Page 56 of Glimmer in the Darkness

“Chocolate is the perfect amount of sweet.” Her stomach rumbled, and he felt gratified that he wasn’t suffering alone. She stood and brushed off her jeans, so he did the same, glad she didn’t want to linger.

After he started climbing again, she said, “So, how about you? Anybody in your life who wouldn’t like that you and I shared a tent last night? Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

The slope was gentle here. No excuse not to talk. “Haven’t met the right woman, I guess.”

“Have you been looking?”

“Sure. Of course.” A lie. He’d not dated anybody in years. After his mother died, he’d lost interest in dating. In everything.

“Where do you meet women?”

Women. Like he was on the prowl every weekend. “I don’t know. Around, I guess.”

They hiked for a few minutes before she started again. “What do you do for work?”

Was it not clear that he didn’t want to talk? He tamped down the urge to snap at her that it was none of her business. He was hungry, not angry.

When he didn’t speak after a few minutes, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to kill time.”

He forced himself to breathe through the irrational irritation. “I still own The Patriot, but Tip manages it for me. In the summer, I give backpacking tours.”

“On Coventry?”

“People who pay for guides are looking for more adventure than that. I take people on the Presidential Range. Four days, six days—just depends on what they want and where they want to go.”

“That explains why you’re so prepared for this trek.”

He shrugged.

“Keeps you busy, I guess.”

Kept him away from town, away from people who knew too much about his life, his past.

“And in the winter?” she asked.

“My dad used to collect coins. He used to spend a lot of time at it, but when he and my mom married and he opened the restaurant and the other businesses, he had less time for it.” Dad had owned a number of businesses in town—two restaurants, the ice cream stand by the lake, a shop for tourists. After Hallie’s death, he’d sold them or given them away one by one. He’d kept The Patriot, his first business, to pass on to James.

“What kinds of coins?” she asked.

“Rare coins. Just whatever spoke to him. That’s how Dad put it—they spoke to him. He used to go to coin shows and spend hours looking through coins to buy one or two. He loved it.”

“I never knew that.”

“When I was a kid, he’d take them out and tell me their stories. It was something we did together. Even though he’d quit going to coin shows, he never lost his passion for them.”

“Your dad was such an amazing man,” Cassidy said. “So passionate about… everything he did, I guess. But mostly his family.”

“Yeah.” James let the wave of grief roll over him, allowing himself to recall Dad the way he’d been before Hallie’s death. The bright eyes, the optimism that laced every word, the faith that undergirded their family. So much loss.

The hill got steeper, and he kept quiet until it leveled out. But her question was still hanging out there.

“After he died, Mom gave me the collection. I was trying to get close to him, to love something he loved. I went through it, spent a lot of time valuing what he had. I had no intention of selling them. I just wanted to see what was there. Then I realized it was more than just a few shoeboxes full of old coins. It was history. It was connection. Next thing I knew, I was going to coin shows, trying to see what Dad saw. I started buying and selling and…” He shrugged. “It’s my job in the winter. I trade coins, mostly online. Most rare, but I also dabble in bullion. Buy low, sell high. You know.”

Behind him, she chuckled. “Not really. What exactly is bullion?”