Heaven knew she’d turned those memories over and over in her mind last night. But she wasn’t letting them intrude on her daytime too.
The morning was pleasant, at least: sunny, midseventies, slight breeze.
She hit the sidewalk and turned toward town. Wyatt came beside her, street side, and matched his pace to hers. Her heart gave a heavy thump at his sudden nearness.
“So, tell me about your outfitters business.”
Grace was relieved at the neutral topic. “I started it last year, running it out of the inn, basically. I have a decent web presence and have managed to accumulate some quality equipment. We’ll be selling the inn shortly, though, so I need to find a retail space for it.”
“Why are you selling the inn?”
“That was always the plan—get it established as a business, then sell it. My brother will be moving to California—his fiancée lives there—and Molly wants to move to Tuscany and eventually open an inn.”
“You’re the only one staying here then?”
She’d expected him to react to the Italy thing. Most people did. Grace shrugged. “It’s home.”
“Your parents live here?”
“They passed a while back.”
She felt his gaze on her for a long moment. “Sorry to hear that.”
“So, yes, it’ll be just me.” Even she heard the forlorn note in her voice. What would Bluebell be without her family? She guessed she’d soon find out.
“You’ll miss them, your siblings.”
“Of course. But I have friends, and this is a close-knit community. Sometimes too much so, if you know what I mean. What do you think of the area so far?”
He nodded as they crossed the street. “Nice. Scenic. Plenty to do.”
“Where’d you say you were from?” she asked even though he’d never actually said.
“Charlotte.”
“Born and bred?”
“Originally from Raleigh. Were you born here?”
“A Bluebell girl through and through.”
“You like to travel?”
“Sure, I’ve been here and there. But mostly I like it here.” She flashed a saucy smile at him.
“Fair enough.”
“What about you . . . world traveler?”
He slid her a sideways look, the corner of his lips tipping up. “Here and there.”
“Are you trying to be an enigma, or does it just come naturally?”
“Comes pretty natural.”
She laughed.
“You seem awfully young to own a business—two businesses.”
Grace cocked a look at him. “Is that your way of asking my age?”
“I’m usually more subtle.”
“I have no doubt.” Grace took a step up the curb and turned right, leading them down Church Street. They had to walk fairly close to fit on the sidewalk, and she caught the scent of his woodsy cologne.
“You’re not going to tell me?” he said finally.
“You haven’t asked.”
“How old are you, Grace?”
“I’m twenty-one, Wyatt. How old are you?”
“Ancient.”
“You’re aging well. Not a gray hair in sight. Come on, now, I told you.”
“Twenty-six.”
Grace widened her eyes dramatically. “You’re right. Positively ancient.”
He skirted a root that had grown through the sidewalk. “What made you want to open an outfitters business?”
She hitched her shoulder. “I’ve always been active and outdoorsy, and I saw a need in town for such a place.”
“Sounds like a big challenge.”
“I like a challenge.” She gave him a look from the corner of her eye. Had that come off flirty? She hadn’t meant it to. She didn’t think. “But to be honest, I mostly do the fun stuff, and my brother handles the financial side. He’s teaching me, but I’m not a natural with numbers and spreadsheets. How about you? How’d you become an EMT?”
He paused long enough she wondered if he was going to answer at all.
“I’m actually in security. The EMT training was part of that.”
Security? She had about a dozen questions. For starters, what kind of security? Did he work in a prison? At a bank? Was he a policeman? A sheriff? But she wasn’t Molly. She wouldn’t push for answers. He obviously liked his privacy, and she could respect that.
“What’s your next hike?” she asked instead. “You should definitely head up to Stone Gap Bridge before you leave. It’s a swinging bridge stretched across a deep canyon, a popular tourist destination.”
“Sounds treacherous.”
“You strike me as the type of guy who might like an adrenaline rush.”
His lips twitched. “Just might.”
They crossed another street and passed the coffee shop. She waved at a couple of women drinking on the patio. “Church friends.”
“Where do you attend?”
Gracie pointed up the street at the white structure with the traditional steeple. “Right there. First Community Church.”
“Ah. The famous church of Church Street.”
“The very one. Do you attend anywhere?”
“Not for a while.” His tone said subject closed.
She sensed his silence held a story, and she’d love to know it. But he was a stranger, only passing through, and she was just the innkeeper.
The library was just ahead, and Grace found herself reluctant to part ways.
“You’ll have to stop in at the coffee shop sometime. It’s really good. Their frappés are amazing. I know, I hate to be a cliché—that’s such a basic girl drink. But my opinion stands.”
“You’re not a basic anything, Grace.”
Oh really? She arched a brow his direction.
His lips curled in an almost smile, and she wondered what he looked like when he really went all out and showed his teeth and everything. She hoped to put a real smile on his face before he left town. She had a feeling he could use a little levity in his life.
Her footsteps slowed as they reached the Bluebell Public Library.
He glanced up at the old brick building, at the American flag fluttering in the breeze.
“Well, here we are. Thanks for the escort. And good luck on the retail space.”
“Thanks.”
He treated her to one of those intense looks before he headed up the sidewalk with that purposeful stride that was already becoming familiar.
* * *
Wyatt settled at the microfilm machine, armed with the appropriate slides. The librarian had helped him find what he was searching for and instructed him on the machine. He found himself reluctant to dive into the old newspaper articles.
He’d rather think about Grace. He’d enjoyed talking with her; the walk went too quickly. She’d been open enough, a little feisty even, but she didn’t push him when they’d touched on topics he preferred to avoid. He didn’t expect good intuition and restraint in a woman so young, so innocent. A small-town girl.
Twenty-one. He shook his head. He’d been a numbskull at twenty-one and wasn’t sure he’d advanced much beyond that. But twenty-one seemed like a long time ago. He felt older than his age—always had—and given his job, he’d lived a comparatively worldly life. He’d parted with his innocence a long time ago.