Page 39 of Last Summer

“What about the game?”

“Not important. You are.”

Damien took her to Ghirardelli Square, where he ordered a hot fudge sundae to share. He told her jokes and tried to spoon-feed her ice cream, only to smear fudge on her nose. She laughed, and she cried, and it felt good.

“Thanks. I needed this,” she said when they’d finished.

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s Sunday,” she said with a sad smile. “Sundaes on Sunday. You always know how to make me happy.”

“I try.” He smiled and she kissed him.

“I’m happy with you.”

“Good. That’s all I want. And your love. That would be cool to have, too.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin.

“You’ve got it. All of it.”

CHAPTER 11

Late the following day after she received Rebecca’s call about the Nathan Donovan assignment, Ella arrives at his house, a large A-frame off a private, narrow road on the outskirts of Truckee, a vibrant Lake Tahoe ski community that is part old Wild West and part filthy-rich winter playground populated with Silicon Valley multimillionaires and extreme athletes. Beyond Nathan’s house is a view that would be the envy of anyone who loved the mountains. A horizon of snowcapped granite giants sleep majestically in the waning sunlight.

Ella cuts the engine and pushes her arms into the sleeves of her olive-green quilted coat. She unfolds from the car and inhales deeply. Crisp, cold mountain air burns her nostrils and fills her lungs. A breeze rustles through the trees. Aspen leaves dance and pine needles whistle. She rubs her hands together, and bundling her coat tight around her, she shakes off the nervous energy. Nathan knows things about her that she doesn’t. It’s disconcerting. A feeling she’s not accustomed to when going into an interview. Again, she hopes he’ll be more forthcoming than Damien. She wants to get over the interview and on with her life.

She approaches the house, mounts the porch steps, and rings the doorbell. She waits. And then waits. A minute or so later, she rings again, following it up with a knock on the solid wood door. From somewhere deep in the belly of the house, dogs bark.

Is he home?

She looks around. One of the three garage doors is open. Parked inside is a black Chevy truck. Maybe he’s out back.

Ella follows the deck around the house to the back and stops short, startled. The view is breathtaking, unexpected. So is the man leaning against the railing. She should have anticipated him, but seeing him lounging there, staring off over the canyon below, uncaring that he’s expecting a guest and not greeting her at the door, is unnerving. He drinks from a steaming mug, either unaware she’s there or choosing to ignore her.

A board creaks under her boot. He jerks his head in her direction. Recognition sparks in his eyes. Caught off guard, Ella rocks back a step but quickly chastises herself. She may not know him, but he knows her. She solidly plants her feet and smiles.

Nathan smiles back, his teeth bright against a jaw dusted with a week’s worth of growth. He straightens to his full height. He’s taller than she anticipated, and her gaze drops to the heavy boots he wears, the soles an inch or so thick. His mountain man outfit of jeans and a flannel shirt, unbuttoned over a graphic navy T-shirt with the Heavenly Ski Resort logo, tells Ella he’s acclimated to the cooler climate. He’s not wearing a coat and she’s shivering in hers.

“Hi, Ella.” His voice rolls over her, deeper and richer than the one she heard over the phone or in hisOff the Grid!episodes.

Unsure if she should wave at him or hug him, Ella approaches and thrusts out her hand. “Nathan Donovan? Ella Skye. I know we’ve met but—”

She stalls when his gaze falls to her hand, then slowly rises to lock on to her face. He frowns, and a short laugh erupts from him. It tells her exactly how ridiculous her greeting seems to him. So formal.

“But,” she presses on, “there’s something you should know. I had an accident last November and suffered some memory loss.”

“This is a joke, right?” The corner of his mouth twitches. There’s a glint in his eyes. He eases in on her, head angled to the side, looking at her curiously, and for a split second she thinks he’s going to kiss her. She also thinks he believes she’s messing with him.

With a pounding heart, she holds up her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not. I’m also afraid we have to start from scratch. I don’t remember much from our time together before.”

“You’re serious.” He frowns. “How much is much?”

She glances at the trees beyond the deck and back. “Anything.”

His eyes go wide. “Anything?” He chokes out the word.

“But,” she rushes to explain, “I promise our time together won’t be wasted. It won’t take nearly as long as it did last time, I’m sure of it. You know me, and I bet you’re comfortable talking with me, that’s why you asked for me specifically. You want to tell me your story, and we both want to share it with your audience andLuxe Avenue’s readers. I’ll do it justice, I promise.”

His laughter is gone. His nostrils flare, and a muscle throbs in his cheek as he clamps his jaw. He looks away from her, taking in the snowcapped mountains. Shadows elongate with the setting sun. She notices his white-knuckle grip on the handle of his mug when he turns back and glares at her.

---