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“It’s complicated.” She changes lanes, glancing over her shoulder before returning her eyes to the road. She’s dressed down in jeans and a long-sleeve black T-shirt that caresses all her curves.
I’ve never seen her dressed so casually. All of our encounters up to this point have been professional. She’s always dressed up in perfectly tailored suits and immaculately applied makeup, hair salon fresh. Now she’s . . .real.
It’s more than a little intoxicating. I can barely keep my eyes focused on the pastoral settings rushing by the windows because my gaze is constantly drawn to her profile: her pert nose, her firm chin, the way her hair tucks behind her ear and traces to her jaw, as if the strands can’t bear to be parted from her skin.
The drive has been lush with reds and golds and bright yellows, a tapestry of fall. But I’m not sure any of it is as lush as the thickness of her bottom lip.
Get a grip.
I can’t let this fascination with Mindy Fox—and her lips—affect our mutual goals.
“I’m sure I can keep up.” Plus I need a distraction, and not just from her mouth. I’m already anticipating how it’s going to go when I inevitably have to sing her more of my songs—which I promised to do shortly after we settle in.
On top of everything else, saying goodbye to Walter this morning, even temporarily, was brutal. He acted like it was no big deal, like he would be just fine without me. He even said it—I was fine before you moved into this dump, I’ll be fine after—but there was a glint in his eyes that belied his words. Who’s he going to talk to? Who’s going to bring him sandwiches and make sure he takes his blood pressure medication?
“It used to be Fox Cottages, which was basically a bunch of short-term rental cabins.”
I push my worries to the side and turn my focus to Mindy. I am intensely curious about her, her past, her family, all of it. My eyes trace down the soft curve of her neck to her shoulder.
Stop gawking.
I direct my attention out the windshield in front of us.
“The buildings were old and outdated, and after some of the nearby ski resorts updated their facilities, it got harder and harder to attract customers. Finley did her best to keep things afloat, but once rents were down it was bleeding money—which of course she never shared with the rest of the family. Finley has a tendency to carry the world on her shoulders.” She shakes her head with a sigh.
“She’s the oldest?” I ask.
Mindy nods. “She’s a year older than me. Anyway, Oliver had been pressuring Finley, sending a bunch of his business lackeys to get her to sell to him. He managed to buy up all of the parcels around ours, but she kept rejecting him.” Her lip quirks. “Sometimes rather forcefully.”
Oliver, I learned this morning, is Piper’s boyfriend and the owner of the car we’re currently in. Apparently he has more than a few vehicles lying around to loan out.
“Why didn’t she want to sell?”
Mindy taps the steering wheel with a finger, contemplating her response. “After Dad died, we all signed the property over to Finley. She was the most invested in keeping it alive. It was her coping mechanism. She and Jake were the only ones who stayed. I couldn’t—it was hard to be there, after everything.”
I swallow, resisting the urge to reach over and touch her, to offer comfort. I understand more than she can possibly realize. “I get it. After Kevin died, about a year later, we moved away. It was a relief. It was too hard to remember. I would catch glimpses of him around every bend.”
We share a glance and something in my chest squeezes and releases before she looks back at the road.
She clears her throat. “Then, Oliver sent in Archer.”
“Archer is Finley’s boyfriend, right? He lives there now?”
She nods. “Yep. Archer is a master negotiator. He can close any deal. He was tasked with convincing Finley to sell to Oliver, but instead he fell head over heels for her.” The corner of her mouth quirks. “Oliver and Finley eventually came to a joint ownership agreement—something laid out by Archer to make both of them happy. Finley didn’t have to move or sell our family property, and Oliver got the camp he’d been gunning for.”
“Everyone wins.”
“In this case, yes. Most importantly, my sister is happy. My brother, though—”
Her phone dings.
It’s resting in a holder on the dash, and the notification snags my attention. The actual text conversation isn’t visible, only the sender’s name.
Blake.
There’s no last name, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
A muscle in her jaw twitches. She reaches over and pushes a button that turns the screen black before gripping the steering wheel with both hands like she expects it to jump out of the car.
