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“I’m aware.”
“It’s the crown jewel. Three levels, two main suites, another three bedrooms and three baths, living areas with fireplaces on lower and main floors, kitchen, bar area—kitchenette and bar on lower level. Unrestricted views of the lake, views of the mountains. Decks, porches, patios. Outdoor shower and fire pit and so on.”
He knew she had exceptional observation and recall skills, but… “You know the makeup of all the rentals?”
“Crown jewel,” Sloan repeated.
“She wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“It’s more so now than when you were sixteen or seventeen. Updated, remodeled.”
“I can promise she won’t be back. But she enjoyed boating, if I remember. Lounging on the deck, shopping, but a week was it for her. She flew back to Connecticut, and we stayed here.”
“I’m doing some math, and some memory jogging. Did you have daily housekeeping and did you bring a cook?”
“Yeah, she brought her cook—he flew back with her. Paul—the husband—he paid the extra fee for the daily housekeeping. Why?”
“Because I pitched in on housekeeping for the Pinnacle for gueststhat wanted daily—including fresh sheets in the main bedroom. And there was a French guy, tall, lean, about thirty-five with curly black hair, lightning-blue eyes. He gave us these amazing pastries he’d made, every afternoon. Afternoon because the guests didn’t want us there until after eleven.”
“Well, Jesus, that was Javier. He baked like a god.”
She had to laugh. “Well, Littlefield, I made your goddamn bed. I don’t remember seeing you.”
“We’d have been out by the time you got there. Theo and I, in the lake, hunting up pretty girls, hiking on the trails. We even rented bikes and rode into town a few times. We didn’t spend much time in the house.”
“This is very strange.”
“More strange because I think I saw you. I’m in the lake and look up, and there’s this long-haired blonde in little shorts on the main deck, clearing up what was probably her breakfast dishes.”
He looked down at her, passed his hand over her cropped hair. “What were you, fifteen?”
“Thereabouts.”
“I remember you, the blonde with the ponytail and little shorts.”
“And though I lost the ponytail, here we are again. You didn’t try to buy the Pinnacle?”
“No. No,” he repeated with some feeling. “It was a good couple weeks, but I didn’t want that house. I got what I wanted.”
As they walked along, he stayed quiet.
The three-quarter moon and cut-glass stars spread light, as she said. The lake breeze ran cool, but held no bite. Others walked, drawn by the water, so the murmur of voices, the occasional laugh joined the night calls.
And still strange to him, the howl of a coyote higher in the hills.
Happy with the outing, Tic stayed close, then raced ahead as they started back down the drive.
His house stood there, lights glowing, smoke curling from the chimney from the fire he’d banked before the walk.
He’d miss the fires once summer came, he realized. Yet he looked forward to the changing seasons, the changes in his home.
In himself.
“I’m not Theo.”
Sloan glanced up. “Good thing, as he’s engaged to my sister.”
“Theo’s an optimist. He always has been. Nothing could break that positive outlook of his. They sure as hell tried.”