“You grew up here, in Captivity?”
“Uh-huh.” He swallowed another bite of pancake before elaborating. “Born and raised in Captivity.”
Her smile told him she got the joke. “Was that as limiting as it sounds?”
To be honest, he’d never though so, until recently. Growing up in a small, tight-knit community where he’d never questioned his place provided a level of comfort and stability he’d never fully realized, much less appreciated. It simply…was. He’d been confident of the utter rightness of it. Until it wasn’t. Until things went so fucking wrong, and now everyone and everything felt too close, and too heavy, and the tightness of the knit something he needed to escape, before he really did lose his mind. He wished he could say he’d outgrown the place, but that skirted the truth. “It has its pros and cons.”
She cocked a thumb toward the window. “Cons like blizzards in March?”
Now it was his turn to smile. “Unpredictable spring weather is just one of Captivity’s many charms. Snow’s not such an issue when you’re used to it.” But it would be for her, he imagined, having grown up surrounded by sand, sunshine, and no precipitation. She’d traded cacti for palm trees and added an ocean by relocating to Los Angeles, but still—sand and sunshine. Life in a place like Captivity probably seemed inconceivable to someone like Izzy.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she replied. “But, okay, Mr. Born and Bred, what about your family? Parents? Siblings?”
He should have thought faster and gotten in front of the question, but he hadn’t. Now a knot twisted in his gut. He pushed his plate away. “My parents retired at fifty and followed a lifelong dream to travel the world.”
Her brows rose. “Fifty’s young for retirement.”
“Running the only airfield in town, and a small one at that, means the day-to-day operations are difficult to delegate. The business kept them tied to Captivity for the better part of twenty-five years. They worked hard—seven days a week in the high season—and they’ve more than earned the opportunity to step away and have some fun while they’re still young enough to enjoy it. They bought a condo in Denver, a Cessna—their version of an RV—and fly it where and when the mood takes them, and are, by all accounts, having the adventure of their lives. When the time comes, I’ll let them know my plans for the airfield, but when they announced their retirement, they meant it. Signed their interest over before they left, so they don’t need to be involved in the sale. As far as siblings”—he swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat—“there’s my sister, Bridget. She’s twenty-five and spends as much time as possible with her head in the clouds.”
Izzy frowned. “She’s flighty?”
“Literally. She’s a pilot for Captivity Air.”
“Is she going to be okay with us pretending to be involved?”
“I think we’ll just let that ride where she’s concerned.”
Long eyelashes fluttered wide. “You want to mislead your sister about us? About my true reason for being here? If she doesn’t go ballistic when you spring a potential new sister-in-law on her out of nowhere, she will when you tell her about the proposed sale. I think you should level with her and swear her to secrecy. After all, Captivity Air is hers, too, isn’t it?”
“Technically, she owns a third…sorry”—his heart clenched at the error—“half the business, but she doesn’t have a voting interest until she turns thirty. As far as our out-of-the-blue relationship goes, Bridge and I have a little understanding about our personal lives. I don’t drag her into the details of mine, and she doesn’t parade every guy-of-the-minute past me. Considering we share a house, that arrangement works pretty well, all around.” He paused for a sip of coffee. “With the sale, I’d just as soon not debate the thing with her until it’s ready to be inked. So long as the deal allows her to keep flying, keeps her administrative hassles to a minimum, and basically lets her continue living her life the way she’s living it, she’ll be fine with whatever.” Not to mention two million dollars richer.
Izzy’s pretty brown eyes narrowed at that. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.” Mostly. Probably.
“And you?” She tipped her head. A loose tendril of hair flowed over the big collar of her sweater, and he battled an urge to twine the silky length around his finger. “What makes you want to do this deal? A pot of money from Skyline? Or is the operation losing viability?”
It wasn’t, and she’d discover that soon enough once she started crawling through the financials, so he couldn’t use that excuse. Instead, he resorted to the same reasons he’d given Chuck. Although Chuck had cause to doubt his explanations, Izzy didn’t. And wouldn’t. He took a deep breath. “The operation remains viable, but”—he shrugged, trying to feign a casualness he didn’t feel—“I think the whole community could benefit from us becoming part of a larger enterprise, and the infusion of new resources and opportunities. Skyline put together an interesting proposal.”
An escape hatch. An eject button. A way out of a role he couldn’t handle anymore.
“I agree, based on what I reviewed.” She tipped her head the other way, as if easing a kink in her neck, and aimed what he could only call a determined look at him. “But the proposal was nonbinding, and those documents sometimes get a little fluffy, a little sales-y. When we put this deal together, I’ll make sure they deliver what they’re offering. You’re on both sides of the transaction. Are you going to be comfortable taking orders from the new owner?”
“I’m only on the other side of the transaction for twelve months according to the proposal, and I’m looking to negotiate that down.” He drank the last of his coffee. “Way down.”
Her coffee cup froze on the way to her lips. “How far down?”
“Three months. Six, max.”
She placed her cup on the table. “You want out of Captivity. Why?”
Well, shit. He walked into that. “I’ve outgrown it.”
Chapter Seven
Izzy had a bad feeling about this. Well, about many things pertaining to her stint in Captivity, but most strongly, at the moment, about the metal-toothed torture device Trace had borrowed from the inn and attached to the toe of her boot with two bindings.
“Are you sure I can’t just walk to the airfield?” The air smelled cold, which had never qualified as a scent to her before arriving in Captivity, but now it did. Cold and slightly piney, with a faint, nostril-tickling whiff of chimney smoke. From her perch on a split log bench under the covered sidewalk outside the inn, she squinted at the cloudless blue sky and crisp morning sun refracting off the sloping expanses of blinding white snow. The red shingled terminal blazed in the distance. The not-too-distant distance. Two miles, maybe two and a half, by her guess. Within her walking capabilities.