A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain #1)(17)

He rubs his hands together absently. It’s a thing he does when he’s thinking, and the familiarity of the gesture is like a knife to the heart. “And did you?” he asks quietly. “Understand me better?”

“No.” I sigh. “Of course not. Even when I figured out who your dad was, he was just a stranger. But it was high season, and on my last day at the hotel, the front-desk clerk quit right in front of me. She had a meltdown at your father and left just like that.” I snap my fingers. “And I had no idea what I was doing with my life, and I was starting to panic. So I asked your father for a job.”

Reed takes this in with another smile. I guess I should be glad he finds this amusing instead of creepy.

“Your dad sent me to Henrietta for a job application, and I started working the very next day. They gave me room twenty-five, which is the, uh, worst one. We try not to put anyone in there if we can help it.”

He actually laughs, and I turn red again.

“After that, I kept getting promoted. So I never took the MCAT, and I just…never left.”

“Okay.” He sits back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome,” I mumble. “It was long overdue.”

He has the good grace not to agree with me.

And then the chef walks in to talk to me about tonight’s dinner.





CHAPTER 9




A WARM BUD LIGHT OR A SHIRLEY TEMPLE





REED

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Ava and the chef discuss dinner. It’s tempting to say that she looks exactly the same. After all, she’s just as beautiful now as she was at twenty-two. She has the same bright, intelligent eyes. She listens with her whole being, and her smile still lights up her face.

But I can see changes. Her face is leaner, which makes her eyes look enormous. And she’s rocking a V-neck silk blouse that’s much more sophisticated than the clothes she wore in college.

She looks incredible. It’s hard to look away. I wonder how I ever walked away from this woman.

I did, though. And I’m going to do it again in a few days. Of course I am.

Although it will feel strange to drive back to the airport and cut ties again—with Ava, and with Madigan Mountain. When I was a young man, I gave both of them up. At this very moment, I can’t say for sure that it was the right decision.

But it happened. So I have to live with it.

My head is too muddled to work, so I get up, taking my laptop bag with me. I leave Ava and the chef and head to the front desk to get a key to the Vista Suite.

The young woman working there gets flustered when she realizes who I am. “I can have it ready in thirty minutes, Mr. Madigan,” she says, gripping a walkie-talkie that they must use to page the housekeeping staff. “I’ll make sure it’s our highest priority.”

“I’ll wait if your staff is busy.”

“It’s no problem, sir. Do you have baggage?”

We all have baggage. “It’s handled. See you in thirty.”





An hour later, I’ve moved my things from the worst room in the staff quarters into the appropriately named Vista Suite. The living room windows provide sweeping views of the mountain range. In the bedroom, I find a king-sized bed done up with crisp white linens. There are thickly woven bathrobes hanging in the luxurious bathroom beside the soaking tub.

I haven’t seen a Madigan Mountain guest room for over a decade, and I honestly didn’t know the place was this nice. Someone’s been keeping things spiffy. The decor is appealing, with rustic touches like flannel throw pillows with an artistically rendered mountain goat sewn onto them and furniture in an Arts and Crafts style.

I think of Ava, and I wonder what role she’s played in making this place what it is today. It still startles me to think that she’s been here the whole time, but my annoyance has been replaced by curiosity. Does she like working in hospitality? Is she good at it?

Is she dating anyone in town?

At that thought, I mentally slap myself. It’s none of my business. I’m here to help my father sell the resort and then go right back to California. Ava’s life no longer intersects with mine. Lord knows I did that girl enough damage already.

Back in the suite’s living room, I turn on the gas fireplace and settle in on the leather sofa, kicking my feet up onto a wooly footstool. And then I open up the sales contract and get to work making notes and jotting down questions.

I may have a bad history with this place, but I won’t let my family make any big mistakes.





At six o’clock, I put on a suit and head down to the bar adjacent to the lobby. It’s gotten a glow-up, too. The bar itself is new, with sleek wood and a slate top. There are a dozen barstools and several high-top tables with votive candles flickering merrily on them.

There are two couples seated at one end of the bar, deep in conversation. I pick a stool at the other end. I recognize the bartender from the canteen this morning. She drops a cocktail menu down in front of me. “What can I get you?”

“Wow.” I scan the offerings, and I’m impressed. The menu looks more like a San Francisco gastropub’s than what you’d find at a family ski mountain. “I’d love a ginger martini.”