by Addison Fox
“How is it possible you’re here at six thirty in the morning? After flying all day yesterday?”
“I could say the same for you.”
“You’re a machine.”
“No, I’m just awfully fond of pancakes.”
Sloan’s gaze perked up in carb-inspired anticipation. “Does that mean you’ll go to the diner and get some with me?”
“Sure, just so long as you get your lazy ass on that treadmill over there.”
“Hey.” Sloan’s eyes widened in mock offense. “My lazy ass has already been up and active this morning.”
“Sex doesn’t count.”
“It burns calories.”
Grier pointed to the machine. “That burns more and you’ve got a wedding dress to fit into. Hop to it, fuck bunny.”
“As always, you’re far too astute for your own good.”
“That’s what you get for having an anal mathematician for a best friend. I can calculate calories from twenty paces.”
The two of them fell into companionable silence as Sloan started her workout. Grier appreciated the time together. Although they’d been apart for only a little more than a week, she’d missed her friend.
And knew it was only the beginning, as Sloan would be moving to Indigo permanently now that she was marrying Walker.
“You all right?”
Grier glanced up from the neon face of her machine. “Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. You just looked really sad all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine, really.”
The moments ticked by, punctuated by the heavy thwapping of the running belts of both treadmills, before Sloan spoke again. “You looked a little uncomfortable last night. I mean, when you got over being really happy to see Mick and all.”
Grier heard the thread of concern through Sloan’s teasing tone and wondered if she was that obvious. “I’m not going to ignore the man.”
“Oh no? It seemed you were doing a pretty good job of it over the past few weeks.”
“It was the holidays. I’m sure it’s a busy time for him, with delivering packages and stuff. And then I was out of town.”
“And you were avoiding him,” Sloan said, contributing to the litany of excuses.
“I was not.”
Sloan hit the speed on her machine with a heavy laugh. “Since delivering packages was the best you could come up with on short notice, I’m calling your bluff. You may be an awesome mathematician, but you’re a lousy liar.”
“All I meant was that he was busy.”
Sloan nodded her head as her breathing grew heavier with the effects of her run. Despite the increased effort, it couldn’t counterbalance the wicked gleam in her blue gaze. “And I’m in awe of your thoughtful understanding.”
Grier hopped off the treadmill as her machine registered four miles, then crossed the room toward the weight rack. Although she usually followed the treadmill with the elliptical, the heavy weights would be a pleasant diversion from the hot seat.
“He’s interested in you,” Sloan added in a reasonable voice.
“Did you and Avery practice this?”
“And you’re interested in him.”
Grier reached for matched ten-pound weights and began a slow repetition of biceps curls. “I’d also skip a workout every day if it didn’t mean an ass the size of Washington. Just because I want something doesn’t mean I can have it.”
“So why are you making this so hard?”
“Because it is hard, Sloan. It’s really hard. And my life’s not going to wrap up in a nice neat bow, smack in the middle of Indigo, like yours is.”
As soon as the words were out, Grier wished she could pull them back.
Wanted to pull them back.
Even though she was sort of relieved they were out.
She could only thank a decade and a half of friendship that instead of causing a rift, Sloan saw straight through to what was underneath the biting remark. With quick movements, she stopped her machine and was across the room. She took the weights and settled them back on the rack before turning around, her gaze full of understanding.
“You want to tell me what this is really all about?”
“We’re talking about Mick and me.”
“Yes, but what else? You and Mick have nothing to do with me.”
The slight sense of relief she’d felt was rapidly beginning to feel petty and small, but she owed it to Sloan to see her words through.
“It’s just slowly dawning on me that you’re staying here. And I’m happy for you. So happy.” Grier slashed a hand at her cheeks, irritated that not only was she making an ass of herself, but she was crying, too.
“We’ll still be friends.”
“Of course we will be. I’ll hunt you down and hurt you if we aren’t. But I’m not going to see you all the time and that fact is just beginning to register.”
Sloan beckoned her over to sit on a nearby weight bench. “You’re the sister of my heart, Grier. Nothing will change that. Not Walker. Not Alaska. Nothing.”
“I know.” A heavy sob escaped her as she nodded her head. “I do know that.”
Sloan wrapped an arm around her. “And I’m sorry that you’re in pain right now. That life is just so freaking shitty sometimes.”
She laid her head on her friend’s shoulder, the acceptance and understanding going a long way toward making the pain just a little more palatable. “Thanks.”
“Especially when mine’s so not shitty,” Sloan whispered.
At that, Grier lifted her head. “Oh, Sloan. I’m happy for you. So very happy for you. Don’t think for a single minute I’d take that away from you.”
A matched set of tears lit her oldest friend’s eyes as Sloan dashed them away. “I just see how sad you’ve been and it makes me sad. I want to take it away and I want something better for you. Especially when I see that something better standing right in front of you, interested in getting to know you.”
“Don’t you see? That’s why it’s the wrong time. How can I possibly start something with a person when my life is so fouled up?”
“Maybe it’s exactly the right time.”
