Page 28 of You Know You Wanna

14

BIRDIE

I could tell Remington was in a mood when he walked by. The tight jaw, hunched shoulders, and brisk pace said it all. The man was not happy—even less so than usual.

“Did you step in deer poop?” I asked as he strode up to me.

His frown deepened to one of confusion. “Not that I know of.” He lifted each foot to inspect it. “Why? Do I smell like deer poop?”

I smiled, happy to derail his bad mood a little bit with confusion. “You smell fine. You just looked a little out of sorts.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “I’m fine. I’ve just got some work to get back to.”

I laughed. “I thought you were on vacation. Where’s Lulu?”

“Lulu?” He arched a brow at me, but then shook his head and let it go. “I’m not sure. Probably licking her wounds at Kids Camp.”

“Licking her wounds?” I asked softly, my heart stammering at the thought of the poor girl having any wounds to lick. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. She just came at me earlier and then took off.”

My teeth sank into the inside of my cheek as I looked up into those stormy eyes. If he’d had a fight with his daughter, that explained the mood, but he didn’t seem to be in the right frame of mind to make up with her just yet.

“Do you want to come on a walk with me?” I asked. “You could take a breather from work and the fight, and I was about to go for one anyway.”

“I was going to go for a run, but I guess a walk would be good too.” The words were barely out of his mouth when he started moving again, striding down the path that led to the trails.

My eyebrows inched up as I watched him, stalking toward the trailhead like a gorilla who smelled food after starving for at least ten days. Well, there goes my leisurely stroll for the morning.

Hurrying to catch up, I focused on matching my pace to his and instantly knew I was not going to be able to sustain it. With his legs being so much longer than my own, I was practically jogging to keep up. I didn’t say anything about it, though.

If I lost him further down the trail, that was fine by me. Clearly, he needed to work off some energy but I’d just done four hours of yoga. My muscles were warm, but my energy levels were nowhere near his. I needed something nutritious to refuel like a smoothie, or some granola, or a giant plate of bacon and eggs.

He suddenly stopped, hands on his hips, and waited for me to catch up. Once I had, those eyes flicked up and around, taking in every little thing around us. I rested my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath while he did whatever he was doing.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asked, his voice gravelly and rough.

I jerked my head in a nod, straightening up and wiping sweat off my brow, still panting a little but feeling marginally better. It was nothing a stack of flapjacks couldn’t cure. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Why do you like this place so much?”

The question surprised me, but the look in his eyes told me he was serious and trying to piece things together. Why the answer to this question mattered so much, I didn’t know. Our guests loved this place for a variety of reasons, but he wasn’t asking anyone else. He was asking me.

I looked right back at him and shrugged. “You already know that my parents were poor and that I started working here to help my dad make ends meet after my mom died. With my three younger siblings still at home, the resort was close enough for me to still see them all the time, and I guess I just stayed. I liked it here.”

“Yeah, but why?” He frowned. “After your siblings left home, I’m sure you had enough experience to get a job at any of the luxury resorts here in the mountains. They probably would’ve paid more and you wouldn’t have had to stay in a cabin with spotty reception and shitty plumbing.”

“I don’t mind the water pressure.” I laughed. “The plumbing is just old, which is why the showers aren’t the best, but I don’t know. I guess being here gives me a sense of purpose. It’s serene. I like the people. I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed working at a fancier resort where I’d have to wear starched clothes all the time and deal with rich snobs who treat complaining as a hobby. It’s fun here. Relaxed. Why do you ask?”

He blew past the question, his head shaking. “Am I one of those rich snobs, complaining about the cell service and the pipes?”

I giggled. “No, those are legit terrible here. Complain away. I’m talking about folks who complain when their lettuce touches their tomato because it makes the lettuce soggy.”

“Did someone actually complain about that?” he asked, eyes wide.

I nodded. “Yeah, you’re no ray of sunshine, but I do not include you in the terrible people category.”

He shoved a hand into his hair before giving me a genuinely puzzled look. His mouth twisted, his eyes narrowing as they swept across my face. “I don’t understand how you’re so optimistic and happy all the time.”