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Gracen wasn’t sure what she expected from Chip—the owner of the lodge. Perhaps a middle-aged man still stuck in his youth because his finances allowed it, and nobody cared to tell him to grow up. She couldn’t count on one hand the number of successful, wealthy people she knew under the age of thirty-five. That wasn’t typically how the world worked.
The man she found lounging in a reclining chair, opaque aviator sunglasses resting low on the bridge of his nose while he surveyed the inclining property leading down to the river, wasn’t who her silent assumptions made him out to be. If the man was a day over thirty, he’d age like fine wine and should be grateful for his genetics. She only assumed he was older than Malachi because of the deeper laugh lines around his eyes and the few strands of gray over his ears peppering his slicked back black hair. He rested in loose joggers and a t-shirt—nothing with a name brand.
Except the watch, diamond-faced, on his wrist glittered. So did the rings on four of his fingers, all topped with a jewel or an insignia, in the case of his index. He clearly had a preference about how he liked to show off his wealth.
The man didn’t notice Gracen coming to stand just beyond the sliding glass doors that led out to the rear veranda from the upstairs loft. Stairs on both ends of the upper veranda led down to the private sections below attached to the bedrooms, but she hadn’t even realized Chip was out of his bed when she finally wandered out of her room a while ago.
The lodge had been quiet.
Barely a light on.
The kitchen didn’t look like it had been used that morning while she made coffee with what little items were in the cupboards and fridge, either. At least, the kitchen had been well stocked with dishes and anything else needed to cook a big meal.
They simply had to get the food.
Gracen pushed the sliding door open, finally gaining the attention of the man outside on the lounger. His gaze swept to her, dark brown and curious, before he pushed his sunglasses higher with the tip of one finger.
“Chip, is it?” Gracen asked, stepping onto the veranda.
He grinned wide, and his white teeth sparkled. “Chip Timlen, yep.” He stuck out one hand, waiting for Gracen to shake. “It’s Gracen Briggs, right?”
His knowledge of her last name earned him a smile from Gracen. Mostly because it meant that Malachi had spent at least enough time discussing her with his friend that he mentioned her surname.
She shook his head, saying, “I am Gracen, yeah. You have a beautiful place here.”
Chip released her hand right away and glanced toward the view of the river and the docks at the bottom of the property. Wistful in a blink. “Once upon a time, it was just a dream.”
“Oh?”
Gracen found a seat in the lounge chair on the other side of the sliding glass doors. She warmed her palms cupping the coffee mug and sipped the hot liquid after blowing across the top to cool down the first steaming sip.
“There used to be a kid’s summer camp in Riley Brook,” Chip explained, pushing the aviators high on his forehead. “I went every year up until I was too old, and then eventually found my way back.”
“This is a bit beyond Riley Brook,” Gracen noted about the location of the lodge. It also wasn’t lost on her that her phone had no service outside of the lodge but inside, it gained a couple of bars and was prompted to connect to the password protected Wi-Fi. She wondered if that had anything to do with the tall square satellite on top of the lodge’s roof.
Chip shrugged. “Farther out for the police, too.”
Her head snapped his way at the comment.
Chip didn’t once look away from the river.
If he noticed the reaction or not, the man didn’t give any indication either way. He seemed more interested in the sounds of the late-morning forest and the view of the water down below. He was kind enough to allow Malachi to extend an invitation to the lodge for the weekend, but her unfamiliarity with the man her lover called a friend still left Gracen with questions.
She couldn't help it.
Or stop herself from asking, “So how did you and Malachi meet?”
“A few years ago. At the big job fair,” Chip returned, reaching for the cup of water to his left on a log table.
“The one in the fall?”
“Miramichi puts it together every year,” the man agreed.
She’d heard of it. Everything from hospitals to the food factories, mills, contractors and even laborers showed up to rent a table and put up a few displays required to describe their business and opportunity for those seeking employment.
“I was two years into opening my company,” Chip said after a long drink. The glass clinked when he sat it back down to the table. “In desperate need of a handful of guys I could count on to show up, be sober, and do good work without me being on their ass twenty-four seven.” His attention swung her way when he asked, “You know what I mean? Malachi said you’ve got a salon—good employees can be hard to find.”
“Sometimes,” she agreed. “I’ve been pretty lucky.”
