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“Huh.Well, like you said, doesn’t matter anyway.”
Jillyhad that lookLilyknew well.Shewasn’t buying into what she was hearing.
Jillybroke eye contact, looking at something off screen. “Bythe way, speaking ofPeter,Isaw him the other night,”Therewas an almost apologetic undertone in her voice.
Lily’sheart skipped a beat. “Youmean myPeter?”
“Keepup, sis.Yes,yourPeter.Orsomeone’s anyway.”
Somethingwas up. “Comeout with it already.”
“Fine,”Jillysaid, looking relieved.Sherecounted the scene she had witnessed inBoucherie, the same high-end restaurant whereLilyhad dropped the bomb onPeterabout moving toBreckenridge. “Peterwas dining with a beauti— um, mildly attractive woman.”
“Oh?”Aweird feeling came overLily.Notjealousy, fear or anger.
Curiosity.
“Werethey doing anything to make you think something was off?”
“Well, no, but?—”
“Jilly,PeterandIhave been together for years.Itrust him.I’msure she’s a work colleague or something.”
“Yeah, or something.”
Itwas common knowledge howJillyfelt aboutPeter,Butwhatever she could say about him—and unabashedly, had—that he’s a workaholic, penny-pinching, and humorless—he wasn’t a cheat.
“Itrust him,”Lilyrepeated.
Shesigned off, fighting off the growing tickle in the back of her mind.
ChapterTwelve
Lilywoke up feeling antsy.ItwasSaturday, finally.Shefelt for her phone on the nightstand. 7:28.Betterthan yesterday.
Maybeshe was adjusting to the new time zone.Sherolled out of bed and opened the shades.Sunshinedrenched the room.Itfelt like the light was filling her insides as well.
Shepulled up her yoga playlist, set a bath towel on the floor beside the bed, and ran through some vinyasas, helping to settle her mind.HerNewYork, new-age yogi would be proud.
Aftera three-minute shavasana,Lilyknew exactly how she wanted to spend the day.Shethrew on a pair of spandex pants, a sweatshirt, and aYankeesball cap then crammed her feet into her water shoes.Shegrabbed a granola bar and two bottles of water, tossing them along with her purse into a backpack, and left her room with a glorious sense of anticipation.
Itwas time to explore her new town.
Thirtyminutes later,Lilyfound herself standing at the edge ofLakeDillon, wondering if she was in the right place.Severaldocks lined the shore, canoes and kayaks tied to each one.Shecould see a few people already out on the water.Shewas determined to clear her mind, paddle her worries away, and embrace the beauty of the mountains.Thewebsite said to look for a yellow hut.
Walkingalong the shore, she spotted the shack, several orange life jackets and kayak paddles lying neatly beside it.Atall man stood there in swimming trunks, his back to her.
Asshe approached the rental stand, the man turned.Lily’sheart gave a lurch.There, in all his rugged handsomeness, stoodWyatt.Hewas shirtless.
Lily’sjaw nearly dropped.Themuscles she’d seen on his arms atTheRoadhouseextended across his broad, deeply tanned chest and back.Helooked like a sun-kissedAdonis.
“Wyatt?”
“Heythere.”Wyatt’seyes lit up as he recognized her, a warm smile spreading on his lips. “Youlook different.”
Stillrecovering from seeing him again, in one of the least likely places, she rasped out, “Isthat a good thing?”
Hiseyes scanned her from head to toe, his face turning serious. “Yes,Ibelieve it is.”
