Page 16 of Atonement Trail
“About signing contracts? No. About the entire town watching us have dinner and drawing conclusions? Terrified.”
His laugh was rich as aged whiskey. “Welcome to Laurel Valley, where privacy is a four-letter word and everyone’s business is community property.”
Inside, The Lampstand enveloped them in its magic—the scent of herbs and possibility, the sound of laughter mixing with the clink of silverware, the warmth that came from more than just the kitchen’s heat. Simone O’Hara materialized from the controlled chaos with the efficiency of someone who’d been reading a room since before Dylan was born.
“Aidan, Dylan.” Her smile held layers, like she knew secrets they hadn’t discovered yet. “Table for two?”
“For business,” Aidan clarified, though the words sounded hollow even to Dylan’s ears.
“Of course. Business.” Simone led them through the restaurant with the confidence of a queen navigating her court, finally stopping at a corner booth partially hidden by an ornate wooden screen. “This should give you privacy for your…business discussion.”
The booth was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with size and everything to do with atmosphere. Candlelight painted shadows on the dark wood, the noise of the restaurant faded to a comfortable murmur, and sitting across from Aidan felt suddenly, dangerously, like a date.
“So,” Dylan said, needing to establish some kind of professional ground, “the contracts?”
Aidan pulled papers from his jacket with the solemnity of someone handling sacred texts. “Straightforward terms. I provide the initial investment for equipment, setup, everything needed to get operational. You run the restoration division with complete autonomy. Profits go first to recouping my investment, then we split fifty-fifty.”
She read through the agreement, impressed by its clarity. No legal labyrinth, no hidden clauses, just two people agreeing to build something together.
“Why fifty-fifty?” she asked. “You’re putting up all the money.”
“You’re putting up all the expertise. Money I can get anywhere. What you have—the skill, the eye, the ability to see what a rusted heap of metal could become—that’s irreplaceable.”
The compliment landed soft as snow, unexpected and warming. Dylan signed her name with steady hands, though her heart was attempting some kind of escape rhythm in her chest.
“Now we celebrate,” Aidan said, signaling their waiter—a young man named James who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but serving food to people his parents’ age. “Champagne?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“It’s the beginning of something extraordinary. Regular rules don’t apply.”
James brought champagne that sparkled like captured starlight, and Aidan raised his glass. “To partnership.”
“To building something that matters,” Dylan countered.
They drank, bubbles rising like hopes, like dreams, like all the possibilities they were too careful to name.
Their food arrived—short ribs for Aidan that fell apart at the touch of a fork, trout for Dylan that had been swimming that morning and now lay dressed in butter and herbs like a bridesmaid at autumn’s wedding. They ate and talked business—equipment needs, potential clients, the timeline for getting operational—but underneath the practical discussion ran a current of something else, something that made every accidental touch of hands reaching for salt feel like lightning, every meeting of eyes across the table feel like confession.
“Can I ask you something?” Dylan said, setting down her fork. “You built The Pinnacle from nothing. Made it successful. Why add this complication now?”
Aidan turned his wine glass slowly, watching the light refract through the burgundy depths. “You ever feel like you’re sleepwalking through your own life? Like you’re successful at something you never actually chose?”
“Every day for thirteen years.”
“Ten years ago, I came back from Denver with a business degree and a plan. The garage was practical, profitable, needed. I was good at it—the business side, anyway. Good with customers, good with numbers, good at the performance of being Aidan O’Hara, local boy made good.” He paused, his eyes finding hers across the candlelight. “But watching you work, seeing how you approach restoration like it’s sacred—it reminded me there’s a difference between being successful and being alive.”
“What changed?”
“That racing team offer I turned down eight years ago—I told everyone it was because of Dad’s heart attack, and that was true. But it was also because I was scared. Scared of failing at something that mattered instead of succeeding at something safe.”
“And now?”
“Now I want to try. To build something that’s more than profitable. Something beautiful.” The way he said beautiful while looking at her made Dylan’s breath catch. “What about you? What made you finally say yes to staying?”
Dylan traced the rim of her glass, gathering words like scattered pearls. “I’ve been running since my father died. Not from anything specific, just from the possibility of loss. If you don’t stay, nothing can leave you. If you don’t care, nothing can hurt.”
“Sounds lonely.”
