Without hesitation, Chase answered, “The future.”
Gabriel flashed a grin, ear to ear. “The best kind of celebrating.”
“We’re glad we caught you in good spirits,” said Maria. “We had been doing some construction on that first bridge onto our property—fortifying and raising it. You probably saw the equipment on the way in. Unfortunately, the rain has made that area a bit of a river. We have two cottages for family when they visit. We were hoping you’ll be our guests for the night. The water should recede by morning.”
Chase looked to Gretchen, a silent deference for her to choose. Not that there was much choice. She expected Chase to say that his jacked-up truck could get them home, no problem, but he was uncharacteristically quiet.
“If you don’t think it would be an imposition…”
“We would love to have you,” said Gabriel. “It will give me time to show you my library.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “Constitutional reads are almost as good as chamomile before bed.”
“Don’t forget the rare-edition legal thrillers.”
Gretchen delighted at their rapport. She would be disingenuous if she pretended that seeing the attorney general’s law collection didn’t make her heart beat faster. But her heart still seemed to be back in the moment Chase scooped her into his arms.
“And, since we’re on the topic of the future, I’d love to hear your plans, mayor.”
Like that, the scales tipped in Gabriel’s favor.
“Please, call me Gretchen.”
Maria shooed them back into the grand home with a promise to send a pot of tea into the study. At the threshold of the French doors, Gretchen glanced back over her shoulder. Chase’s gaze connected with hers.
He smiled and flashed his hand up in an understated, cool-guy wave.
She mouthed “Surprise.” With jazz hands.
A chuckle shook his shoulders.
And for the first time in maybe forever, she didn’t see falling in love and her career falling in line as mutually exclusive.
While Gretchen and Gabriel’s law talk had echoed against the smooth stone and cavernous foyer, Chase spent time in the kitchen with Maria and her aunt, the one who had prepared the savory meal. He picked their brains about what plant and herb combinations from their culture might be good to distill into water. With absolute certainty, he couldn’t say the water idea would be a full-blown operation, but he found that the longer they spoke about flavors, the more excited he became at the prospect of being the only distillery, stateside, to offer something so unique.
And his promise to Gretchen felt less like a piece of lumber wedged against his sternum.
When it became clear that Gretchen and Gabriel’s conversation might stretch until midnight, Chase bid Maria and her aunt goodnight and retired to the private quarters.
Both cottages were a fair walk from the house. They shared the same limestone and wood building materials, the same shade from towering oaks, and the same meandering gravel paths sourced from local river rock. The one with the blue window shutters had a larger bathroom and a bed on the ground level—no ladder-climbing to a loft required—so Chase ran out to his truck, rain pelting, to fetch Gretchen’s belongings and set them inside the more spacious cabin.
Low barometric pressure associated with storms always made his injuries ache bone-deep. Chase settled into his cottage, boots- and shirt-free to keep the wettest part of him from dripping all over the cottage interior. He popped a few over-the-counter pain pills and pulled out his laptop with the intention of emailing his partners, but jittery sheets of rain on the cottage’s tin roof relaxed him. At some point, he succumbed to the leather couch and dozed off.
A soft knock on the door roused him.
Chase checked his phone for the time. Half-past midnight. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawned, and padded to the door.
In the amber glow of the porch light, Gretchen stood. Umbrella in hand, eyes rounded and glistening, brows perched as if she had spent the entire meandering path to the cottages worrying herself into imperfection and failed.
“What’s wrong?” Chase moved aside and ushered her in. “You must be freezing.”
She flung herself into a hug. Her wool suit jacket felt abrasive on his bare chest. He reached for a blanket on the chair beside the door and wrapped it around her shoulders. Still, she trembled against him.
“Gretchen, what happened?” A million scenarios raced through his head: she had gotten lost on the dark property; his fancy water from Holland had made her sick. Jesus, what if Gabriel told her she didn’t have what it took to follow her dreams?
“Gabriel told me about the bull that cracked your skull, near your right eye. That it was the highest combined score, rider and bull, and the biggest payout in the history of professional bull riding at the time.”
“Yeah?” The word slogged out from a place of confusion between his sleepy brain and his tongue. He wasn’t following.