Page 74 of Landon

She moved closer, taking in the familiar report and flipping to the page he’d mentioned. Her fingers paused over the paper. Something about it seemed off—she could swear there was a faint smear, as though the original ink had been tampered with. Her signature wasn’t there, yet the document looked… different.

She hesitated, feeling his gaze on her. He offered a small, placating smile. “I don’t blame you for double-checking.”

Her eyes scanned the text, noting that it was worded exactly as she’d written. Finally, she signed her name at the bottom, flipping through the remaining pages to make sure all was in order. Satisfied, she handed the pen back with a polite smile. “I think that’s everything. I’m sorry I missed it earlier.”

He waved away her concerns, smiling widely. “It's no problem at all! I'm sorry I can't offer you dinner. Would you like a drink?”

“Oh no, thank you. I'm just heading home.”

“I hope I haven't kept you from your plans.”

“Not at all.”

"Well, enjoy your evening.” He hesitated, then smiled. “I have just opened a lovely white. It’s a Skalkaho from the Hidden Legend Winery. Please allow me to offer you a small glass. I don’t want to impair your driving, but a small glass, perhaps. Itwould be lovely to toast our success in removing Pamela from the Fugates.”

Noel blinked at his invitation, surprised at his choice of words. She paused, a faint unease tugging at her, but quickly brushed it aside and offered a polite smile. “I’ve never been to that winery but have had their wines before. Just a very small glass, though.”

Following him into the spacious, well-lit kitchen, Noel couldn’t help but admire the luxurious decor. Granite countertops gleamed under the soft lighting, and a half-filled wineglass sat on the counter beside the open bottle. She slid onto one of the barstools at his suggestion, feeling its comfort and style as her eyes took in the rest of the space. From here, she could see a family room beyond, its stone fireplace and expansive windows making her wonder what view it offered during daylight.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said as he poured a fresh glass and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile that hinted at pride. “I’ve been here about six years. The neighborhood’s ideal—quiet, with friendly neighbors, though we rarely see each other. I enjoy a bit of social interaction, but solitude is a luxury.”

He slid the freshly poured glass toward her, and she wrapped her fingers around the stem. “I know what you mean. I only live in an apartment now, but it's fairly quiet. I'd love to buy a home, but I haven't found exactly where I want to live.”

“Where are you from?”

“Born and raised in Montana.”

His eyes widened, and he smiled. “A homegrown woman.”

She laughed and nodded. “My parents still live in the home where I was raised.”

He lifted his glass and sipped the wine, and she followed suit. She took a cautious sip, letting the wine’s crisp, dry flavor lingeron her tongue. “This is delicious,” she murmured, though it was drier than she usually preferred.

“I often think people are pretentious regarding wine… or any alcohol. I firmly believe in finding something you enjoy and then enjoying it! It doesn't matter if it's expensive or cheap. Life's too short to worry about labels.”

“Absolutely,” she replied, relaxing slightly as she took another sip. But the wine seemed to taste more bitter with each sip, and she hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude, but the dryness wasn’t quite her style.

He glanced down at her glass and offered a little smile. “You’re being very polite, but I’ll bet you prefer sweet wine, right?”

A blush rose to her cheeks, and she nodded sheepishly. Before she could politely decline more, he moved to another cabinet and pulled down a different bottle.

“I have something you must try,” he announced, eyes glinting with enthusiasm. “This is a mead from Hidden Legend—one of their signature honey wines.”

“I’ve never had mead.”

He looked over his shoulder as he pulled down a new glass. “Oh, you’re in for a treat,” he replied, turning to her with the glass in hand.

He seemed so excited, it was infectious.

“In Greek mythology, mead was known as the nectar of the gods,” he stated with a wink. “This is the winery’s King's Mead. It's a delightful honey wine with a sweet flavor.”

She took a tentative sip, surprised by the burst of flavor. “Oh, my gosh. This is incredible,” she said, her eyes widening.

Roy nodded, clearly pleased. “I thought you’d like it. Mead is an ancient drink—thought to be the world’s first alcohol. It’s fermented honey.”

She took another sip, savoring the taste, imagining it would make a wonderful holiday drink. “I can see why it’s called the nectar of the gods.”

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