Page 98 of A Little Too Late
The two lawyers huddle up, pens in hand, agreeing on changes while Melody passes the plate of cookies around.
I take a bite of one, but it turns to dust in my mouth. Reed stands and picks up his chair, then navigates around people and furniture, before squeezing in beside me. He leans in and gives me a sweet, slow kiss on the cheekbone. “I miss you.”
My heart lifts. “I miss you, too. I thought you were mad at me. I tried to call you back last night, and you didn’t answer.”
“Too busy,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I was trying to get a flight, and I had to apologize to Sheila for losing my shit.”
“Ah,” I say, falling into his warm gaze. “We’ve all been there.”
“Not really,” he says. “You were right that I was angry about a lot of things but trying not to be. Sheila called meemotionally stuntedin front of the whole office.”
“Ouch. You two really did have words.”
He smiles brightly. “They’ll be talking about us forweeks. Just happy to do my part for office gossip.”
“Is it as bad as mountain gossip?” I ask.
He takes my hand and strokes his thumb across my palm, making it hard to think. “No, there’s nothing quite like mountain gossip. But it’s close.”
I would have happily gazed at Reed all day, but I hear some kind of commotion outside the door to the Evergreen Room. Voices are raised. That’s just the sort of thing a resort manager listens for. The job is a bit like working as a firefighter—you never know when you’ll be called to slide down the pole and tackle another emergency.
“Excuse me a moment?” I push back my chair to investigate.
Before I make much progress, the front desk manager’s face pops into view. “Ava! We’ve got a situation. I told them you are all in a meeting, but—”
“Step aside, please.” A man with salt-and-pepper hair slides past her into the room. “Mark Madigan, we need a moment of your time.”
“And you are…?” Reed asks.
Mark and I already know. Morgan James is the town manager of Penny Ridge, Colorado. And crowding into the doorway behind him are two members of the town council, including Ms. Maeve Perkins, the head librarian at Penny Ridge Memorial Library. She’s four-foot-nine, ninety-two years young, and full of attitude.
“Mark Madigan!” she exclaims. “Do you have any idea what these Sharpe shooters have planned for our town?”
“Um…” he says with perfectly understandable hesitation. You do not want to be on the wrong side of Maeve Perkins.
“Oh wow,” Reed breathes. “I hope I didn’t leave town with any unreturned books.”
Her chin snaps in our direction. “You have an outstanding fine, young man. But we’ll get to you in a moment. I need to speak to your father,right now.”
“The Sharpes did not, in fact, share their plans with me,” Mark says sheepishly. “Maybe you can ask them yourselves?”
Fire burns in her feisty eyes as she wheels on Grandpa Sharpe. “Are you in charge here, young man? Do you have any idea how quickly and loudly we will object to the transfer of the ski terrain lease if your aim is to add more hotel rooms to this townthan we have permanent residents?”
Grandpa Sharpe doesn’t even look scared, which means he’s a bigger fool than I thought. “Ma’am, think of all those jobs we’re creating in the fine town of Penny Ridge.”
She sniffs. “If I can’t find a parking space to go to bingo on Main Street, it doesn’t matter. And if the lift tickets and restaurants are priced strictly for tourists, we have a problem. I’ve met men like you, and I don’t like ’em.”
Reed and I share a glance that’s filled with humor and awe. “She’s better than a room full of lawyers,” he whispers in my ear.
I thread my fingers through his and try to hold back my grin.
“Your proposal will not succeed,” Morgan James snaps. “Even if you manage to get your lease transfer approved, the town will not approve your construction plans.”
“Over my dead body,” Maeve Perkins adds, which is a bold statement for anyone over ninety years old.
“Let’s take this outside,” Grandpa Sharpe says, moving toward the exit. “Those plans are private.”
“You just go ahead and think that,” Reed says, clearly amused.
