Page 64 of The Mountain Echoes
He looks sheepish. “It’s not just you who wants that place sold, Mav. I got Hudson and Celine up my ass.”
My jaw clenches. I guessed they’d come to him already. They want to push Aria into a corner, pretty much like I wanted to do.
Then why are you here asking for grace for her?
It’s a fair question—and one that probably deserves a bottle of whiskey and a long night to answer. So, I ignore it.
“If she fails, I’ll make sure the bank doesn’t take a loss.”
“’Cause you’ll buy the place.”
“’Cause I’ll buy the place,” I agree.
He considers that for a long beat, then gives a grunt that sounds like a reluctant agreement.
“She’s got ninety days, Mav. Don’t ask me for more.”
I stand, place my hat on my head, and tip it at him. “Appreciate it, Harold.”
As I walk out of the bank, past the old-timers arguing over whose grandson is going to make state finals in wrestling, I feel good about what I just did.
I’m giving Aria a fair chance, that’s all anyone can ask for.
It’s probably going to bite me in the ass, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
I go to Wild Coffee across the street from the bank on Main to get a cup and maybe one of those delicious croissants Gina bakes.
She came to Wildflower Canyon a couple of years ago from Dallas, where she was a pastry chef at some high-falutin’ place. She lost her husband in Iraq and wanted a quiet place to raise her daughter.
I knew her through a restaurateur friend in Dallas, so I ended up investing in the coffee shop slash bakery, and like Blackwood Prime, it’s a damn good investment.
I sit at the window, sipping coffee, when I see Aria park Rami’s truck right outside the bank.
I had picked up from the grapevine that she’d made an appointment with Harold for this afternoon, which was why I ambushed him before that.
Except for the first day, I haven’t seen her in a dress, I note.
She’s got an odd combination of fancy blouses going with worn jeans and boots. My guess, she’s wearing stuff from when she used to live here—some of it fits and some doesn’t.
At least she has a proper jacket for the weather, so that’s a small mercy.
I drink two coffees while I wait for her, and when she comes out. I get to her before she gets to her truck.
“Coffee?” I offer, leaning casually against the driver’s door, preventing her from opening it.
She’s taken aback, and her eyes look confused for a moment, a very tiny moment. “What?”
I ask slowly, maybe a little smugly. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“No,” she replies quickly, like she just found her bearings.
I like it that I’ve shaken her up a bit. This woman is making me perverse.
“I was walking by,” I lie smoothly, nodding across the street. “Saw you. Thought you might need something warm.”
“I—”
“How about coffee, my treat, and a conversation, yours?”
