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I bark out a laugh. This man is ridiculous.
Me: So glad I didn't answer.
Ranger: I'm having trouble falling asleep. I need your lyrical stylings to help me drift off.
And I'm picturing him in bed, covers low on his hips to reveal his toned chest and abs and hipbones, maybe a hint of… I slam my eyes shut, but the image is in my head so that only makes it worse.
Me: I gotta go. It's past my bedtime.
Ranger: Guess you've already got a chicken at your farm.
I don't deign to answer that. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll believe I'm already fast asleep.
Ranger: Goodnight, sweet wildflower.
My heart stutters and I close out the text messages and turn off my phone.
"He is wrong for me. He is wrong for me. He is wrong for me," I chant to myself as I turn off the light and snuggle down in my blankets.
I close my eyes and drift off to dreams of Grant Holiday catching me every time I stumble.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Grant
The town hall parking lot is as empty as I expect for a town meeting with only a few items on the agenda, but the crowd outside, waving posters and chanting, is not at all what I expect.
I stride past the protesters, head held high, as I make eye contact with each individual. I don't recognize any of them, but they sure as hell recognize me as they shout at me to 'stop the desecration' of their land.
Their signs say the same, though there are a few mixed in that suggest their mountain views will be ruined. The folks in the crowd are wearing t-shirts and jeans and look like ordinary Catalpa Creek citizens, except that their average age is seventy-five and their haircuts and jewelry are pricey. The locals call them spectators because they look down on us all from their mountain-side homes.
They're mostly wealthy retirees who live in fancy houses on the side of the mountain or by the river just outside of town. They won't benefit from the jobs and increased tourism to the town the way so many locals will.
Not that all the locals are thrilled about the resort, but most everyone recognizes the benefit to their neighbors, if not to themselves.
In my own way, I can empathize with the protesters. My fellow townspeople walking into City Hall are not so understanding.
"Your home values will go up more than your view will be obstructed," Lainey Garrett, the owner of Midday Blooms, shouts back at the protesters. "We know you care more about that."
Clearly, she's also clocked the protesters as spectators.
The spectators have been the most vocal about their opposition to the resort, but they aren't the only ones against it. The locals who hate the idea of the resort are just less willing to alienate their friends and neighbors who are in favor of it.
Just inside the lobby, I pull out my phone and read over my last text exchange with Dani.
RuleBreaker:I've got cherry danishes for you today, but you have to come to the counter to get them. Lazy won't be your go-between anymore.
Me:If you want to see me, all you have to do is ask. I'll take you out tonight.
RuleBreaker:I just want to be appropriately worshiped for my baked goods, Ranger. That means I get to see your face when you take your first bite.
Me:What you're saying is you like my face?
RuleBreaker:Just buy your damn pastries like a normal person. Follow the rules. That should be easy for you.
I smile as I shoot off another text. Me:It's been seven days. I miss your taste, Wildflower.
As much as I'd love to stand around and wait for her answer, I need to get to the meeting. I shove my phone back in my pocket and put on my professional game face.
