Page 172 of Mountain Grump
“Theno enginelanding thing.”
I let my fingers trail down the bare skin of her arm as I lower my hand. Then I tell her the truth. “No.”
She jerks her head in my direction. “No?”
I lift a brow as I look at her. “That surprises you?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Tilda puffs out her cheeks. “You did a good job, so I assumed you’d had practice. I mean, a good job except for that tree.”
I narrow my eyes at the dig. “That tree shouldn’t’ve been there.”
She nods seriously. “It was awfully inconsiderate.”
The backs of our hands brush against each other, leaving my skin tingling. “I have a question too.”
“Hmm?” Tilda’s fingers reach for mine.
I entwine them. “Did that lawyer have a whistle?”
Her laugh is bright and loud. “You heard that?”
I smirk down at her. “Pretty sure the whole building heard that.”
Tilda shakes her head. “Uncle Jack had apparently given it to the lawyer. And even put a line in the will saying… Oh, what was it? Something like,Don’t embarrass me by making Richard use the whistle. But the lawyer didn’t read that part until after he used it the first time.” She laughs again. “The whole thing was… I don’t even know. But Uncle Jack wrote some pretty direct things to the family that were immensely satisfying to hear. They”—she gestures with her free hand, meaning the whole lot of them—“were not happy about it.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
She smiles up at me. “We’ll get a copy, and I’ll recreate the scene for you.”
I squeeze her fingers.
She squeezes mine back.
And then we step out into the clearing.
Chapter 91
Tilda
Ethan looks at his watch.
“What time is it?”
“Seven minutes to noon.” He tips his head back and looks up at the bright blue sky. “Put your flannel on. It’s gonna be cold up there.”
Up there.
Stress swirls in my stomach as I untie the sleeves of Ethan’s flannel from around my waist.
I’ve been making a point tonotthink about our flight home. I’ve never loved flying. And now that the last flight I was on ended with acontrolled emergency landing, I fear I may be developing a phobia. But now that we’re here—literallyhere—there’s no more avoiding it.
I start to pull one sleeve up my arm before I remember to take my backpack off.
“Let me help.” Ethan’s voice is steady as he takes the flannel from my grip. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know.” My voice cracks, giving me away.
Ethan makes a deep sound in his throat as he helps me take my backpack off.
