“I wanted to apologize for not calling.”
“I never called you either.”
He touched her arm, pulling her gaze back to his. “Still, I don’t make a habit of nights like those.” Although, a quiet voice inside him whispered that Grace could become a habit. Good thing he was usually surrounded by so much noise, he could rarely hear said voice.
“That’s good to know.” Her chin dipped inside her collar. “I don’t either.”
“Okay.” Ethan relaxed into the seat. Her thinking surprised him. And perhaps rankled a bit. As he’d never been one of those overly sensitive guys, he brushed off the discomfort as stiffness from climbing the ladder too many times to test the batteries in the fire alarms of every guest room in the lodge that afternoon. “What now?”
A pair of hawks screeched, circling above them. One hawk dived into the field and returned to the sky with a long snake thrashing inside its talons. Grace slapped a hand over her mouth and tracked the hawk’s path over the ATV.
Ethan remembered their conversation at the bar when she’d shared her fear of snakes after he’d admitted elevators made him uneasy. “Don’t worry. That hawk won’t drop its dinner.”
Grace kept her gaze on the sky and spoke through her fingers. “But it might drop pieces of the snake. Its talons are sharper than my knives at home. Is that blood dripping to the ground?”
“At least the snake will be dead when it lands on us,” Ethan teased, and reached for the wire cutters inside the tool bag beside Grace’s feet. “Snake can be good eating if it’s breaded and fried.”
“You didn’t really just say that, did you?” Grace curled into her jacket.
He unlatched the safety on the wire cutters, and noticed her voice was unsteady. He paused to study her.
Her skin had paled to a strange gray color. She hadn’t sounded uncomfortable with their conversation. They’d only just released the valve on their past. He was certain there’d be more for them to discuss, but she looked uncomfortable now.
Had the snake bothered her that much? She pressed her lips together, her bottom lip disappearing from the pressure. Bringing up the snake again probably wasn’t the best approach.
He glanced at the setting sun. Dinnertime would be over before he finished his repairs, even if he was quick. Food had always been Big E’s answer to everything. Maybe it would help here. “We’ve got chicken soup at the house. I’ll make us something while you get your bearings in Big E’s office.”
“Soup would be perfect.” She shifted her boots up onto the seat and set her cheek on her knees.
“We can head back now, if you’d rather.”
“I’m fine,” she said.
Nothing about the push she gave him on the shoulder was weak or frail. Still, he hesitated to leave her.
She pushed him again and said, “Go. You’ll have one less thing to do tomorrow.”
Ethan hurried to fix the fence and loaded up the ATV. He peeked at Grace, took in her pinched lips and the circles under her eyes. He hadn’t meant to make her anxious when they’d talked about their night together, or sick, when he’d joked about them eating snake.
That he might’ve hurt her made him twitchy inside. For now, he’d table the conversation and come back to it later. Even better, he’d let her take the lead. If she wanted to dissect more about their evening together, then he’d listen and be there. Until then, he’d keep his mouth closed.
He gripped the steering wheel harder, but his first instinct was to grab her hand as if he wanted to comfort her. As if he had a right to hold her.
She’d asked if their night together had been something more than what it was. He wasn’t sure. The only thing he wanted to do was hold her hand now.
But even if he’d wanted something more with Grace, it wasn’t possible. It was impossible. He had nothing to offer but résumés, an uncertain future and an empty bank account. Grace deserved a lot more than that.
Silence rode between them on the drive back to the ranch. Less than five minutes was needed to introduce Grace to Big E’s accounting system, leaving Ethan to prepare dinner in Zoe’s extravagantly expensive pink wonderland.
Unfortunately, as a kid, he’d been more worried about shoveling food into his mouth before his brothers stole it from his plate than considering how it was made. He’d never wandered into the kitchen to help his mom. He’d only ever wandered into the kitchen to snatch a cookie or bag of chips.
After his parents had died, they all learned meals didn’t just appear on the table. Big E had assigned a night for each one of the boys to prepare dinner for the family. That was when Ethan had figured out a handful of quick recipes that required one pot and little preparation. Chicken soup remained his go-to staple.
Soup reheated and ladled into bowls, Ethan carried dinner into Big E’s office on a tray.
Grace looked up from a pile of receipts that covered every inch of Big E’s oversize oak desk. “It might be easier to eat in the kitchen.”
“In here is fine.” He ate every night in the office, in the same leather chair. This was the only room that suited him. Even his childhood bedroom, which he’d shared with Ben and had once contained a bunk bed fort and countless army men, now resembled a giant box of glitter. He’d spent his first night in the room wondering how much the floor-to-ceiling silver curtains that shimmered like waterfalls had cost. He’d moved into Cabin Six after that and hadn’t returned to his childhood room since.
He placed Grace’s soup and crackers beside her. Setting his soup on top of the receipts, he pulled the leather chair closer to the desk and sat down.
“Is there something wrong with the kitchen?” Grace asked.
Ethan crushed crackers into his soup. “It’s cold.” Too pink. Too frivolous. Too dollhouse happy.
“It’s updated and modern with every convenience sold on the market today.” Her eyebrows pulled together behind her glasses. “A chef’s dream.”
But not his mother’s dream. He couldn’t find his mother in the house anymore and that put a chill inside the walls that couldn’t be driven out with a roaring fire. He scooped up a pile of receipts from beneath his bowl and dropped them on the side table. “We can eat and work. It’ll go faster with the two of us. What are you doing anyway?”
Grace pushed up her glasses and used her spoon to stir her soup. “Putting the receipts into piles by year.”
Soup bowls scraped clean and receipts organized, Ethan eased back in the leather chair and watched Grace’s fingers fly over a circa-1970s calculator complete with a roll of white paper. The pencil in her other hand scribbled across a legal notepad. “You’re good at this.”
“I should be. It’s my profession.” Grace tapped the pencil against her temple. “Certified public accountant with a master’s degree in accounting.”
“Impressive.” Ethan steepled his hands and set them under his chin. He pictured her inside her cramped office with the equally compact metal desk. She’d seemed smaller inside that office. Now she seemed to own Big E’s desk and the entire space. He decided she belonged in an office she could command. “You should have your own business.”
“That’s in the works.” Her fingers paused on the calculator, a look of surprise in her wide eyes. “But that isn’t public knowledge. I’d appreciate you not talking about it.”
“But you’re a staple at the store,” he said. Grace had been working at Brewster’s since they’d been kids. Everyone always knew she would be there. Everyone also knew if they needed something, they