Page 5 of Make-Believe Match

Pressing my lips together, I allowed myself a moment of private fury with Gran.

“I’m just not ready for a girlfriend—I need more time to heal.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you.” He glanced toward the door. “So are you ready to go?”

I tossed back the rest of my drink and suddenly wanted another. “You know what? I’ll Uber home. You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” He scratched behind one ear. “Is your grandmother going to be upset with me?”

“She’ll be fine.” I smiled. “Really. Go on home. Thank you for the drink.”

“You’re welcome. Well...so long.” He gave me a little wave and hurried toward the door, hitching up his pants along the way.

I spun around and faced the bar again, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. It wasn’t easy—even though it was Sunday, it was Labor Day weekend, and the place was packed. Every table was full, and the dance floor was crowded with bodies. By next weekend, all the summer people would be gone, and the nearby lakeside town of Cherry Tree Harbor would quiet down until the holidays. That’s when our business at Snowberry should pick up too. Would we be able to last one more season?

When the bartender noticed me, I ordered another margarita and sucked it down fast. Signaling him once more, I ordered a third.

He set it down and glanced at the empty stool next to me. Dr. Smalley’s full beer was still sitting on the bar. “Your friend coming back?”

“No.” I leaned over and licked salt off the rim of my glass.

The bartender eyed me carefully. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine as soon as I figure out how to save my family’s ski resort from being demolished.”

“Your family owns a ski resort?”

I nodded. “Snowberry Lodge.”

“No kidding!” He grinned as he quickly uncapped three beer bottles. “I used to go there all the time as a kid.”

“Everyoneusedto go there,” I said with a sigh. “That’s the problem.” I studied him a little closer. He was in his mid-to-late twenties, shaggy blond hair, suntanned face, athletic-looking. What would it take to get this demographic to come back to Snowberry? “What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Silas.” He smiled at me as he filled a tall glass from the tap.

“Nice to meet you, Silas. I’m Lexi.” I held out my hand, and he reached over the bar and shook it. “So where do you ski now?”

“Mostly, I go out west.” He shrugged and swapped the first glass for another. “Or I hit one of the bigger resorts around here, like The Summit.” He moved down the bar to deliver the beers, and I glowered into my margarita.

Of course. The Summit.

That place was the bane of my existence—a mega-resort with a water park, golf course, and giant video game arcade.

“Okay, I have another question,” I said when he came back. “Why’d youstopcoming to Snowberry?”

Silas grabbed a wine bottle, pulled the cork out, and began pouring. “I don’t really know. I guess I just kind of forgot about it. Plus, my girlfriend likes the spa at The Summit,” he said, sticking the cork back in the bottle. “And they’ve got a pretty cool bar at the top of the mountain with glass walls. The views are incredible.”

“There’s a bar at Snowberry,” I said defensively, although I had to admit our rugged après-ski lounge with its knotty pine walls, rustic plaid upholstery, and antler chandelier wasn’t exactly the same as a chic, glass-walled, mountaintop hot spot.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of...” Silas thought for a moment. “Old? Sorry.” His expression was contrite.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “You’re not wrong. Thanks for being honest.”

As he moved down the bar to attend to more customers, I picked up my drink and stared into it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted it anymore. Was more tequila really going to make me feel better? Should I just pay my tab and go home? I could probably be in my pajamas watchingThe Bearin under an hour. I related hard to the main character, who was trying to save his family’s struggling sandwich shop.

A tall, dark-haired guy claimed Dr. Smalley’s vacant bar stool, but I didn’t look closely at him.