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I’ve never been one to question and second-guess myself like this. Not in business. Not with women. Why has Rosey managed to get under my skin?

The bus pulls up on the main road, to let me off at the end of the drive and I watch the door open with embarrassing eagerness. Rosey appears in the doorway, calls a thank-you back to the driver and steps down to the road. She’s smiling to herself and that makes me grin. Two days ago she walked out on her fiancé and she’s already smiling into the cold Colorado air. Is that the Star Falls Effect?

“Hey,” she calls as she sees me, my boots resting on the balustrade of the porch. “More hot chocolate?”

“You’ve made me an addict,” I say. “You want some? Milk’s still warm in the pan.”

Her grin lifts on one side and she nods.

I stand and throw her a blanket. I don’t have a swing on my porch, just a bench. “Get under there. It’s cold tonight.”

When I return with her drink, the green plaid blanket is pulled up to her chin.

“I should have taken my coat off on the bus,” she says. “So I’d feel the benefit.”

“You want to go inside?” I ask her.

She reaches up for her drink. “No, this will warm me up.” She glances at the mug. “No marshmallows?”

“I’m not asking for any favors tonight,” I say, as I take a seat next to her. If she only knew I’d had my assistant arrange for the hot chocolate and milk to be added to my grocery order today. Gary got overexcited at the mild change in routine, and started suggesting other things, including marshmallows. He gets me the same order of groceries every week. When I told him I just wanted the hot chocolate and milk, it was like I’d just taken away his favorite toy. Poor guy is assistant to the most boring man in the world, apparently.

“We’ll get you there.” She shifts the blanket around so it covers both our legs, and I let her even though the air seems to have warmed several degrees since she got off the bus. “I’ve got a week before I move. You’re going to be able to make the perfect mug before I leave.”

My stomach tugs at the thought that she won’t be my neighbor for much longer. I chastise myself. It’s good she’s moving. No more dancing with danger. No more taking stupid risks because the woman in the cabin next to mine is hot. I’m in Star Falls to work, not to fuck the staff. I’ve got to stay focused.

So why am I still sitting here?

“How was your first day?” I ask.

“A little overwhelming.” She sighs, and I have the urge to fix whatever’s troubling her—to extract every detail of what she’s struggling with so I can make it better. “It all seems so complicated. I’ve never worked in a hotel—no, not a hotel, aresort.” She laughs. “You know we can’t call the guestsguests, because it might make them feel like they’re not at home? They’remembers.” She squeals. “And apparently it costsmembersa hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year to… I don’t really understand what that gets them, actually. The ability to pay more to stay there? It’s wild. All that money.” She shakes her head like she really doesn’t get it. “Can you imagine?”

She turns her head in my direction when I don’t answer.

“I think having a lot of money comes with its own challenges,” I say, not wanting to outright lie. If I tell her the truth, it will change things between us. I’m her boss, after all. “Just like having no money.”

“I guess. I mean, I suppose the super-wealthy have different worries. But I’d happily trade champagne problems for food insecurity any day.” She says it like she has experience, which fills me with a deep urge to make things better.

She turns back to face the woods again, and we sit in silence for a few beats.

“I don’t think money necessarily makes you happy,” she says. “You know what I mean? I think you can be happy with money and sad with money.”

“Right,” I say, because I don’t really want to say anything. I just want to listen to what she has to say.

“Frank—my ex-fiancé—he had money. Not Colorado Club money, but he was very comfortable. To me, and probably to most people in our town, he was rich.”

“But he wasn’t happy?”

“No,” she says. “I think he was. I just don’t thinkIwould have been happy with him.”

“And you were marrying him for the money?” I hope she can’t hear the edge in my voice.

“No,” she says, her voice bright, like she’s not offended by my question. “Not for me, anyway. I think it was the safety for my family. Frank is kind and generous, and my mom loves him. I have three sisters who… let’s just say I’m the oldest and the most sensible. Frank’s given one of them a job. He represented a secure, dependable future.”

“But you didn’t marry him.”

She pulls in a deep breath. “It wasn’t enough. I didn’t love him.” She takes a sip of her drink. “And honestly, I think it was important for him to take care of me—in every sense. I was going to live in the home he bought years before we met. I worked at his garage. I slotted into his life. That worked for him. It gave him a sense of control.”

“I think that sounds like it could be… constraining for you.”