The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

I stole another bite of the warm bun, chewing while trying to hide my grin, gazing out the window at the traffic crawling along the street. “Both. And bath bombs, scrubs, lip balms, facial creams, and toners …” I blotted my mouth with my napkin. “It’s really an endless list.”

“Fascinating.”

I coughed a little laugh. “It’s really not.”

“No?” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his neck. It tightened his shirt a bit more across his chest. “I find it all very intriguing.”

Ronin possessed a special charm and way above average looks. Okay … he was flat-out sexy. The heat in my cheeks probably made my thoughts all too transparent.

“To me,” I conceded, “it is interesting and fun. I genuinely like my job. I’m not sure my parents imagined my degree leading to my owning a bath shop, but they’re happy that I’m happy.”

“I can relate. My father imagined me chasing his gold medals in skiing. I loved watching him ski. And I, too, love skiing. However, I was always more fascinated with the men and women who brought injured skiers down the mountain than the exuberant victors crossing the finishing line in record time. The only clock that interested me was the one that meant saving a life. That’s what I do now. I’ve worked in several countries as ski patrol. And I’ve spent many summers working as a paramedic with fire and EMS.”

Hot buns. Yummy bubble tea. Sunny and fifty-five degrees in beautiful Vancouver. And an Asian Frenchman who liked saving lives. Short of Graham giving Lila a dozen orgasms … there’s no way Lila’s day beat mine.

“I don’t suppose you’ll marry me, will you?” My mouth twisted into a smirk before I laughed—a hearty laugh so he saw my humor, my joking personality (I was ninety percent joking).

“Probably.” He shrugged one shoulder.

Dead.

In that moment, I died.

He did not just say that, did he? I was joking. Yes, he was joking too. That meant we were two strangers who found joking about marriage completely acceptable. That had to be a small percent of the population. Less than two percent?

We exchanged looks that neither of us could hold for more than a few seconds without averting our gazes.

What was that?

What the hell just happened?

“So …” I stood on my wobbly legs. “I should get back to the hotel. Thanks for sharing your table with me.”

Ronin unfolded his body from the chair, proving my theory—he was tall. The whole damn package.

“It was nice meeting you, Evelyn.” Ronin glanced at his phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his wool jacket. Then he grabbed his book and opened the door for me.

“Thank you.” I slid past him, accidentally—or not so accidentally—brushing against him. “What did you do here?” I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Nor did I want to sound desperate, but I was sure the hypothetical marriage proposal already blew my cover.

“Which way?” He jerked his chin toward the right.

I pointed to the left, the direction of my hotel.

“Ski patrol in Whistler. I fly out of Vancouver tomorrow for Denver.”

We strolled down the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of our jackets, taking our time. I craved all the seconds I could get with my new friend. At the stoplight, I frowned at my threadbare leggings and pilled, black sweater jacket.

Five years of scuff marks painted my charcoal boots.

No makeup.

Also, as Graham so kindly pointed out, my hair was not shampoo-commercial worthy.

Ronin didn’t seem to care—after all, he could’ve made up any excuse to hop in a cab or walk in the opposite direction, yet he didn’t.

“What does your father do now?” I asked.

“He’s retired, so he travels a lot with my mom. She’s a designer and owns a clothing line. It’s a small line with a limited market, but she’s doing exactly what she loves. Her best friend is her business partner, so it affords her time to travel with my dad. I can’t keep up with them. I think they’re in Kuala Lumpur right now, but I’m not entirely sure.” He chuckled. “Do you live close to your family?”

“Yes. My parents live in Denver. My sister and her husband live in San Francisco, close to my dad’s parents. And my grandma, my mom’s mom, moved into an assisted living facility six months ago in Aurora. I moved out of my apartment last month and into her home, an actual log cabin in Aspen. My grandfather built it. I’m sure it could be worth a lot of money, but my grandma wants me to live there. It’s important to her to see it stay in the family.”

Ronin bobbed his head several times. “I like that. It seems like our generation doesn’t really value things like log cabins built by grandparents. I heard the value of a lot of antiques has gone down because we just don’t value them like generations before ours.”