CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ELIZABETH
IT’S STRANGE WHEN WE MEET again. The vibe is almost a tangible thing — a static electricity that neither of us can see, but that we both seem to feel. How are we supposed to react at this moment? I’ve never, ever slept with a guy once then walked away, or had him walk away. I can count my relationships on one hand. None were like this. It’s new ground, and I’m not sure where to step.
We’re in the main lodge. Mateo is up at the desk inspecting something. Soon he’ll move into this place, and other than vague missives from my father, it dawns on me that I have no real clue what Mateo will build. A camp, or an outdoor challenge? Dad made it sound grueling, like a resort for masochists.
Will he keep the lodge where it is, or bulldoze the place? Will he build more luxurious homes like the few my family’s tended, or build shelters meant for hard men and women who like things rough?
He doesn’t hear me when I enter. There’s commotion in the lobby: a quartet of construction workers, taking photos and measurements. Only when they glance over and smile lecherously do I realize I’ve been standing by the door like a maiden waiting for a train to take her away. My purse is over my shoulder. I’m wearing a green dress that people say matches my eyes. I spent more time on my hair today than I usually do, or would for a meeting. And I’m wearing heels. On the mountain.
I watch Mateo. He’s in jeans and a tee. It’s far more casual than I’ve ever seen him, but in subtle ways, I see the care he’s taken with his appearance, too. The shirt fits him perfectly, flattering his broad shoulders and back. From here, he looks freshly shaven.
His head twitches in the now-still room. It’s as if I’ve uttered a cough to grab his attention, but I haven’t moved. He senses me, like a wolf finding one of its fellows on the wind.
He turns. I’m standing in the center of the room, fingers lightly clasped in front of my waist, watching him. At the last minute, my wits return. I take a step, glancing around, to hide my recent trance.
“You made it.”
My radar is at its most sensitive. I scan every nuance, looking for information I don’t have. Information about what this is, why he invited me, and why I came. What he’s thinking. What he believes about me, and whether it’s good or bad.
I settle for a neutral reply. One that, despite my intentions, comes out defensive. “Of course I made it. Why wouldn’t I make it?”
Something inside me says, Settle down. But I notice the feverish pounding of my heart and my fingers shaking with the force of every beat.
Relax, Elizabeth. This was his idea.
“You look nice.” His eyes scan me. Is he merely observing? Appreciating? Lusting? Or judging?
“I just grabbed the first thing in my closet.”
“Green is good on you. It matches your eyes.”
My eyes flick away. When I look back, he’s suddenly awkward, looking away himself.
“Is everything, you know, in order?” I ask after the odd beat. I’ve never wanted more for someone else to be present. I would even welcome the ogling workers.
“With the lodge?”
“With the mountain,” I say. “But sure — with the lodge.”
“It’s what I expected.”
“When will you start moving stuff in?”
“We’ve already started.”
“Don’t you have to wait until the closing to take possession?”
“Damon said it was okay. There’s a lot to bring.”
Nobody enters the room. We haven’t moved any closer, and are speaking across twenty feet of hardwood floor.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Mateo suggests.
“I was just curious. I don’t even know what you’re going to do with the place.”
It seems to take less than thirty seconds for him to tell me, and we haven’t moved. It sounds about how I thought, with no new information. I can tell he’s holding back. There’s more to what he’ll create, but he doesn’t want to say. I’m not the only one with my armor on.
“Want to go somewhere and sit down?”
I look around the lobby. The chairs have all been removed. Same for the couches and stools that once flanked the bar on the southern wall.
“There are some benches outside.”
I know those benches. It’s where all the bugs end up when it rains. They’re kind of gross. When I was little, I brought friends up here, and we’d dare each other to sit on them. The idea of sitting on them now with Mateo is funnier than it should be. I laugh a little, and Mateo’s head ticks, wondering what’s amused me. But then I see the ghost of a smile — tentative, but there — as he echoes my change in mood.
“What?”
“Maybe we could take a walk,” I suggest.
“Wa— Okay.”
I leap on the hesitation. “What, you don’t want to take a walk?”
“It’s just not what I expected.”
“From me, you mean?”
“Well …”
“I grew up here, buddy. I can skip hopscotch across Whore’s Ruin.”
“Whore’s Ruin?”
“I don’t blame you for not knowing. It’s an unofficial name.”
He’s smiling now. I can tell he’s trying to hold it in, but I’ve surprised him.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“I just didn’t figure you for …” He stops, stuck, but then he sweeps his hands in vague circles to indicate the whole of this weird discussion. “This.”
It’s only weird for him. Being here, if I ignore the fact that it might be my last time, makes me comfortable. Something inside me is changing. Opening up. I figured Mateo would have to bridge the strangeness between us, but the mere mention of Whore’s Ruin has me feeling fifteen again.
“Because I’m a stuck-up city girl? What, I’m not granola enough for you?”
“I didn’t say—”
“That’s it. Lace up. I guess someone is going to have to give you the real tour, so you don’t hurt yourself when you start shipping in climbers and adrenaline jockeys.”
Mateo shrugs. He takes a step forward, then looks down at my feet. At my heels.
“What?” I say, reaching down to slip the right one away. “They come off.”
“You’re going to walk barefoot?”
Please. Before Mom died, I used to come up here just to run the trails.
I look up at Mateo from my half-bent position, feeling one side of my lips move upward into that lopsided smile that I can’t seem to lose.
Then I look down at his feet, clad in boots that smell like a workshop.
“A real man would,” I say.