Page 50 of Recklessly in Love

“You mean I’d be forced to choose.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. If one owner initiates a partition action, most judges will require the other owner to choose between the three options unless there’s a procedural or other issue that stops them from doing so. So you need to ask yourself which you think he’ll want and which is most advantageous for you.”

My appetite is gone; I think about that as she eats. If it’s the first option, he’ll own his part of the land and can finance development. But at least it would be limited, and perhaps there’s a way to control how much development and what he can do. If we both have to sell … well, who the hell knows what the next owner would want to do with the land? It could be worse than what my father has planned. And we’ve already established that he doesn’t have the money for the last option.

The kernel of an idea forms in my mind.

“So, how are things going at Sutton Developments, by the way?” I ask, referring to the company that bought out the real estate business she’d built.

Sera narrows her eyes at me. “Things are great. The owner, who is my boss and mentor, plans to retire in another five years, at which point I’ll take over.” She tilts her head. “You have that look Grandpa Tyler used to get.”

I can’t help the grin that escapes me because I know exactly what she means. My Grandpa Tyler, her grandfather’s brother, got the same look when he smelled a good deal.

“How would Sutton Developments like to get in on the ground floor of a newly forming town in the Cascades? One that can be a rustic yet luxury second-home location for hikers, skiers, and other outdoor enthusiasts?”

“You’re going to turn Alpine Ridge into a destination vacation home spot for the rich and snobby?” Sera asks drily.

I press my lips together. “Okay, I just came up with the idea. Because my dad wants to turn it into the next Leavenworth, and I’ve been fighting that pretty much since we inherited the land. But if we turn it into something else … something that preserves what makes it special …”

“Then you could cut him off at the knees and kick him out of your hidey-hole,” Sera surmises. She huffs a laugh. Then she levels me with a look. “This is a stretch, you know that.”

I nod. “I know. If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Sera stares at me evenly for a minute. “My husband runs a corporate security firm. Are you sure you don’t want me to have him see what he can dig up on your father?”

I bark a laugh. “You want me to blackmail Everett Tyler?” I scoff.

She shrugs lightly. “You said it, not me,” she responds with a twinkle in her eye. “Couldn’t hurt to try it.”

I shake my head, still chuckling. “Even the thought of having to talk to him enough to pull that off has me ‘noping’ out of that one. But I admire your boldness.” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll do my own research, run some numbers, and get you a proposal. Either way, I think pushing for an outright sale is the best path. I don’t want this to end with any of that land solely in my father’s hands. And I want him out of Alpine Ridge.” And my life. But I don’t add that out loud, even though I’m pretty sure she picks up on it. “Thanks for looking into this for me. I appreciate your help.”

Sera smiles and nods. “What’s family for?” she replies.

We both pause and look at each other before we burst out laughing. Because our families? Yeah, no. They’re for driving us crazy, apparently. But it’s nice that we still have each other anyway.

We finish our lunch and chat for a few more minutes before saying our goodbyes. As I walk out of the café, my mind is already churning on this new idea and how we could pull it off. But first, research. Lots and lots of research.

No, actually, first, I need to check on my house in North Queen Anne before I head back to Alpine Ridge. It’s another property I inherited from Grandpa Tyler, and it’s where I usually stay when I’m in Seattle for more than a day. I’ve got a property manager who generally looks after it for me, but I like to see it for myself occasionally.

Since it’s only about fifteen minutes north, I make it through the packed streets to the 1920s remodeled craftsman that’s one of the only things I love about this town. The inside has wood detailing, and the back has a huge outdoor porch and sprawling views going down the hill to the ship canal into Lake Union. It’s about as nature-oriented as it gets in Seattle, but it’s enough to make me feel a little less caged in when I visit.

I park in the narrow driveaway and note that the maple tree branches, still bare for the winter, have grown over the walkway to the porch. I tilt my head, realizing I haven’t been here in longer than I thought … probably closer to a year.

I shake my head and let myself into the house, noting that the blue paint on the front door could use touching up. I make a mental note to tell the property manager. Per our agreement, a stack of whatever mail comes to the house is on the table inside the foyer. I toss my keys next to it, deciding to do a lap through the house before I go through what is likely all junk mail.

Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, and all two thousand square feet later, and I’m satisfied that the place has been well cared for. It has the musty smell of dust, but the sheer curtains let enough light in to keep the house from looking too dark and disused.

Satisfied, I grab the stack of mail and take it through the entryway, past the stairs, the kitchen, and out onto the back patio. I brush some old, dried-out leaves off one of the wicker patio chairs and settle on it, flipping through the envelopes and glossy advertisements. Halfway through, I find a folded piece of paper.

I open it to find a handwritten note. My heart stops in my chest at handwriting I remember all too well.

Greg,

I know this seems out of the blue, but I’ve just moved to Fremont and thought I’d look you up since I knew you had a house here, though I don’t know how often you get out this way. I hope that’s not too creepy. But since you’ve seen me naked more times than I can count, I figured it might be okay, and I have something I’d like to tell you. Call me?

Hailey

I sigh heavily, debating whether to ignore it. Then I debate whether to call my property manager and ask if he remembers when and where he found this note because it was clearly not mailed. I nix that idea since, ultimately, it doesn’t matter anyway.

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