Page 69 of Love Me Reckless

Sofie shrugs. “Why is this any different?”

“Maybe it feels bigger?”

“Even more reason to go for it.”

“Can I really do it on my own?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Only one way to find out.”

Café Campagne isa small French restaurant located in Finn River Ranch’s quaint village, across from the patisserie. It’s adjacent to the ski area but most skiers eat in Bear Lodge at the base.

Birch is waiting at the host stand, dressed in a charcoal gray suitand burgundy tie, his eyes quick to lock with mine. He wraps me in a gentle hug. “You smell good.” He sighs, like he’s happy.

“Right this way,” the maître d’ says after we part, and leads us through the cozy restaurant to a two-top by the big window overlooking the square.

“Jean Marc will be with you shortly,” he says while pouring water from the glass bottle at our table. “May I start a drink order for either of you?”

“Water’s fine for me,” I say with a smile. “Thank you.”

He nods.

“Soda water with two limes, please,” Birch says, scanning the menu.

“Very good,” the maître d’ says, and strides toward the bar.

“How have you been? How was your trip?” I ask.

“It’s been very busy,” he says, setting down his menu. “But productive.”

“That’s great.”

Our waiter arrives to take our order. I get the caramelized onion soup and Birch orders a Niçoise salad. Another waiter drops off a basket of warmed bread and butter.

“You went skiing yesterday,” Birch says after our waiter retreats. “Why were you at Bear Mountain and not the ranch?”

“I’m teaching a friend to ski. It’s better for beginners there.” I tear a section of the bread and add a pat of butter.

“This is Zach’s friend, right?” Birch sips from his soda water.

“Yeah. They grew up together. Sawyer moved here for a job and to be closer to Zach and William.”

“Don’t they ski in Alaska?”

“Not everyone.” I nibble on the bread’s crunchy, oven-baked crust.

“How much do you know about Sawyer?”

I add butter to my last bite of bread and chew it slowly, thinking this through. I know Sawyer’s hearty, full-belly laugh, the way he listens to me, like I’m someone important, the strength in his body,the way he teases. It feels like I’ve known Sawyer Reed for much longer than these few months. And I sometimes feel like he knows me too—the real me, the way my friends do. My dad’s comment after that night I ditched Birch floats through my mind like a warning.

We know how much your judgment is worth.

Birch adjusts his slacks at the knee and crosses his legs, snapping me back to the conversation. “There’s nothing wrong with having friends, Kirilee. I just want to make sure he’s only in it for friendship too.”

Unease curls like little fists in my stomach. “Um, what?”

“The clothes you bought at the sport shop in Darby were for him? And the lift tickets you bought, also for him?”

Now I get it. Birch is worried about money. I’m sort of relieved, but maybe a little sad too? Even though understanding why is making my head hurt. “You think Sawyer is going to try to get money from me.”

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