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Henri nodded, her lips in a grim line. “I thought so.”
I swept her hair behind her ear. “It’s not what you think Henri. I feel like I could live anywhere, if you’re there.”
“Would you consider it?” Her eyes searched mine. “Just for a little while?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” her raunchy dirty girl mouth from the night before was gone.
I propped my head on my hand and rested my hand on Henri’s stomach. “I bought a lodge with my brothers. We are fixing it up and I’m going to live there.”
“Why are you just telling me this now?”
I couldn’t tell if she was upset.
“It didn’t come up – and the deal is just getting finalized today. I guess I didn’t want to jinx it. I’m the man on the ground here. I’ll be doing a lot of the construction myself and acting as the general contractor. I’m stuck in Chance Rapids for the next five years – at least.”
“That sounds incredible Jack. Is that a dream you’ve always had?” She had a far off look in her eye.
“It is. In the winter it will be a heli-skiing operation, but in the summer, we are going to do wellness retreats. Sauna, cold therapy, meditation – all that stuff.”
Henri turned onto her side and crooked her arm underneath her pillow. She ran her fingertips up and down my arm, the sensation was so light, but intense at the same time. “You’re incredible Jack.”
No. It was Henri that was incredible. She wanted to be with me when she thought I was a farmhand. “Maybe one day you can quit that job and write your book.”
She kissed me. “One day.”
The coffee started to gurgle as it percolated on the stove, the warm smell of freshly perked coffee filling the cabin. “Speaking of the farm, those goats will destroy the place if they don’t get breakfast on time.” I kissed her cheek and pulled on my clothes from the night before, minus the boxers. They were still in a pile on the sauna floor. If anyone had been around the night before, they would’ve seen two bare naked people, streaking through the field, laughing hysterically, wearing only their boots.
Henri strode to the bathroom. “I’m going to have a shower.” I loved the fact that she wasn’t shy about her body.
“I’ll pour you a coffee.”
Through the bathroom door she shouted, “Make it a local’s coffee.”
I chuckled and poured a shot of whiskey into her mug. The shower started to run and the sound of Henri humming in the splashing water made my chest swell. We were going to do it. I had met the perfect woman and we were going to make it work.
The best part, we now had another week together.
As I poured the coffee into our mugs, the handle to the percolator snapped and hot coffee spilled over the countertop, splattering my shirt and burning my bare feet.
“Shit. Ow.” I grabbed a tea towel and dabbed at the coffee on my feet. That’s when I noticed that Henri’s notebook was right in the middle of the coffee spill. What was it with that woman and coffee? I remembered the first awkward moment we’d had together in the coffee shop.
I wiped off the cover of the notebook and held it over the sink, letting the coffee drop from the saturated pages. “Dammit.” I shook the notebook, hoping that Henri’s work wasn’t totally ruined. I gingerly flipped through the notebook and tried to sop up the coffee as best as I could.
It looked okay, and as long as the pages didn’t stick together when it was drying, it didn’t look like it would be ruined. I fanned the pages, hoping to get them to dry a little bit. That’s when I caught my name. I knew that I shouldn’t look, but I did.
The article was awful.
I mean, it was well written, but what Henri had to say about Chance Rapids was terrible. It wasn’t a story about a Christmas movie being filmed in a small town. No, Henri’s story read like a dirty expose about the town. Cheating, alcoholism, missing teeth – it was full of negative stereotypes – there wasn’t one positive thing. She didn’t name names, but the adult child mooching off his parents, was clearly me. She had notes to insert photos of abandoned trailer park homes, and photos of the Last Chance on a Tuesday, aka stripper, night.
Slamming the notebook on the table, I no longer gave a shit if the pages stuck together. Henri had deceived every single person that I cared about – and she did it with the precision of a professional con artist.
The woman in the shower wasn’t who I thought she was. And, I wanted her out of my town.
SEVENTEEN
HENRI
