“No.”
“You’ve figured out time travel and we can go back to the summer before responsibilitiesreallyhit and enjoy daiquiris by the pool.”
“Forget it, I’ll tell you,” she says with an amused huff.
“I’m waiting…”
“We’ve been hearing rumors at work about big changes coming next year, but no one’s been able to confirm anything.”
“You already told me that,” I say as I head back toward my car.
Wren growls. “I know. I’m justreminding you.” When I don’t say anything, she adds, “Someone bought Mountain Side Salon and Spa. They take ownership January first.”
“What?” I say, genuinely shocked by this news. “Who bought it?” Mountain Side has only ever been family owned so this news is surprising.
“We don’t know, but Erika called a meeting first thing this morning. I’m headed there now.”
“I’m gonna needallthe details on that.”
“Obviously.”
“Wine and lasagna for dinner?”
“I can get on board with that,” she says before cursing under her breath. “Okay, I have to go. I left my coffee inside and I have to run—literally—or I’ll be late.”
“I’ll see you at home.”
“Love you.”
“Love you more,” I say before disconnecting so she can’t try to one-up me.
WREN: I love YOU more.
Brat.
I snicker and pocket my phone or else we’ll be at it all day. Unlocking my car, I slide into the driver’s seat and set my coffee in the cupholder, thankful that it’s already toasty warm.The remote car starter may be the best invention ever created, and I take full advantage of the long-distance capabilities in the winter here in Montana.
Easing onto the road, I turn some Christmas music on low and let my mind wander. New ownership of Mountain Side makes me uncomfortable. That kind of secrecy speaks of big city money and someone with no ties to our little slice of heaven here in Wintervale.
It means change and not the good kind.
Turning down the road toward the tree farm, I smile as I pass by the little efficiency cabins that Wren’s parents rent to tourists and people looking for an extended stay. I’d streamlined their booking capabilities a couple of years ago when they added a few new builds as popularity grew.
Modernly Rustic and Timelessly Romantic.
I’m still ridiculously proud of that slogan.
Smoke billows from the chimneys, and a few of them have the blinds still drawn. All of them are occupied, but only one has piqued my interest. It’s the last one on the drive toward the farm, set back farther than the rest, the house dark and no truck in the driveway.
Damn.
I’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Where are you, Harlan Frost?
He’d been hired the end of November, but I hadn’t managed to run into him yet. He’d made quite an impression around town. Words likegodlyandchiseled from stonehad been used, and the newcomer had turned a few heads.
It’d been a while since anyone had turned mine, and at the very least, it deserved a little exploration.
