under the canvas, and I hold my breath as I lie on my back, tugging the edge of the sleeping bag under my chin. It’s weird to consider sleeping next to a stranger, and I wouldn’t have to consider it if I were exhausted. I should be dead tired, but suddenly, I’m wide-awake. It’s been a strange day.

Sigh.

“What?” The sound of Giant’s low voice next to me startles me. He’s been relatively quiet since our short meal, and we spent a long time watching the flames dance or gazing up at the stars. I wish I knew all the constellations. I bet he could have taught me, but each time I looked over at him, he appeared deep in thought as though his mind was a million miles away even though his body was present. He seems a little closed off. Is he thinking of his dead wife? Does he miss her?

I roll my head on the pillow in his direction. He isn’t facing me, but I can see the rough outline of him. The visual rests in my head. Strong jaw. Edged cheeks. Firm lips. The tent is the darkest dark I’ve ever experienced, but I can see him. Large, silent, brooding type. On the other hand, the silence again is eerie. Where is an airplane? How about a train in the distance? The sound of an eighteen-wheeler on a highway?

“Relax,” he suggests, his voice startling me again.

I inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

The silence continues, pressing down on me as I stare up in the direction of the ceiling.

“What?” he snaps again, his voice gruffer, and I sense his head roll near mine. Is he looking at me?

“I didn’t say anything,” I remind him, whining like a teenager.

“I can practically hear you thinking over there.”

“It’s nothing,” I murmur.

“Speak,” he snaps, his voice still low as if someone might hear us.

“I typically read before I go to sleep.”