Page 22 of Make-Believe Match

“I appreciate that. You seem like a trustworthy fellow.” She studied me a little more intently. “Mr. Buckley, I’m inclined to sell. But I really want my granddaughter to be on board, and that may take a little more effort. Lexi has attachments to this place that go beyond simply wishing things could stay the same.”

I said nothing, giving her the space to elaborate, if she wanted to.

“Both her parents died in a car accident when she was nine. Their ashes are scattered along the mountaintop.”

The pang I’d felt earlier became an ache within my chest, a fault line cracking open. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was tragic for everyone—my son and his wife were wonderful people, and I miss them every day. And maybe their loss did contribute to my husband’s reluctance to make changes. Maybe he, like Alexandra, thought that if thingslookedthe same as before, they’dfeelthe same. Or maybe it was meant to honor them. I don’t know for sure.” Her paper-thin voice wavered. “Grief is very personal.”

“It is.” I cleared my throat and reached for my water, focusing on the icy-cold liquid sliding over my tongue, unwilling to let any buried memories surface just now.

“Anyway, letting go of this place is more complicated for her. She’s holding on for many different reasons.” Her eyes met mine. “And money isn’t one of them.”

“I’d be glad to speak with her, if you think that will help.”

Martha McIntyre sat up taller and beamed. “What a marvelous idea. I’ll give you her phone number.”

* * *

I walked out of the restaurant with Lexi’s number in my contacts, but I knew better than to think she’d have a conversation with me over the phone. Even if she answered a call from an unknown number, the second she realized it was me, she’d hang up. For that reason, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I knew where she lived. If she wanted to slam the door in my face, fine—but I felt like I’d have a better chance to convince her of my sincerity if she could look in my eyes.

(I mentioned I’m not above using my charm when it serves my purpose, right?)

But I couldn’t help thinking this servedherpurpose too. There was no way she was going to convince her grandmother to hand her the deed to this resort—not without a husband. And even if she somehow managed to circumvent the will, the place was going to go under without serious money behind it, fast. Her best option was to take her share of the sale price and start over somewhere new.

You couldn’t live in the past. You had to keep moving forward.

It took me a little time to wind my way toward Lexi’s condominium complex. I knew roughly where it was, but because we’d approached it from the highway the other night, I hadn’t realized its proximity to Snowberry Lodge.

Also, I’d had other things on my mind, like getting her naked. Feeling those legs wrapped around me. Putting my tongue on those perky little nipples poking through the white material of her dress.

Fuck. Shifting in the driver’s seat, I adjusted the crotch of my pants.

As I followed the service road from the lodge around the perimeter of the resort toward the area where I thought her condo was located, I couldn’t help noticing that Snowberrydidstill have some charm. The area was beautiful, the grounds were well-kept, if a little shabby, and there was something romantic about the place. Something nostalgic. I could see a certain kind of person being drawn to this rather than to a mega-resort. It was sweet and peaceful.

I found myself thinking about the changes I would make to modernize it while retaining its quaint personality. What a rebranding would look like, both in person and in the marketing. How I’d sell investors on the idea. What the talking points would be. The seed of a new challenge tried to take root, and I immediately brushed it off.

My challenge was to close this deal for Black Diamond Resorts. Get the promotion I deserved. Get the raise and corner office and year-end bonus that accompanied it. Upgrade my apartment, my car, maybe my watch. Book a trip to a five-start resort somewhere tropical. I liked nice things.

But no one just handed you life’s prizes. You had to win them. I was good at the game, and I prided myself on playing it fair and square.

But I wasn’t completely selfish—I liked giving back too. My work with Camp Lemonade meant a lot to me. My siblings and I had been lucky. After our mom died, we’d had our dad and other family and a tightly knit small-town community there to support us. But a lot of kids didn’t have that, or their families lacked the resources for counseling.

I wasn’t planning to get married or have children of my own, but when I saw those kids laughing and enjoying themselves for two weeks every summer, able to forget everything and just run free and have fun, I understood the instinct to be a father. To take care of someone. It just felt good.

When Lexi’s condo building came into view, I drove up the hill into the lot and pulled into one of the spots markedGUEST. Checking my reflection in the visor mirror, I messed with my hair a little, checked my teeth, and examined my jaw for any nicks from this morning’s shave. Then I got out of the car and climbed the porch steps to her door.

She had a welcome mat that readCead Mile Failte, which I knew meanta hundred thousand welcomesin Gaelic. I knocked on the door and prayed for the luck of the Irish.

Didn’t work. She opened it, took one look at me, and slammed it again.

I knocked once more. “Lexi, come on. Can we talk?”

“No! I can’t even believe you had the nerve to show up here.”

“Would you rather I called first? Your grandmother gave me your number.”

“Oh my God. Tell me she didn’t.”