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“Carter’s got you busy up here, huh?” Ryder shoots me a sly grin.
“You have no idea.”
When I moved to Katah Vista a few years back I expected it to be temporary. A way to ease into the workforce by doing some landscaping projects for my uncle over the summer. But I had the good fortune to get here right as Carter took over running the resort, and with his deep pockets he’s been making improvements ever since. From a renovated base area to a bike park to new ski runs, the man’s got a big vision, and he believes in hiring local. In other words, my plate is full enough that I never left after that first summer.
“What about you?” I ask Ryder. “You staying busy with Hailey’s projects?”
“Is that your way of asking me if I want a summer job?”
“Well,” I rub the bridge of my nose, “I’ve got work if you’re looking.”
“No thank you.” He shakes his head. “Hailey may have the winter programs dialed in but she’s still finalizing the summer programs, and I’d rather go hiking and biking with her clients than shovel dirt.”
“Fair enough,” I agree, because if I had the choice I’d probably do the same thing. Who doesn’t want to play on the mountain and call it work? Although, driving construction equipment is a close second. I’m not an office guy.
Ryder and I shake hands and make plans to meet up for a game of pool later–our new pastime that lets him socialize at the bar without sitting there drinking–and I make my way back to my truck. But I get sidetracked by the light coming from Murphy’s on the Mountain, which should be closed.
I could go for a beer right about now. And a pretty bartender to serve it.
Tiff has been M.I.A. since I dropped her off at her house two days ago, which is unusual considering she keeps the same schedule week in and week out. I shouldn’t know that, nor should I know she hasn’t been keeping that schedule. Yet I’m keenly aware of both.
Telling myself I’m being a good friend, not a creeper who wants his daily fix of the girl he can’t have, I venture inside despite the sign saying it’s closed.
No one is behind the bar, so I make my way to the store room where I can hear the echo of music. Pushing the door slowly, so there’s no repeat of the collision from the other night, I let myself in.
Tiff has her back to me, that round little ass swaying to the bass as she writes on the clipboard in her arms.Holy Hell.
Her body moves as if the music is flowing through it, almost as if it’s part of her instead of something in the background. Like the tempo pulses to the rhythm of her life blood.
I like music as much as the next guy, and I even understand how you can feel music. But I’ve never felt so immersed by it that my body got lost in it, not the way Tiff’s does. It’s mesmerizing.
This is why I don’t go with my cousin to any of her recitals.I don’t know if she dances along with the kids she teaches, but based on the way my junk just perked up, skipping the show is the right decision. No need to broadcast my feelings–or desires–in front of the entire town.
Lost in my thoughts the song ends without warning, and Tiff spins around, letting out a shriek as we come face-to-face.
“Deacon, what the hell?” She puts a hand over her heart as her eyes drop to the ground. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Sorry. I saw the lights and thought maybe you were open. Then I followed the music back here.”
If she remembers the closed sign on the door she doesn’t let on. “Well, we’re not. Head into town if you want a drink.” She puts her back to me and studies the damn clipboard as another song comes on.
That’s the second time since I crashed at her house that she’s clammed up around me. Between that and the new schedule, it almost seems like she’s avoiding me. Truth be told, that’s probably for the best, but I don’t like it. Not one bit. Even if I can’t do more than look, seeing Tiff is the highlight of my day.
“Did you change your shifts? I haven’t seen you during lunch the last few days.”
“We have to do inventory before the summer season kicks in.” She makes another mark on her clipboard.
“Isn’t that Lennon’s job?” As a notorious workaholic Lennon isn’t known for passing off tasks on her employees. Especially ones that are critical to the bottom line.
“We take turns.”
I’d buy that if the woman didn’t still have her back to me. We shared some intense conversation the last few times we saw each other, something I would’ve expected to make her more comfortable around me, not less.
“Is there a reason you’re talking to that clipboard instead of me? Did I do something wrong?”
Her head swivels back and forth. “No. I did.”
“You did?” When she doesn’t answer I try again. “Tiff, look at me.”