It definitely helped that Delaney and Margot—plus the occasional students that came in to earn their practical hours—had a reason to keep the place going at top speed. Together, it worked. She couldn’t say putting someone else in one of their places would have had the same effect, and she had no intention in testing the theory out.
Don’t fix what ain’t broke.
“Anyway,” Chip said, his hand cutting through the air between them, “Malachi was a few months out of the failed basic training stint for the Army by then—didn’t have shit and a bad couple of weeks had left him without a job.” He smiled fondly, adding, “Malachi’s not hard to like. It was just shit luck that we met up that day. I’d talked to fifteen other guys before him, I should have closed down my table and made the calls to the ones I liked. I could have been in a bar and well on my way to being drunk by the time he walked into the fair.”
“But you stayed?”
Chip nodded once. “It just didn’t feel right unless I did.”
Gracen’s brow lifted high, but she tried to hide the tic with a sip from her coffee.
Chip didn’t miss it. “What? Something I said surprised you?”
Right on the money.
Even if Gracen hated to admit it. “I didn’t know he tried to join the Canadian Armed Forces.”
Chip’s jaw worked like he was chewing on something but just five seconds before, the muscles had been still. Eventually, he asked, “He never mentioned it, or ...?”
“I guess it hasn’t come up. It wouldn’t be because he doesn’t want to explain why he had to leave, right?” Gracen asked.
Chip cleared his throat and it changed into a low laugh. “I mean—”
“Actually, let me ask him.”
“Fair enough. Although, for what it counts, he’s spent a long time working hard to put his past behind him. It’s not hard to see he’s done the work.”
True.
There was a lot unknown between Malachi and Gracen, though. She didn’t want to come right out and say as much. It wasn’t exactly an appropriate conversation for a first-time meeting, right? Enjoying everything that was great and good on the surface between the two of them had been easier as they fell deeper into this hole together. She worried what would happen when it was time to crawl back out.
Chip pulled his glasses back down to the bridge of his nose and settled into the reclining chair once more with the glass of water resting just below his chest. She didn’t miss the way he peeked over at her when he thought she wasn’t looking, before he said, “You know, I’ve got another one of these.”
Gracen met his stare, then. “What, the lodge?”
He nodded, smirking. “The other one’s in Banff.”
“Alberta,” she deadpanned.
“Hell of a view of the mountains.”
Wow.
How much money did this man have?
“You’re in construction, right?” Gracen asked.
Chip didn’t answer, asking instead, “Would you want to see the other one, too? It’s better in the winter, though.”
She froze at the question, but the fact that he stared her right in the face made Gracen hyper aware of her reaction. Careful, she showed no surprise at the come on, and delivered her rejection with the same respect, saying, “Sure, if I’m going with Malachi.”
Perhaps, he’d been prepping like her. Careful about his reaction; ready for her rejection. Except his responding laugh boomed hard enough to echo over the back property, and the way he sat up on the chair with a huge smile eased Gracen’s rising anxiety. If he was looking out for his friend, she could give him one pass.
Not another, though.
Chip reached over and slapped the leg of her chair. “That’s what I was looking for, girlie.”
“Ew, don’t call me that,” Gracen replied, face crinkling in disgust as she shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“I can’t exactly call you what he does every time you answer the phone, huh?” Jesus. He knew about that, too? The man across from her on the veranda settled back into his seat with chuckles still on the tip of his tongue. “Sorry, hate to fuck with you, but ... who knows if you’re gonna stick around? If so, get used to it.”
He shrugged, his expression challenging her with a silent: yeah, I said it.
Gracen only sighed.
The stillness between the two on the veranda allowed the forest and river to take over again, but it was comfortable. For the most part. Chip seemed like an okay guy.
Sort of.
Gracen had other—more pressing—questions about a man she knew was good and beautiful to his core, and owed him some truth in return, but Malachi had found another way to spend his morning. Unfortunately.
“By the time they get back, we might as well just skip breakfast,” she pointed out.
“We’ll figure out something,” Chip replied, unbothered. “Time doesn’t matter out here, chickie. I go days without seeing another human being. Just how I like it.”
Gracen gave Chip a long side eye.
“What? I thought you’d like chickie instead, no?” he asked.
“Let’s hope it’s another one that doesn’t stick,” she told him.
Less seriously. Chickie was a bar lower than girlie on the annoyance scale. On the other hand, Gracen knew better than to open her mouth and speak it into existence. Boys, even when they grew up into men, never changed.
