Mouth full of frosting, Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh no,” she mumbled around her food. “I’m blameless. Blame. Less. With a capital B.”
Stealing a bite of her cinnamon roll, even though he had one of his own, Graham watched as she stabbed her fork at his hand.
“That doesn’t actually hurt.”
“It’s not supposed to. I’m establishing a defensive perimeter.” Content she was successfully defending her territory, Zoey reached over and stole a bite of his breakfast. Graham could have defended his own territory too—his reflexes weren’t that bad—but her little smirk of victory was worth it.
“You’re dangerous, Zo.”
Misunderstanding his meaning, Zoey sighed. “Yes, but a girl needs her Krav Maga. If it means anything, I just wasn’t expecting a chainsaw. And you had that super scary mask.”
“Which was protecting my face from wood chips.”
“So you claim.”
When he leaned in, resting his weight on his forearms and wiggling his fork at her, Zoey flicked his arm in warning. Graham relaxed backward in his seat, nudging his plate toward her so she didn’t have to reach as far to steal from him.
“So did you make up for lost time yesterday?”
Zoey cringed in remembrance. “Lana felt bad about missing my calls, so she ‘made it up to me’ too.”
“Something tells me her version of an apology isn’t quite as carbo-loaded as mine.”
“No, she felt like taking me to have our body hair violently ripped out by the roots by a woman with anger issues.”
“Ahh. You met Grace.”
“You’ve met Grace?”
“Of course. Grace is my go-to when I need some manscaping.”
Zoey’s jaw dropped in shock. He leaned over and brushed his thumb over her chin to close it. “Haircuts and beard trims only,” he promised. “But I like the way you think.”
Blushing furiously, Zoey scrunched her nose at him. “You don’t get your hair cut at the resort.”
“No, but I’ve been known to sneak in a mani-pedi or two. A guy can care about his cuticles too, you know.”
“I have no idea how much of what’s coming out of your mouth is true or just your own personal brand of passive-aggressive societal mockery disguised as a sense of humor.”
Pleasure spread across his face. “Maybe I just call it like I see it.”
They ate in a silence far more comfortable than should have been expected from a pair with their deeply sordid history of mutual histrionics.
“Graham? You wanted me to go out with you to breakfast, but I saw the looks they were giving you. I wasn’t supposed to know about this place, was I?”
“Busted.” Rubbing an awkward hand over the back of his neck, Graham glanced away. “Yeah, part of not getting overrun by the tourists is not letting them know where our favorite places are. I broke the rules. Frankie wasn’t mad, but she was eyeing you to figure out why.”
“So…why did you?”
“Honestly? I really don’t know. I just wanted to see you again, and I thought you might like it here.”
As admissions went, it wasn’t a great one. Yet she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, a defensiveness in her shoulders started to slide away. This time, the silence was awkward, but as he caught her eye, finding himself smiling somewhat stupidly, that same blush was back on her cheeks.
“This is a really great cinnamon roll. You’re forgiven.”
He knew she’d see it his way.
* * *
Killian Montgomery was exactly what Zoey expected him to be. Handsome, charming, and rich enough to have the grace not to rub it in her face or the face of anyone else around them.
The whatsits, Haleigh and Enzo, were far less secure in their importance in the world. There was money and then there was money. And while Enzo seemed to love throwing around names and places as much as Haleigh loved throwing around her designer clothing, Killian just relaxed back, taking it all in.
Even though Zoey couldn’t eat another bite without going into a diabetic coma, she agreed to join them for a late breakfast, sipping water while Haleigh gave the waitress a hard time over the toastiness of her toast, the saltiness of her caviar, and the freshness of the orange juice watering down her champagne.
Not for the first time, Zoey saw the bored, disillusioned look in a member of the Montgomery family’s eyes, although with far less eye rolling than Lana was currently doing. The Montgomerys might have been jaw-droppingly wealthy, but they were always exceedingly kind to the people around them. Zoey bet Killian and Lana had never given anyone a hard time over toast in their lives, and clearly neither were impressed by Haleigh’s attitude.
With a promise she would spend the evening with them, Zoey called a rideshare to take her from the hotel to the car rental place just outside of town. The driver was young and drove a bit fast, but he was far cheaper than arranging a shuttle with the hotel and easier than catching a ride with the preoccupied Lana.
To his credit, Graham’s suggestion for where to get a rental car was a good one. She’d asked for Leah and got her husband, Collin, instead. After an awkward exchange in which Zoey learned she absolutely sucked at name dropping, a woman with a “Leah” name tag showed up, two young boys at her heels.
The undeniable smell of reindeer dog and fries wafted from the unmarked paper take-out bag in her hands.
“You would not believe the line today,” she told her husband. “It actually went around the corner of the store. If he didn’t let me cut in front of everyone, we’d never get anything over there.” Leah shook her head in disbelief. “Here, eat while it’s still warm. I’ll finish up.”
Sure enough, when they set the contents of the take-out bag on the waiting area coffee table, the hot dogs had cute little paper reindeer antlers.
Zoey’s stomach rumbled despite the fact Vixen and Comet were being slathered with ketchup in the corner, and she wasn’t even hungry.
What was the man doing to her? He and his food had crawled into her brain.
Leah picked up the rental paperwork Zoey had started, read the name on the top, and then she glanced up.
“So you’re Zoey. Graham said you might be coming by. Can I see your driver’s license? Thomas, James, share with each other. Those fries are for both of you.”
Convinced it was easier to get ax murdered up here than previously assumed, Zoey had kept her driver’s license in her pocket since the chainsaw, crotch kick debacle. If someone found her beneath a cedar stump, she wanted at least to be identified. Handing the license over, Zoey glanced at the kids. Their fries smelled so good, Zoey’s stomach rumbled a second time, loud enough for the other woman to hear.