Page 17 of Make-Believe Match

Gran looked at me, her expression disappointed. “So it didn’t go well with Dr. Smalley?”

“Not really.”

“You know, my podiatrist is recently divorced.”

I held up a hand. “Gran, don’t even think about it.”

* * *

“That one. Definitely.” Winnie sounded confident.

“You think?” Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her closet door, I turned to the side. “The skirt might be a little short.”

Winnie laughed and dropped onto the foot of the bed. “Well, your legs are longer than mine, but that suit fits you like a glove, and the color is gorgeous on you.”

“You think red is the right move?” I faced the glass again and studied my reflection. The ripe-tomato color did look nice with my dark hair and summer tan.

“Oh, yeah. Red says power. Confidence. Fire. Don’t fuck with me or you will get burned.”

I nodded. That was exactly what I needed to project. I rose up on my bare toes. “What kind of shoe? You think heels?”

“Yes. Nude or black. Spiky high heels that suggest they might puncture an organ if necessary.”

I laughed. “And what about my hair? Up or down?”

“Hmm. Let me see it down.”

I tugged out the bun I’d hastily fashioned this morning, and my hair spilled around my shoulders, almost halfway down my back. It was still a little damp.

Tightening her ponytail, Winnie got off the bed and moved to one side of me, eyes narrowed. “Down is sexier, which could be its own kind of power move.”

I frowned at her. “I don’t want this guy to think I’m sexy, Win. I want him to think I’m tough. Smart. Capable.”

“Then up,” Winnie decided. “But not messy up. I’d go with a twist or a low bun. Like this.” She gathered my hair into a tail and then wound it into a chignon at the nape of my neck. Meeting my eyes in the mirror, she smiled. “Hot. I know that’s not the point, but you’re going to look like a million bucks when you walk into that restaurant. That guy won’t know what hit him.”

“Thanks. I really need this to work.”

Winnie met my eyes in the mirror. “Stay confident, Lex. You got this.”

* * *

By quarter to twelve the next day, I was seated at a table in the back of the restaurant, repeating her words in my head.You got this. You got this. You got this.

I was wearing the red suit and high heels. I had a perfect low bun and a bold red lip. I’d caught up on sleep, worked out this morning, and meditated for a full fifteen minutes, even though I’d gotten antsy and checked the timer after five.

I was ready.

I would be polite but firm. We would not consider their offer without serious renegotiation that involved preserving Snowberry Lodge for future generations. We were looking for investors, not a buyer.

Sipping a cup of coffee, I glanced around at the decor in the restaurant, which was called the Alpine Bar & Grill. I wasn’t often in here during the day, and I had to admit the sunlight coming in through the windows wasn’t doing the place any favors. The patterned carpet was worn. The mostly empty tables and chairs were dark and dated. The fake edelweiss centerpieces were embarrassing. If the view of the mountain wasn’t so pretty, I’d have asked the manager to shut the drapes.

Looking out the window calmed me, so I kept my eyes focused on the beautiful vista beyond the glass. The early afternoon sun on the green slope side. The clear blue sky. A chairlift was running, and I could see hikers on it. I recalled riding it to the top with my mom and dad during summer days. We’d take a little picnic, eat it at the top, and then hike down an easy back trail. The memory made me smile, and I remembered how my dad would quiz me on all the different trees that grew on the mountain, or teach me to identify a bird by its song, or—

“There she is.”

My daydream was abruptly ended by my grandmother’s voice. I looked over as she approached the table, a tall, dark-haired man in a suit behind her. The shark.

Steeling myself, I rose to my feet as Gran stepped aside and made the introduction.