Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“Oh yeah? They’re in competition for you, eh?”
“Something like that.” He shrugged. “Hey, I’ll be back for the end of camp scrimmage, but it’ll be a quick trip. If I miss you here, I’ll see you in Denver. I mean…we’ll talk obviously, but summer is almost over and…I’m not saying good-bye, but—”
I tipped my hat slightly and set my finger over his lips. “Don’t worry. We’ll work it out, sweetheart.”
His Adam’s apple slid in his throat as a smile ghosted the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, we will.”
We held hands on the way to my place. We walked quietly upstairs, undressed, and reached for each other.
We moved as one, a beautiful dance for two with tender kisses and soft sighs. And afterward, we lay in the moonlight, sharing skin like a blanket. We didn’t speak…there was no need for words. We were nearing an end, hoping it led to a beginning.
The next day, I knew it was over.
21
HANK
The day started out all right. I stopped by the diner to chat with JC, ordered a latte with wonky art from Ivan, and said hi to Annie at the bakery.
I’d come here hoping to hoodwink the locals into liking me well enough to give the mill some positive press, but I was the one who’d fallen under a spell. And now…I loved this town.
Elmwood was beautiful and safe and welcoming.
Wood Hollow was…not.
It was lovely on the surface, but the town seriously needed improvements. The roads needed to be widened, and potholes needed to be filled. The trees on Belvedere Street were horribly overgrown and though the houses had character, most needed a face-lift.
According to Bryson, Smitty’s husband and the premiere real estate agent to the Four Forest area, Wood Hollow was like the ugly stepsister who showed up to every party and sat in a corner giving everyone the stink eye.
“It’s hard to sell houses there because there’s no real commerce. Their market is tiny, the gas station has two pumps, and if you want a cup of coffee, you better make it at home,” Bryson said.
Cooper had a similar take. “I live in Fallbrook ’cause of my kids. The school is better, the park is nicer, and it’s easier to get around. If you get stuck in Wood Hollow behind a logging truck hauling a load on icy roads, you’d better have the patience of a saint.”
“Why haven’t they made any improvements?” I’d asked.
“Money. They don’t have it.”
Every day I made the trek up that hill, I pondered ways they could raise money. But then my day would go sideways with the usual bullshit of dealing with unreasonable assholes, and all I wanted was to get back to Elmwood. Wood Hollow could be someone else’s problem.
But today was Monday and a weekend away from the grind made me feel optimistic. I couldn’t help admiring the stately walnut trees, some with hollow openings lining the main drag. The town had character…sort of.
I pulled into the lot at the mill, adjusting my sunglasses as I headed for the entrance, my mind swirling with fundraising ideas.
The mayor would have to get involved and he was kind of a dick. And town council would—
A swath of red spray paint in my periphery stopped me in my tracks.
My heart hammered in my chest as I studied the side of the mill, covered in hundreds of blown-up shots of that fucking Denver billboard pic with a spray-painted message,
Go home, Cunningham! No corporate mill!
I stared at the crude lettering in shock.
Adolescent-style graffiti a la penises had greeted me when I’d first arrived. The offensive artwork had been painted over immediately, and we hadn’t seen anything like it since.
Definitely nothing like this.
It was seven a.m. and the lot was nearly empty. A few employees were probably in and had seen this and…
Fuck…
Just…fuck.
I took a couple of pictures, called the local police, and thought about calling my dad. It was five o’clock in Denver, though, and what the fuck would he do about this? Close the mill? Not likely.
This was my responsibility. I’d signed up for this. And like it or not, I had to see it through.
Within the hour, the town was buzzing with the news. You learn a lot about people in the midst of crisis—who you could trust, who was good under pressure, and who was a douchebag.
Emily was an unexpected ally. She gasped in dismay, then made a beeline to Rise and Grind in Elmwood for more coffee, and returned to diligently watch the phones.
And Cooper was a rock star. He blew a fuse, irate at whoever had dared to deface private property and fuck with production. See, the culprits had covered a portion of a rolling door with their handiwork and when the door was opened, the paper rolled into the grooves of the pulley.
Cooper called a meeting, ranted and raved about our no-BS policy, and demanded to know who was responsible. No one fessed up, and the video footage had been tampered with, so…no leads.