Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Is he speaking in code or something? Given the pointed look in his eyes, I’d say so. “Just say what you want to say,” I tell him bluntly.
“Oh, it’s just that I find Cold Springs to be such a surprising town. I wasn’t sure I’d like it when I came here, but there are so many interesting properties and people.”
It feels like I’m translating Lassie’s barks. Is Timmy in the well? Rrruff, rrruff. Good girl.
Cold Springs. Interesting properties. People.
Oliver knows how to pique my interest by playing to the thing I care about most—this town. And Jed owns at least half of it—commercial buildings, undeveloped land, and Township. If there’s something I should know about so that I’m able to protect Cold Springs, I have to do whatever’s necessary to find out.
“Fine,” I say carefully, “but to be clear, this is a professional courtesy. Nothing more.”
He smirks doubtfully at my clarification, but nods in agreement. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. We can look at it over dinner? There’s a steakhouse downtown where I’ve been working every night. It’s delicious, has impeccable service, and dinner will be on me. Well, on Chrissy technically, I guess. I’ll meet you there at seven?”
It’s not what I wanted to do tonight, but I’ll do it for Cold Springs. Still, I remind myself to be careful. Don’t be the cat and get killed by your curiosity, professionally speaking of course.
I knew what steakhouse Oliver was talking about as soon as he said “downtown.” There are only two true steakhouses in town, one’s a chain out by the highway into town that serves charred leather most of the time, and the other one is Bernard’s Chophouse. It’s as close to white tablecloth service as you can get in Cold Springs.
It’s been a while since I’ve eaten here, but at one point, I was a regular. I’d sit and be quiet, remember my manners, and smile politely while Dad held dinner meetings as mayor. He’d discuss things that went way over my head or that I didn’t care about, but over time, I started to listen, started to care, and started to learn.
Coming in tonight reminds me that I should possibly treat myself to this place more often. “Wren Ford? Is that you? Goodness gracious, I haven’t seen you in ages.” Bernard’s greeting is exuberant and welcoming, complete with cheek kisses. “Rose, get Miss Ford a table!” he tells the hostess standing at the front podium. “The best we’ve got!”
She looks at me questioningly, and I hold up two fingers. “Table for two, but I’m not sure if he’s here already. Oliver Laurent?”
Rose’s face doesn’t move, but interest blooms in her eyes. “Oh, Oliver’s already here. He’s sitting at his usual table. This way.”
He’s been in town for a short time, but apparently has a “usual table”? I guess he really has been working here in the evenings.
Before Rose leads me away, Bernard says, “Will you allow me the honor of providing you and your guest with a chef’s choice tonight?”
He’s smiling kindly, excited at the idea, and I nod in concession. “That’d be wonderful. Thank you.”
I follow Rose to Oliver’s table, which is beside a window that overlooks the downtown square and has a lit votive in the middle of it that gives a glowing light. Oliver stands when he sees me, moving to pull out my chair, but I hold out a hand. “No worries, I got it.”
I don’t want this meeting to be misconstrued in his mind. We’re discussing a case, a contract, work, work, work. And nothing more. Despite the ambiance, this is not a date in any way.
Rose doesn’t look convinced of that at all, and when she looks from me to Oliver before turning away, I’m tempted to explain what’s going on here. Otherwise, the town hotline is going to be blazing about my romantic interlude with the out-of-town hottie, and word will get back to Jesse in an instant.
To that end . . .
I pull out my phone, telling Oliver, “Give me one second. I need to send a quick text.”
I’m having a completely professional meeting at Bernard’s with Oliver to discuss the divorce decree. Don’t freak out when the gossip starts. And do NOT come fuck me on the table where everyone can hear, ya caveman. Do that later. Your place. Nine o’clock?
I hit “Send,” and Jesse responds back less than a second later.
Deal. How about my dining table instead?
Along with the text comes a selfie of Jesse. He’s at home, working out judging by his shirtless and sweaty state. His dark eyes pierce into my core, even through the picture.
Oliver clears his throat, and I glance up to find him watching me with a hint of a smile. “I’m guessing your friend isn’t so stupid after all?”