Grier took a large sniff and couldn’t hold back the small smile. “You’re stubborn.”
A lone eyebrow lifted above a watery blue iris. “You’re seriously saying that to me?”
“If the Manolo fits…”
Sloan grabbed her in a tight hug. “I love you. I really, really love you.”
“I love you back,” Grier whispered, her grip equally fierce.
“All right then. I think we can say good-bye to the torture devices and hello to pancakes.”
Grier dropped her arms and pointed toward the now-abandoned treadmills. “Just so long as you remember why I’m allowed to have bacon with mine and you’re not.”
“Hey. I exercised.”
“You did, like, a half mile on that thing. And we all know what happens to girls who slack on their gym time.”
Sloan wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled them determinedly toward the door. “What’s that?”
“Their wedding dresses have to be let out.”
“You are so evil, Grier Thompson.”
Even if she hadn’t found the right music to help her through those damn running inclines, Grier couldn’t argue with their benefits.
And there was one benefit that sat pretty high on the list: the pure, unadulterated satisfaction that came from a large stack of fluffy pancakes loaded with melted butter and syrup.
“I think there are men at that back booth who would propose to you based on that breakfast alone.” Sloan pointed a fork at her.
Grier turned to see a good number of the town’s bachelors filling the booths along the back wall of the diner. She offered a little wave and smiled when several hale and hearty shouts returned the greeting.
“They’re completely adorable.”
Sloan gave the back wall another quick look before returning her focus back to her own stack. “Yeah, they re
ally are.”
“I heard several guys made love matches at the grandmothers’ competition last month.”
“A few. I’ve got interviews scheduled with the two that seem to still be going strong.”
“There are three still going strong.”
The voice floated over their booth with all the precision of a general’s command and Grier looked up to see Sophie, Mary and Julia standing in a line next to their booth.
“Mrs. Montgomery.” Sloan quickly stood and gave her future grandmother-in-law a quick kiss. “Won’t you all join us?”
“We’d love to.”
Grier fought the internal eye roll at the quick agreement. While she loved the grandmothers, their not-so-subtle insistence on getting their grandsons married off made them a bit scary when all assembled as a coordinated trio.
Which they clearly were this morning.
Grier jumped up quickly to allow Julia and Mary into her side of the booth and grabbed a chair from a nearby four-top to flank the end of their table. Once they were settled, fresh steaming mugs of coffee all around, the questions began. Grier was grateful she’d already eaten the majority of her breakfast or the inquisition would have ruined her appetite.
“How were your flights, girls?”
Grier took round one. “Fine, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. Long, but uneventful.”
“My, my.” Julia patted Mary’s arm. “To be that young and unaffected. It now takes me a week to recover from a flight.”
“Unless it’s Mick’s flying. My grandson flies as smooth as the melted butter I’m going to have on my pancakes.”
Grier saw Sloan’s eyebrows rise slightly but kept her voice level. “He’s an excellent pilot, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy.”
“What do you girls have planned for today?”
Grier was grateful she didn’t have to voice the reality of her plans for the day—absolutely nothing—when Sloan jumped in. “Not much. I’ve got a few things to catch up with on my articles, but other than that, just shaking off a bit of lingering jet lag.”
“Well then, you can finish up your work and both of you can join us later at the meeting center.”
“For what?” Even as she asked the words, Grier cursed the innate curiosity that had the words spilling out.
“We’re prepping decorations for the upcoming Valentine’s dance,” Julia piped in proudly.
The damn curiosity—the curse of her life—kept pressing. “But February fourteenth is still several weeks away.”
Mary patted her arm. “Oh, dear, we cut out more than ten thousand hearts. It’s never too early to get started on that.”
“Ten thousand?” Her voice sounded strangled, even to her. “How many have you done?”
“About three. Hundred.”
“Which means we’d love another few pairs of hands,” Sophie jumped in quickly. “Avery’s already coming and has volunteered to bring the wine.”
“Hearts and wine sound perfect. How can we say no?” Sloan smiled sweetly.
Sophie took a large bite of pancake, her grin decidedly calculating. “You can’t.”
“Michael Patrick!”
Mick’s grandmother’s voice came loud and clear through his headphones as he flew over the south face of Denali. Why they let her take charge over at the airstrip he’d never know, especially since Maggie was fiercely protective of her radio waves, but somehow Mary O’Shaughnessy knew how to get around any obstacle that stood in her way.
He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a small sigh before flipping on his microphone. “What did I do?”
“You didn’t do anything,” Mary’s voice came back, tart as a ripe lemon.
“So, what’s with the Michael Patrick routine?”
“I need you to pick up some things for me on your run to Anchorage.”
“Of course. I’m always happy to do that.”
“I’ve got an order in at the art store. They’re messengering it to the airport. You just need to get it for me.”
“I thought I just picked up a load last week. As I recall, there was about a ton of red construction paper.”
“We needed more.”
He didn’t miss the prim voice or the slight quaver underneath that was the only tell he’d ever known her to have.
Was she lying?
