It took a gondola to get here. The downtown area of Strutt’s Peak is at the base of the mountains, and that’s where I’ve set up my new life. But the great spots in this town are woven throughout the slopes. The gondola is like a trolley system, but instead of a train car, it’s a bunch of moving pods suspended hundreds of feet off the ground that taxi the townies and tourists up and down the mountains. It’s as frightening as jaywalking in midtown Manhattan at rush hour. But holy spumoni is it beautiful.
I take in the large windows that frame the mountains I can barely see at this time of night, snapshotting the faces eating around the room. Redhead with the gold hoops moaning around a bite of risotto, mustache-guy sipping his water across the table from the receptionist who works at the town clerk's office. Her name is Marie. She’s a cat person. She didn’t tell me this directly, but her desk knick-knacks were very aggressive. I count thirteen people with chicken dishes, eighteen having pasta, three still reviewing their menus, and about twenty-two cutting, biting, or wiping their mouths from their juicy filets. There is nobody eating the grilled cheese, but then again, it’s too late for kids to be out to dinner and most families likely don’t come here with little monsters.
“Oh my goddess,” I whisper to myself as I make my way back from the restroom. My steps falter slightly. And something in the air shifts. Something noticeable, like a window is open and a cool breeze just danced through. It’s an awareness that I can’t describe, just a sense of knowing, but not wanting to believe it.
The man who’s back is to me sits tall and straight. He’s big and bulky. Dark hair cut tight and faded into a thicker length on top. Nicely dressed. Something about how he’s sipping his drink from a Cognac glass hollows out my stomach. As I curve around the table, his side profile with his sharp jawline and beautiful lips tells me that my instincts aren’t wrong.
Fuck, this can’t be right. It can’t be, shouldn’t behim.
I want to run right to him. Throw my arms around him and tell him that I looked for him. But as my feet take me closer and I register what I’m walking into, I realize I can’t do that. I feel the itch to run away instead, and two seconds earlier, maybe I could have, but when I catch Everly’s eye, I remember who I’m supposed to be.
I keep my eyes everywhere but where I want to look as I come into full view of the party. The face that I so desperately want to see and study, I can feel on me now. I want to look, but I can’t just yet. I’m not ready for that. So, instead, I find my spot next to Everly. I pep talk myself internally all over again.
Take a breath, don’t give anything away. Take a sip of that water. Look around the table.
I freeze. I’m able to swallow the sip of water, but the glass never meets the table. It’s suspended in the air like my brain has malfunctioned and it can’t process what to do next.
Three years later, and even if I didn’t have an incredible memory, I would have still remembered my flyboy down to a T, with his broad shoulders, those beautiful lips with its tiny white scar, and his handsome face. Those arms that look bigger than I remember. Like they’re trying to escape the suit jacket they’re being suffocated in, and I remember what it felt like to be engulfed in them. Grabbed with those hands. The way his fingers felt coasting up and down my legs as we talked. Flirted.
A chill runs through me. And I finally put the glass down. Meeting his stare.
His cleanly shaven face is still just as beautiful. He looked better with the tight beard. It was award-winning scruff. But this is okay too. That man's facial hair is what fantasies are built on. I still sometimes think about how great of a ride that scruff would have been. My thighs actually tingle just thinking about it.
Stop staring!
All eyes are on me, and the interruption I just made by coming to their table. His toast cut short. I can tell he’s trying to place me, or perhaps he’s just annoyed that I’m a stranger crashing his family dinner. I watch his Adam’s apple bob down and back up again. His mouth pressed in a straight line, which is making his mood unreadable until he raises his eyebrows in a hopeful question. I sit there and say nothing. I school my reaction and just keep a friendly smile. As if I were someone new.
He shifts and looks around the table, maybe remembering what he’s doing too. I watch as the woman to his right snakes her hand from beneath the table, draping over his fist. Laying claim.Shit. When I look back up, I’m met with a scowl. He looks angry. My hands start to sweat at the sight. The last time he saw me, I was an entirely different person. Not in aI’ve made massive strides in being betterdifferent person. Nope, I was someone else. I look different, sound different. Hopefully enough.
He doesn’t recognize me.
He can’t. He’s just pissed I’ve crashed his party. That’s all.
If he calls me out, then I have to move again.
Dammit! Just when I started thinking of this as my home. Just when I’ve made a friend whom I actually like. I don’t want to leave.
Especially not now. Not when I’ve found him.
8
Henry
It’s her.It has to be. I can’t stop staring. My instincts are going off like fireworks. I know it’s her. My body knows it’s her. Like some kind of brute force I’ve run into at full speed. I feel like I’ve been punched. Hit in the gut. Slapped. Stunned.Stung. As soon as I caught sight of her, I cut off what I had started saying. That was at least a minute ago now and the abrupt stop and now prolonged silence causes everyone to follow my line of sight. And it’s directed right at her. She won’t look at me.
My father clears his throat.
Everly pushes out her chair to stand. “Giselle! Everyone, I want you to meet my friend,” my sister announces. “She’s new in town, just about to take over the tattoo shop on Main.”
“No kidding,” our father says as he puts his drink down and angles his attention toward her, but not before shooting a quick look my way. He’ll cover this awkwardness, but he’s going to have questions. Believe me, Dad, I have plenty too.
“I didn’t realize Griff found someone to take over. I thought he was ready to just sell the space and not the actual business.”
She smiles. A big, full-faced smile that reaches her mocha-colored eyes. “Well, he hasn’t said yes yet. He told me that I have to prove myself first before he’s willing to hand it all over,” she says, then leans over to whisper not so quietly, cupping her hand over her mouth, “but I think I’ve got him in the bag. A few more sessions with his regulars and he’ll recognize I’m the right choice.”
She looks around the table, stealing a peek my way, and then moves on. “Thank you for letting me crash your party. Everly and I were having too much fun warding off a bunch of eager douchebags and toasting their pitiful efforts. We didn’t want the night to end.”
Yeah, I remember that feeling.