Page 51 of Arctic Panda's Secret Mate
But Conall’s tone was clear.
He was unconvinced and reluctant. Tristan didn’t want to alienate the possibility of getting him on later as a partial investor, so he fought back his disappointment and thrust his hand out politely. He looked Conall full in the face so he’d be able to read Tristan’s lips. “I appreciate youconsidering it. I understand that it’s a lot to ask, and I’m not giving up yet. I hope I can talk to you about it again after I’ve got more of a baseline to work from.”
Conall looked pleased with that response and shook his hand firmly. “I do wish you all the best with it,” he said sincerely. “It would be a valuable resource to have in the shifter community.”
Tristan nodded crisply and left swiftly, before he could break down and beg. He didn’t know Conall that well. It was perfectly understandable that the celebrity wouldn’t want to tie himself financially to a complete unknown. Inviting Tristan on a once-in-a-lifetime trip was one thing. Impoverishing himself on a business venture was something else entirely.
He wandered slowly down the stairs, looking up to admire the rustic framing above. He’d have to learn a lot about insulation here, and all the things that made cold weather construction different from building in warm climates. He’d never thought of rain as a mid-winter hazard. He hadn’t known about all the kinds of snow. How strong did a roof have to be to hold up the weight all winter? Haisley had shown him some of the plumbing tricks to keep freezing from being catastrophic. What else did he not even know he didn’t know?
She’s our mate, his panda told him helpfully.I’m a bear.
She’s our mate,Tristan agreed.And I’m not done yet.
He marched down the stairs to the bedroom and found his phone. It had a bar of signal and most of a battery charge, and hopefully that would be enough. He set his jaw and dialed.
“Shifting Sands Resort. Scarlet speaking.”
45
HAISLEY
Haisley heard the sound of the big plows on the road, the rattle and crash of them distinct as they pushed back the side berms and leveled out the surface. She couldn’t see them, but she knew what they’d look like, scraping down the hardpack and rolling up big chunks of snow and ice. They’d put down gravel, at least at the curves and hills, and even the rental van would be able to make it back into town the next morning.
To the airport.
So they could all go home.
The power came back on midday, to the sound of cheers. Everyone swiftly took showers, in case it went off again.
Before dinner, everyone was packing and talking about what they’d do when they got back to Shifting Sands. A few last loads of laundry were done, and Haisley copied most of her recipe binder for Chef to take back with him.
“This is a princely gift,” Chef said, without a shred of irony. Finding out that his wife, Magnolia, was literal royalty had been unsettling to say the least. It was almost asweird that there were stillmonarchiesas it was that there were shifters.
“People who give you their food, give you their heart,” Haisley reminded him. She wasn’t sure if he recognized his own words echoed back, but she wasn’t entirely surprised when he enfolded her in his arms for a big bear hug.
“I will miss your kitchen,” Chef said. “Even though I will be glad to have mine back. And I’m sure you will be glad to have your dish towels back where they belong.”
“The hand towel on theleft!” Haisley teased. “Heathens,the lot of you.”
Breck also gave her a hug, and it didn’t assume nearly as much as Haisley feared it would.
“I’m so happy you hid here,” Darla told her, following Breck’s hug with her own. “I cannot imagine this vacation without you. There’s so much we didn’t know about Alaska!”
“Our next vacation should be somewhere urban,” Breck suggested. “Las Vegas, with dancing girls.”
Darla murmured something that Haisley couldn’t quite hear, but it made Breck blush and smack her on the rear as she went to turn off a timer and take biscuits from the oven.
Tristan was oddly absent from the kitchen as they prepared the final dinner.
Haisley usually relished the challenge of using up leftover ingredients in one final spread, but staring at the half-empty refrigerator only reminded her that she should let Mr. Barnum know she was leaving. There were two bookings in the next three months that she felt obligated to stay for. And then…
And then…
She stared around the kitchen. Some of the items were hers, bought with her own money, but most of the pots andpans had been a chalet expense. The cookbooks were hers, and she had more books in her bedroom, overflowing her shelves. They would be pricey to ship to Costa Rica and she ought to weed them. The bed was hers, the couch had come with the room. She wouldn’t need a whole shipping container, probably.
What would she do with her coats and boots? She’d need a whole new wardrobe on a tropical island. So many scarves that had been made by friends that she would have no use for now. She couldn’t get rid of her beaded gloves or fur earmuffs.
Would she work in the kitchen under Chef? That wouldn’t be the worst thing; he was kind and talented. But he didn’t really need her help. She’d probably be just as useful in housekeeping, changing linens and cleaning bathrooms.
