The Life That Mattered (Life #1)(4)

“Ronin,” he said just before taking another sip of his coffee. Large hands. He had to be tall.

I had a thing for tall guys with slight accents who knew how to read.

“Do you live here?” I stirred my tea with the wide stainless-steel straw.

“Just for one more day. I’ve accepted a job … in Aspen.”

“Shut up.” I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Ski patrol.”

“Really?” I cut another bite of the bun with my fork and knife. It would have been easier to pick it up and eat it with my hands, but … handsome stranger. “I live in Aspen.”

“Small world.”

I tilted my head, searching for warning signs—a flicker of danger in his eyes or the twitch of a wolfish grin. My love of horror movies seeped into my real life, distorting my judgment and imparting irrational fear into random thoughts.

“So what do you do in Aspen?” he asked with a slight accent. French? I couldn’t tell, but I wanted him to keep talking, even if he was a stalker.

“I sell guns. And own them. A lot of them. And I’m a really good shot.” See? Who says that? Me, horror movie lover … as I imagined his face covered in paint like The Joker or Pennywise.

Both of his eyebrows arched. “Okay. I didn’t see that coming.”

I chewed a bite of the bun, studying him. He didn’t look like a serial killer. Wasn’t that the most common sign of one? Since killers didn’t have a look, the most notorious ones were typically normal looking—sometimes even good looking. They excelled at disarming unsuspecting women.

“I’m not a gun person, so I don’t know any intelligent questions to ask about your job. Except maybe … how did you get into guns?”

I scratched my cheek and grinned with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t sell guns. I’m just testing stranger danger. Do you like clowns?”

A pleasant grin slid up his face. “Clowns are fine. I suppose.” He chuckled.

Wrong answer. But everyone was entitled to their opinion.

“I own a bath and body shop. I make all of my own products. I’m a chemist who really wanted to be an artist. So, this combines both worlds.”

“But do you own a gun?”

My lips twisted, and my eyes narrowed. “It’s Colorado. The probability of me owning a gun is high. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Fair enough.”

I didn’t own a gun. Never had. Wouldn’t have had the first clue how to use one.

“So … ski patrol?”

“Yes. It’s what I’ve been doing for years.” Definitely a French accent. What was it with guys and accents?

“Your accent …” I tapped my finger against my bottom lip.

He took a sip of his coffee. “My father is from Chamonix, France. My mother’s family is from Malaysia, but she was born in the United States, as was I. We moved to France when I was one, and that’s where I grew up. My father is … was an Olympic skier.”

I blinked several times, pausing my straw at my lips. “Wow! I’m utterly boring compared to you. Bet you’re glad your coffee’s almost gone, so you can go hang out with more worldly people.”

Ronin chuckled—deep and smooth. “You make soap. Tell me more.”

“You don’t have to sound interested. We can talk about the weather. I hear rain is expected over the next few days.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Bar soap? Liquid soap?”

I stole another bite of the warm bun, chewing while trying to hide my grin, gazing out the window at the traffic crawling along the street. “Both. And bath bombs, scrubs, lip balms, facial creams, and toners …” I blotted my mouth with my napkin. “It’s really an endless list.”

“Fascinating.”

I coughed a little laugh. “It’s really not.”

“No?” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his neck. It tightened his shirt a bit more across his chest. “I find it all very intriguing.”

Ronin possessed a special charm and way above average looks. Okay … he was flat-out sexy. The heat in my cheeks probably made my thoughts all too transparent.

“To me,” I conceded, “it is interesting and fun. I genuinely like my job. I’m not sure my parents imagined my degree leading to my owning a bath shop, but they’re happy that I’m happy.”

“I can relate. My father imagined me chasing his gold medals in skiing. I loved watching him ski. And I, too, love skiing. However, I was always more fascinated with the men and women who brought injured skiers down the mountain than the exuberant victors crossing the finishing line in record time. The only clock that interested me was the one that meant saving a life. That’s what I do now. I’ve worked in several countries as ski patrol. And I’ve spent many summers working as a paramedic with fire and EMS.”

Hot buns. Yummy bubble tea. Sunny and fifty-five degrees in beautiful Vancouver. And an Asian Frenchman who liked saving lives. Short of Graham giving Lila a dozen orgasms … there’s no way Lila’s day beat mine.

“I don’t suppose you’ll marry me, will you?” My mouth twisted into a smirk before I laughed—a hearty laugh so he saw my humor, my joking personality (I was ninety percent joking).