Page 46 of Take This Heart
“Yes, it is.”
“This is Helen from the Star Tribune. Can you confirmthat you are working on the new resort project in Windy Harbor?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Can you comment on what the locals are saying?”
I’m quiet and she keeps talking.
“Our source tells us that the locals are protesting the project. Can you comment on that?”
“No.”
“Are any of your sculpture ideas incorporated into this new build, or is that just for the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden?”
“No comment.”
I hang up. Should’ve done it sooner, but then they’d be writing that I was rude and uncooperative. It’s probably what they’ll be saying anyway.
When I pull up to Everett’s, reporters are lined up outside. Why are they making such a big deal about this?
Everett likes to call it a mini Rivendell, but the scope of his plans isn’t anything outrageous. Yes, it’ll be beautiful and special, and no comparison to what was here before, but he’s not doing anything drastic to take away from the land.
I’m happy to drive past the reporters, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.
According to Everett, the locals have been happy about the boom this will bring to their small town. The lodge that was here before used to provide a lot of jobs and it’s been a huge loss for it to go downhill. Maybe the people who voiced their approval have changed their minds.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FEELING REAL
GOLDIE
The past twenty-four hours have been unreal. I stand at the front window of the lake house, chugging coffee like that will help mellow me out. Outside, two vans are parked at the end of our long driveway, one with a news logo on the side, the other unmarked. A guy paces back and forth, talking on his phone, while another talks to a camera. There’s a girl with long wavy hair who has such a big camera in front of her, I can’t even see her face as she snaps pictures.
“Are we in the middle of a scandal right now?” I mutter.
“If so, it’s a boring one,” Dad says, coming up behind me. “Oh, there’s a girl out there now. You think Camden will have any trouble getting through?”
“I’m sure he can handle it. I warned him there were reporters out there.”
The phone has rung off the hook since first thing this morning. Dad’s cell. My cell. Even the landline we keepbecause Dad’s too weirded out by getting rid of it altogether. Most of them want a quote about how the people in town are upset by what we’re doing. They want drama and I have no idea how they even found out about us.
“Oh good, Milo’s here.” Dad hurries to the door to open it when Milo’s close, and I take the moment to glance in the mirror and check my hair before he comes inside.
In theory, the past few days have been a nice break from Milo.
Except I thought about him ten bajillion times, so it didn’treallyfeel like a break.
My heart vaults into the ground and does a sweeping up and down motion when I see him. He looks good this morning. He’s toned down the formal wear considerably since we started working together and while I appreciate him in a button-down shirt or a suit, the sight of him in a T-shirt stretching over hisstellarbody is…better than I’d like to admit.
It’s mouthwatering, okay?
I will never admit this out loud, not in a thousand years.
But it’s true. My brain is chanting it like a mantra.
“Hey,” he says when he walks inside. “What’s going on?”