“And I need you to bring it straight over to the town hall when you get back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s no need to be cheeky.”
“I thought I was being polite.”
“And there you go again. Cheeky.”
He couldn’t hold back the smile. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bring the supplies straight over.”
“All right, already. I promise.”
“See that you do.”
As his grandmother’s voice winked off his earphones, he could only shake his head at the strange set of orders. He knew she was up to something, but for the life of him, he had no idea what it was.
Thirty-five years of his grandmother’s quirks ensured he’d learn what she was up to soon enough, so he shifted his thoughts to the mountain. He’d nearly cleared the face as he headed south toward Anchorage, Denali’s bright peaks gleaming in the morning sunlight, but it was a different flight that filled his mind’s eye.
The injured researchers he’d pulled off the mountain in early December hadn’t been far from his thoughts in the ensuing weeks. Although he knew it was natural for an experience as sharp as that one to linger for a while, he hadn’t expected the restless nights or the unpleasant memories the trip had churned up.
Doc Cloud had prescribed a few tranquilizers for the really bad nights, but he’d yet to take one. Something about the medicine didn’t sit well with him and he couldn’t bring himself to sleep the problem off.
Unfortunately, he had to face the root of the problem—his past—head-on.
Even if there wasn’t any way to fix it.
Jason Shriver woke with a start, his neck screaming painfully where he’d slouched asleep for the night in a leather chair in his father’s study. An empty glass still smelling of the scotch he’d drunk the night before sat on the small table next to him, curling his stomach with its pungent odor.
It had been a shitty new year and clearly day three of it was starting with a bang. He glanced again at the glass, its empty contents mocking him as his father’s harsh words pounded through his brain as if on a loop.
“What the hell were you thinking, Jason? You don’t fuck around before the wedding. It’s not only poor taste, but it gives the woman far too much time to think.”
The words had changed slightly over the past two months, pending on the point his father was trying to emphasize, but the root of it remained the same. He’d screwed everything up by messing around in the office six weeks before his wedding and it reflected poorly on all of them.
“A real man knows how to be discreet, for Christ’s sake. The office, in the middle of the afternoon?”
What had surprised him more than the lectures was the side of his father he’d never really acknowledged before. Did the old man think like that? Did he actually see the world in such antiquated ways?
Jason had known for years Thomas Shriver, distinguished lion of Wall Street, didn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Oh, his father was discreet, but no one could go after that much ass and not get caught every now and again.
But he’d always thought the old man at least had some sense of responsibility for his actions. Instead, every word out of his father’s mouth was like some business truism he needed in order to prove he was a success.
Twenty percent profit margin? Check.
Summerhouse in the Hamptons? Check.
Mistress? Check.
The problem was, Jason reflected as he reached for the glass of water one of the maids must have been kind enough to leave next to him, he’d never fully understood the impact of his father’s actions on his mother.
How had she felt, all these years? H
ad his father hurt her? Or had she simply ignored it, thinking it was her duty to keep her mouth shut and smile?
Images of his mother’s smooth smile and shielded gaze shifted to a new image.
Grier.
His small pixie with the quick smile and bright gray eyes. He’d been attracted to her from the start, seeking her out after the first meeting they’d sat in together. He’d been in the firm’s LA office for the first fifteen years of his career, only to come back to New York to begin the grooming process to take the old man’s place.
His father had made it known that a wife was the natural next step in the progression to senior partner and ultimate head of the firm and he’d better get serious about it once he got back home.
He’d just never expected it to happen so fast.
Grier Thompson had made it incredibly easy to do his duty. She knew his world, both professionally and socially, and they had fallen into a relationship that was simple and uncomplicated.
So why had he screwed it up so badly?
He’d never considered himself a cheater. In fact, he’d never understood the guys who couldn’t stay monogamous in a relationship. If you wanted to play it fast and loose, stay that way. Don’t drag another person into it.
So what had happened?
Leaning forward, he scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, the weight of his actions like a boulder on his back. No matter how many times he asked himself, he couldn’t come up with any other answer save one.
Simple and uncomplicated scared the almighty shit out of him.
Chapter Five
Since her evening summons to town hall meant she still had roughly ten hours to fill, Grier bundled up after breakfast with Sloan and decided to explore town. Although she’d been to most of the places on Main Street at some point since arriving in Indigo, she hadn’t really spent any length of time anywhere beyond the diner and the hotel.
It was time to change that.
Her gaze settled on the Jitters, but any more coffee this morning and she’d actually have a nervous disorder, so she kept up her trek down the sidewalk. She passed Betsy’s clothing shop and almost stopped in for a little retail therapy, but even that didn’t quite suit her mood, so she kept on.
As she glanced across the street, Tasty’s Bait and Tackle caught her attention. Tasty had been kind enough to give her, Sloan and Avery free hats the month before during an impromptu snowball fight on the square and she had a soft spot for the grizzled old proprietor. Since rumor had it he spent much of the winter ice fishing, she was surprised to see his bearded face peeking back at her through his shop window as he waved.
