Page 8 of Story Of My Heart

I need to go check on my investment, and I can’t do that without my assistant. That’s all this is. My lawyer wants me to personally check on a resort that I own, and what do I pay Piper for if not to assist me in matters of business? This has nothing to do with that Elijah guy from last night, or how I spent an entire sleepless night imagining the way Piper’s silky waves framed her face just so, or the soft glow of her skin under the hallway lighting. It’s not about how her laughter seemed to fill up the room, or the delicate grace of her hands as she absentmindedly pushed her glasses up her nose when she talked to Elijah. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about the way her eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and intelligence, or how that simple blue dress clung to her curves in a way that made it impossible to look away. No, I shouldn’t notice any of that—not if I want to keep my sanity intact. Because until yesterday, I didn’t realize that Piper had legs outside of them as implements she used for walking.

Nope. No can do. I’ll say it again with feeling, I didn’t spend even one second on Elijah or what his expression would look like if I pushed him out of a window. That would be weird.

It’s just past dawn when I roll out of bed and hop into the shower, knowing it will be my last civilized washing experience before heading to the resort for the weekend. Yes, they have hot running water, but how am I supposed to clean myself without a touch screen shower with a precise temperature display? Or with less than three individual jets? The tiles aren’t even heated. It’s just one lousy showerhead with a single knob and nothing else, like the dark ages.

By all accounts, I’m not looking forward to this at all. Which is why the knot in my stomach that forms every time I think about seeing Piper on my childhood home turf doesn’t make a lick of sense. She’s going to fit in better than me, the man who has a blood tie to the place.

The time I spend packing passes not in dread, but something akin to excitement. As I slide open the drawer to my nightstand, an old, faded photograph of us at the lake slips out. There we are, all smiles, but behind my forced grin, I remember the sensory overload of that day—the loud laughter, the splashing water, the way the woolen picnic blanket scratched at my skin. No one noticed. They rarely did. Back then, I had no words for why I felt so alienated in my own skin, among my own people.

But that’s all in the past, and I almost find myself humming a happy tune while waiting at the downstairs coffee shop for my order. Piper thinks I don’t pay attention, but I do. I know she likes gouda on her breakfast sandwich, not cheddar, and that even though she takes cheese on the sandwich she wants oat milk in her coffee. I’d love to hear the explanation for that one day, but not before I ask her for the largest favor ever.

I go all the way back up to my place, just so I can take the private elevator down directly into her apartment, rather than wait at her front door and chance an encounter with Mrs. Gunderson and that tiny tyrant of fluff, Johan. It occurs to me just before the door opens that she was on a date last night, and that I might be walking into something I don’t want to see. A zing pierces rockets through me even thinking about it. With my hands full of coffee and sandwiches, there’s not much I can do to prevent the door opening and giving me a full view of her apartment.

I hold my breath with my heart galloping inside my chest.

Other than a messy brunette bun visible over the top of the couch, the place seems to be blessedly empty. Bullet dodged.

But I’m still wondering if Elijah kissed her goodnight. Or more.

And now I’m trying to strategize how to ask her without sounding like a complete stalker hell-bent on violating all of Minnesota’s human resources laws.

“Good morning?” she asks at the sound of the elevator door closing behind me. Crossing to her living area, I take a seat on the chair opposite the sofa, sliding the coffee and sandwich her way. She accepts the coffee with an arched brow.

“What’s the occasion?” Removing the lid from the paper cup, she blows on the hot liquid before taking a sip. “Oh, are you trying to get the deets on my date? I’m not a kiss and tell kind of girl. Sorry.”

Am I that obvious? I lean over to look behind her and into the apartment, double checking my assumption that we’re alone. I still don’t see anyone, and I’m pretty sure that if any shirtless men were hanging around this morning, she’d be trying a lot harder to get me off of her chair and out of her apartment.

“No, actually. I wanted to speed up the process.” Glancing at my watch, I figure that we have about an hour before the rental car is delivered. I considered having a driver take us instead, but that would blow our cover immediately, as would showing up in the Mercedes. I called the rental agency this morning and had them send us the most normal vehicle imaginable. They were a little confused by my question, but I think they’re sending us a Subaru mid-sized sedan. It was hard enough to get them to send a vehicle with Minnesota plates.

“What process? It’s Saturday. This,” she gestures at her sweatpants before pointing at a book on the coffee table, “is my process. And you’re interrupting it.”

I turn my head, trying to read the title from my upside down vantage point. It’s a book about Italian fresco painters in the late Medieval period. I always forget that Piper can be smarter than I am sometimes. Not that I’d ever tell her that. That kind of talk would go straight to her head. Regardless, it’s a book. She can bring the book and her sweatpants with us. She can bring a whole library, for all I care.

I scrub a hand down my face. “So, you’re going to have to process elsewhere.”

She takes a large gulp of coffee, followed by another, bracing herself for whatever it is that I have planned. “Outside the sanctuary of my own home. Where would that be?”

“Go Jump in the Lake,” I offer with a shrug.

Blinking at me slowly, her lips draw into a taught, flat line. “That’s no way to convince me to go anywhere with you.”

I laugh, realizing my gaffe immediately. Mom always had a sense of humor. She loved the name for the place, refusing to budge on it a single inch. She still managed to giggle about it every time she said it, even after all these years. And our guests? Most of which are repeat? Well, they love it too. Frankly, I don’t understand how I’m related to any of them. Maybe I was switched at birth.

“Sorry, that’s the name of my family’s resort. We’re going to Sunset Lake.” I pause for a moment, waiting to see if she turns me down. When there isn’t any immediate protest, I continue, tapping the wrapper of her sandwich with my index finger. “Have a breakfast sandwich… while you pack.”

Her eyes narrow at the word “pack.”. “So. Not a day trip?”

“No, more like a day and a night cubed.”

“Long weekend. Interesting.” She rolls her head along her shoulders in a stretch, then leans forward for the sandwich. Unwrapping it, she takes a large bite, talking around the food in her mouth. “And what prompted this? What if I had another date this weekend?”

My breath stalls in my lungs, and I can feel my pulse whooshing through my eardrums. “Do you?”

She swallows, then answers sheepishly. “No. But I totally could’ve. You shouldn’t just assume.”

I stiffen so I don’t visibly sag with relief. I’ll unpack that later. “Excellent. Nothing stands in your way then. Let’s go. Ledger used Fallon to trick me into a conversation with him. He made some valid points, and the guilt is riding me hard.”

“Kind of like you and Mavis the other day?” Piper stands from the sofa, an impish twinkle in her eye at the question. I won’t ever admit it out loud, but Piper rode up on horseback and saved me from death by tree branch like some kind of fairytale prince. I’m not sure how to reverse our roles. Or why I really, really want to. “By the way, I can’t wait to meet Fallon. And Ledger. Meeting your family will give me more insight on you.”

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