Page 26 of Whiskey Kisses For the Mountain Man
“How much did you bid?” he asks instead.
Fine.I can avoid conflict, too, Mr. Grinch. “I haven’t heard or seen you in two days? Have you even slept at your cabin since?”
His entire body tenses. “That’s my business.”
He stands with an emotional wall a hundred feet tall between us.
“You’re right. It is. Just neighborly concern, is all,” I play off, walking back toward the path leading to our tree. Our. I’m manifesting it.
“We should head back to Eden Ridge and discuss this budget mess,” he states at my back.
“I’m perfectly fine getting back on my own.” I continue walking.
“Damn it, Lettie,” he grumbles, his big steps catching up behind me.
I can’t fight the grin of success.
“She’s almost as big as Chicago’s. Can you just imagine all the viral hits and publicity the town’s going to get? The mayor's already drafting a proposal for next year’s tree budget. This time, we’ll do it right and go through the proper channels and timeframe.”
“How much is this costing us, Lettie?” He finally falls in step beside me.
“I only bid the max budget allotted to me.”
“And if your competition ups their bid?” he challenges.
“Our competition, Owen. Not my competition. Ours. We are Eden Ridge, and Eden Ridge is us. Where one is successful, we’re all successful.” I reach into my bag and pull out a classic red and white candy cane. “Want one?” I offer, hoping to alleviate that ticking vein at his temple. Yes, I’m avoiding his question.
Looking way up at him, his eyes narrow at the innocent peppermint representation of Christmas. No one appointed methe role, but for however long I remain here, I’m determined to peel off some of that ick that taints his memories.
I don’t know when it happened, but I’m invested in this man’s happiness. I want him to not just physically smile but truly feel joy from within. Hope for the season.
Sucking my teeth, I shake my head with a smile and put the candy back in my bag. Turning the corner on the path, my heart takes flight.
“And there she is.”
Stopping, I take out my phone for a few more pictures when the endless notifications make me pause. The preview of so many comments from the live momentarily cast a shadow on my mood.
The last time my followers shipped me with someone, I spent eight months being a duo in Portland’s “it couple”. Outside pressure from my parents, his parents, my followers, his followers, and all of Portland society piled layer by layer onto me before the harsh, fast crash.
Owen’s calloused yet gentle hand holds my forearm in support. I startle from the unexpected touch and look into his concerned eyes.
“What’s wrong? That’s the same look you had earlier. What’s on your phone?”
Regretfully losing his touch, I opt out of more pictures and put away my phone again. “Nothing,” I beam my Lettie smile. “Just logistic work. Got a lot to do.”
“Don’t do that,” he calls out immediately. “You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. It’s not my business at the end of the day, but don’t lie to me. Just tell me to back off and I will.”
Oh.
Owen leans down, keeping our conversation private, creating an intimate space between our faces. The sheer call for honesty takes me aback. All my life, I’ve only known to put onthe persona of the good and socially “appropriate” daughter of Portland’s high-powered lawyer and former pageant queen turned socialite. No one in my circle has ever welcomed naked honesty. Especially if unpleasant.
Isn’t that what I wanted from Owen just days ago? And even when I pushed past his boundaries, he still offered me honesty. And here he is now, asking me for the same.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I apologize. You deserve that.”
“We both do,” he says just as quietly. “And I’m sorry too. For the other night.”
“I pushed. That’s on me.”
