Page 2 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"City girl?" His mouth quirks up at one corner.

"Is it that obvious?"

"The heels might have given you away." His eyes drop to my feet, then back to my face. "Though you wear them well."

Heat creeps into my cheeks. Before I can respond, Evie clears her throat.

"Nolan handles our marketing," she says, and I catch a hint of amusement in her tone. "Though right now he needs to handle showing you to the Laurel Suite." She hands him my key. "And I need to check on dinner. You'll join us?"

I nod, watching her disappear down a hallway. When I turn back, Nolan's already picked up my suitcase.

"I can get that," I protest.

"I'm sure you can." He starts toward the stairs, glancing back with that half-smile that I suspect gets him his way more often than not. "But my aunt raised me right."

Following him up the wooden staircase, I find myself wondering what else Evie Callahan taught her family about hospitality. Mountain Laurel Lodge already feels more welcoming than any place I've stayed in years.

"So," Nolan says as we reach the second floor, "what brings a city girl to our neck of the woods?"

"Would you believe I'm just here for the famous pot roast?"

He laughs, a rich sound that does interesting things to my insides. "Not a chance. But I'll let you keep your secrets for now."

My phone buzzes again. This time I pull it out, scanning another demanding email from my contact at corporate. Nolan catches my frown.

"Everything okay?"

"Fine." I tuck the phone away. "Just work."

"Must be important work to bring you all the way to Elk Ridge."

There's a question in his voice, but I'm not ready to explain my mission here. Not when I'm just starting to feel welcome.

Nolan stops at a door near the end of the hallway, fitting the key into an ancient-looking lock. "Here we are. The Laurel Suite."

He pushes open the door to reveal a room that takes my breath away. Windows on two walls frame the mountain view, and a stone fireplace mirrors the one downstairs. Everything from the handcrafted furniture to the locally woven throws speaks of care and attention to detail.

"This is beautiful," I breathe.

"Wait until you see it at sunrise." Nolan sets my suitcase by a massive four-poster bed. "The mountains catch the light just right."

"You sound like a marketing brochure."

"Occupational hazard." He hands me the key, his fingers brushing mine. "Dinner's at seven. Don't be late. Declan takes his pot roast very seriously."

"So I've heard."

"And Kathryn?" He pauses at the door. "Whatever brought you here, welcome to the lodge."

I watch him go, then sink onto the impossibly comfortable bed. My phone buzzes again and I power it off.

Chapter Two

Nolan

The dining room at Mountain Laurel Lodge is always loud at dinner. Between Connor's hiking stories, Jameson's jokes, and Declan's passionate explanations of whatever he's cooked up, quiet conversation is pretty much impossible. But tonight, I find myself watching our newest guest instead of joining in the usual chaos.

Kathryn Taylor fits into our family dinner like she was meant to be here. She's laughing at one of Jameson's terrible puns, asking Connor intelligent questions about the local wildlife, and making all the right appreciative noises about Declan's pot roast. If it weren't for the designer blazer draped over her chair, you'd never know she was a city girl.

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