Page 93 of When You Were Mine
Every minute spent with him hacked away at her walls. That distance she kept talking about? Every story they told, every memory they shared, erased it.
And that scared the crap out of her.
Because now what would keep her heart safe? What was to stop her from falling in love with him all over again?
Even worse, she knew she’d never fallenoutof love.
If you had, you’d have felt indifference. You’d have stopped thinking about him.
Instead, she’d carried fury, loathing, anguish… Yep, all the passionate emotions.
She glanced out the window. Over the last hour, they’d driven along the shoreline, through tunnels, and across miles of farmland.
She’d managed to get some work done, of course. Even though they had more time to plan now, Chris knew he wanted to hire the Westman Island chef, so she’d sent him an email and added his wife to the list of pastry chefs to interview. She’d talked to a dozen Pullman family members who were as friendly as Chris and Darby. All were ready to get to work.
A text came in.
Chris: Sommelier’s a no. She’s unwilling to leave her job in Reykjavik to come out to “the middle of nowhere.” She said she’d “wait and see if the place turns into something” before she’ll consider it.
“Crap.” Her voice cracked the silence.
Jessica: There are plenty of sommeliers in the world. We’ll find someone even better.
Chris: I like your attitude.
Jessica: But now that there’s no wedding, we’re in no rush.
Chris: True. You mad about that? I promise I didn’t know. My sister didn’t tell me until we got in the car to see my poor father who’d fallen down a set of imaginary stairs.
Jessica: Not at all. I’ve hit everything on my to-do list. It’s all good.
Chris: Let me know how it goes with Piers.
Jessica: Will do.
She set her phone in the cup holder.
“Everything okay?” Trevor’s deep voice hit her core in the most delicious way.
Had she always been this affected by it? She didn’t remember, but she liked uncovering new aspects to their relationship. “The sommelier doesn’t want to work out in the sticks.”
“You said she’s the only one in the country, so it’s not unexpected, right?”
She nodded. “We’ll find someone.”
Snow flurries hit the windshield, and he flicked on the wipers. “Look at that. It’s already started.” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “How many resorts of your own have you opened?”
“Sweetwater’s my third—and last.”
“Why last?”
“Working with unreliable vendors and contractors, irrational people, living out of a suitcase…it’s just a lot, and I’m ready to slow down.”
“What will that look like for you?” he asked. “How will you spend your time?”
“Well, I’m still going to be involved. I love it. It’s truly the best thing I’ve ever done. But I never want to live in a hotel again, so I’d like to buy a place of my own. Nothing big. But…peaceful.”
“In Calamity, right?”
