Page 121 of The Difference Between

“You told me it was a stakeout.” He eyes the house. “Stakeout’s need snacks.” He offers the bag to me and I wave it off. “What’s the plan?”

There are two SUVs in the driveway. Maybe Holden’s married like Leland. Maybe he already has a baby and my baby would be a sibling. I might not like that. “We’re sitting here until something happens.”

The crinkling of the popcorn bag and the soft crunch of his chews fill the cab until he says, “Your firm must be happy.”

“The firm?”

“The vineyard?” His brows lift as he chews. “It was pretty busy again today.”

“Oh.” I force a laugh. “Right. Yes. Thrilled.” Pivot. “Regarding to⁠—”

“Explain how all this works again,” he says.

“Works?”

“Yeah.” He chews, nonchalant. “You doing all this—” He gestures toward the house. “Then buying a vineyard. Seems like a high concentration of investment for a small town in North Carolina.” He unscrews the lid of a water bottle, pausing it midway to his mouth. “They did, what—four hundred million dollars last year?”

My throat goes dry. He’s been doing research. “Roughly.”

“Hm.” He takes a sip of water. “Where do a physical therapist, real estate agent—” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder toward Holden Griffin’s house. “A tech entrepreneur. What was the other guy?”

I am so thirsty.

“A doctor.”

“That’s right, a doctor.” His face says he already knew that. “I know I’m just a guy who mows grass”—he grins—“but I guess I don’t know where all that—and the vineyard—fit into their portfolio. Or lead to them sending one of their highest performing partners down to do it.” When I think he’s done: “And I didn’t find anything on Apex Properties on the website.”

Shit.

“It’s because I was going to be here for Mom,” I explain. “And the website is outdated.”

I can’t explain all this now—I’m not ready—especially for the vineyard. I need to see how he reacts to everything else and ensure my actions and decisions are based in logic and facts.

“We should get a closer look.” I push the door open, hop onto the curb, and slam the door shut. I’m already across the street on the sidewalk in front of the house when Gavin catches up to me. “We need to figure out how to get in there.”

“Get in there?” he asks, wide-eyed. “We can’t go in there. Did you forget we were trapped in a closet?”

A silhouette passes a window.

“That was different.” He follows me up the driveway as I assess the windows. “Damn,” I mutter. “All the curtains are closed.”

“Do you hear yourself, Reese?”

I blow out a sharp breath. “I’d hear myself a lot better if you’d shut up and let me think.”

“Why are you lying to me?”

It’s amazing how the right question can make time stop.

“I’m working.”

“A big firm in Chicago doesn’t give two shits about a tech entrepreneur who lives in a three-hundred-thousand-dollar house in Fontain.”

When he says it that way, I might not want this guy’s sperm either.

“They do,” I insist. “It’s called portfolio diversification.”

He gives me a look that says bullshit. “What aren’t you telling me?”