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Rachel looks up as the waitress puts down a platter of buffalo wings, ribs, and fries. “He’s been working there for his godfather, Cash McGraw, for forever now. Left when he was sixteen and never came back.”
For a moment we dig in like a bunch of starved mongrels and when the initial bites are down, Britt looks at me. “So, tell us why you’re here? This tiny house is a bit of an odd-ball loose-cannon gig, isn’t it?”
I chuckle at how easily Britt dismisses this project. “I wanted to get a different experience.”
“But you’ve had a double gap year and worked in Mexico and everywhere in the Caribbean. Plus, you worked for ten weeks at an interior design company in Provence where you worked on a château,” Britt says with a forced French accent as she picks up a wing. “This gig is only for the summer, so what will you do in the fall now that you’ve qualified as an interior designer?”
I try not to gawk. Did Britt gain access to my résumé in Hunter’s office, whether authorized or not?
Britt giggles as she drops her gaze. “Sorry! I got your résumé from HR this morning…I’m nosy, okay?”
Good God. I swallow a scathing reply about HR policies and confidential information and instead give Britt a small smile. She knows more about me than any stranger should and the rest she’s going to wrangle from me, so why fight it. “I’ve got something lined up after this summer. It isn’t confirmed yet, but I’ll hear from them soon.”
I’m bargaining on a peace accord with my mom so I can go back to what I did before—be Veronique Wess’s right hand for life. I’m in a privileged position. Something she’s thrown at me several times.
“Seems like you’ve got life all sorted,” Britt says with a woebegone smile. “I’ve never left Vermont. I’m stuck forever in Ashleigh Lake. I’m bound to be Hunter’s secretary for the rest of my life, and not in a kinky way. I’ve worked my way through every single guy in town already and not one of them is the commitment kind. I’m twenty-four and there’s nothing to look forward to on my horizon.”
“So glum,” Rachel teases to make light of Britt’s comment, but for the first time I see what Britt sees.
My heart bleeds for her. Here I am, all suave big-city girl from Miami, appearing as if I’ve traveled the world and experienced different things, which I have. I’ve had fantastic opportunities that I took for granted, but they all came with a caveat. The three-month internship in Provence was a gig Wess & Rover picked up from one of our regular hotel clients who wanted a pied-à-terre in France to see if she could make the continental leap. It was three months of blissful hell. The kind of traveling I get to do comes with a suitcase full of swatches and meeting after meeting with very particular clients who don’t dare throw tantrums at Veronique Wess, but have no qualms about raising their voices at me.
Britt’s trying to live vicariously through me for a few minutes, and I’m making those minutes as hard for her as I can. “Come visit me in Miami any time and I’ll show you around. Lots of single guys there, all hotter than Hunter Logan.”
Britt laughs. “Hotter than a Logan? This I’ve got to see. I’m taking you up on that over Christmas break.”
More friends arrive and I get introduced to everybody as George from Miami, Raiden’s sidekick on his project. Twenty minutes later I’ve had my fill of new faces and I want to go home, take a shower, maybe give Mel a call, and go to bed.
Maybe not Mel.
What I want most of all is to talk to Dad, because the silence on the parental front has been gnawing at me the whole day. When there’s a gap in the conversation, I make my excuses, leave some cash for the tab with Rachel, and still hearing their protests ringing in my ears, I walk out into the twilight.
12
RAIDEN
I’m dragging the barn door closed to lock up when Hunter’s SUV drives into the yard, his headlights blinding.
“You done here?” he calls out of his window. “Time for a beer at my place?”
“Sure. I’ll come round.” There’s no escaping Hunter. He’ll want to know how things went today.
He nods and soon I’m heading down the road that curves with the lake, away from Ashleigh Lake and the farm. The turnoff to his property is only ten minutes away, and leads to a beautiful, isolated spot in the woods where a few cottages got building permission forty years ago. He’s been renovating his cottage in phases as the money becomes available. There’s not much left to do here, and in true Hunter style, the place is pretty spectacular.
As I walk into his house, the scent of freshly baked pizza lures me in and my stomach growls on cue. Hunter has two pizza boxes in his hands with a chilled six-pack on top, and he shoves the sliding door wider with his shoulder.
“Left some for me, have you?” I joke.
Hunter got dinner for two and I bet one of those pizzas is my favorite: pepperoni and olives.
“Got you your own. Reckoned you’d be hungry. And lonely,” he says with a chuckle as we walk out onto the deck. “Britt told me they’re taking George out to Sharky’s.”
Lonely, indeed. Once Georgiana left, the barn was a big and empty space. The scale of the project freaked me out for a few minutes as the reality of tackling it alone almost overwhelmed me.
The lake is quiet at this time of day with the breeze a mere tickle and the sun dipping so deep it will be gone in a minute. Far off, a split of geese glides over the water to land and the melancholy calls of loons follow one after the other. Little lake waves clap against the deck or swell and recede against the grass by the lake’s edge further away. It’s so peaceful here and I understand why Hunter needs this place in his life. For a moment I breathe it all in, knowing that a part of me will always want this as well.
“I hear you got hired and fired and hired again.” Hunter breaks into my reverie. “Sounds like a trying day.” He settles the pizza boxes on a side table between two deck loungers and passes me a beer.
“Good news travels fast. How I missed Ashleigh Lake.” My tone is dry. This part I don’t miss. Gossip spreads in this place like soft butter on hot toast.
