Mountain Grump, page 5
He seems to do an excellent job of pushing my buttons, though not necessarily the same ones. “You don’t like your brother,” I say.
“I have nothing against Wyatt. Just the fact he doesn’t believe in commitment.”
“And you do?” I glance down at his left hand. It’s absent of a ring, which is good since I’m up in his penthouse suite. “Is there a Mrs. Logan Henderson?”
“No.” He’s quick to answer and shoot down any further conversation on the matter. “That topic is closed for discussion.”
Five
Logan
Cali is quite a chatterbox. Worse than Julianna while she was growing up.
I refuse to discuss my divorce with her. It’s none of her business that my ex-wife, Jess, left me for another man.
It was a real blow to my ego, opening the door and witnessing my best friend shacking up with my wife.
Now, he’s my ex-best friend, and she’s my ex-wife.
I don’t know and don’t care whether the two of them are together. Julianna knows not to discuss it with me. She visits her mother once a month, sometimes twice a month, if there’s a holiday or birthday to celebrate.
But Jess is back in New York City, where we lived before moving to Montana. It’s quite a change of pace.
“Make yourself comfortable. You should probably sit.” I gesture to the sofa. I don’t need Cali tripping over her feet again.
And while she’s insisted that she’s doing fine, the doctor cleared her, and there’s nothing to worry about, I get the nagging feeling that she’s hiding something from me.
I intend to get it out of her before the night is over.
Maybe I can help. If she needs to see a specialist and can’t afford it or requires grossly overpriced medication, I can help tip the scale in her favor.
Cali doesn’t listen. Why would I think that she might spend ten seconds following instructions? The girl is a wild spirit, carefree and bubbly.
We are nothing alike.
That’s not to say I don’t admire that innocence, but she’s still young. Twenty-nine is practically a baby when I look back and remember the crazy things I did in my twenties.
I just turned forty-three, and I swear I’m a different person than I was fourteen years ago. For starters, I was a new father with a one-year-old daughter.
Now I’m a grumpy old man. It comes with being a single father, getting cheated on, and raising a teenage daughter by myself.
I grab a few fresh ingredients from the fridge and take out a giant pot to boil water. “Is there anything that you’re allergic to?” I ask.
Cali shakes her head. “No, but I don’t like cheese.”
“Noted,” I say with a wry grin. “I’ll make us pasta, but no cheese on yours.”
“Thank you.” She pulls the stool out from the counter and sits on it while she watches me cook.
“Do you drink wine?”
“I’d love a glass,” Cali says, and climbs down from the stool. “If you point me in the direction, I can grab us each a glass.”
I open the cabinet and reach for the wine glasses on the top shelf. She’d never be able to reach without climbing on a chair, and that’s entirely out of the question.
“There’s a bottle of red on the counter and a corkscrew in the drawer beneath it.” I gesture toward the wine bottle display. There are only a few bottles out. Most are kept in the basement cellar beneath the lodge.
Cali pops the cork and pours each of us a glass.
I inhale the fragrant aroma before taking a sip. The taste is exquisite. That’s what five hundred dollars a bottle will get you. I have a case in the wine cellar. Most of it is reserved for special guests and when I entertain, which hasn’t happened since the divorce.
My closest friend, the one who didn’t screw me over, Levi Luxenberg, is back in New York City. Not that he can’t visit, but he’s busy with his daughter and his fiancée. The man is quite upstanding. When he learned that he had a five-year-old daughter and she had no one after her mother’s death, he jumped on a plane and brought her home. The nanny too.
When I get settled with the lodge, I have plans to bring them out to explore the slopes. They ought to teach the kid when she’s old enough to ski or snowboard.
Perhaps Julianna can teach Amelia.
“We should have done a toast,” Cali says as she sips the wine. “Wow. This stuff is divine.”
“Yeah, that’s what five hundred a bottle gets you. Divine,” I repeat with a smile.
She coughs on my remark, her eyes wide, and she puts the glass on the counter.
“You don’t like it?” I ask, glancing at her over my shoulder. “You can open a different bottle if it’s too dry for you.”
“No, it’s perfect. It’s expensive. I don’t want to waste a sip before our meal.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I have another case of that stuff in the wine cellar downstairs.”
Cali watches from the counter while I chop the vegetables and dice up the tomatoes, making my homemade spaghetti sauce.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” she asks.
I can’t scold her for asking. It’s a fair question, even if I don’t want to discuss Jess. “My ex never cooked, and I wanted Julianna to eat a proper meal that was healthy and nutritious. Which meant I had to learn.”
“Recently divorced?” she asks.
I’m sure she can Google it if she’s curious. Her phone isn’t out. She’s being polite at least, which I appreciate.
“Yes. I’d prefer not to talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Cali forces a smile, and she takes another sip of the wine before resting the glass and her hands on the counter. “I’m not much of a cook. I mean, I can boil water and make jarred spaghetti sauce, but following a recipe is my downfall. I glance at the sheet, and there are too many instructions, and it gets overwhelming.”
“That’s how Julianna is when I tell her to help with dinner. I can read her the recipe, but if she has to read it, it’s like she’s staring at a foreign language.”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “You get it.”
I don’t get it, but I’ve heard my daughter complain enough about cooking that I managed to create a system where she helps, and we both prepare dinner.
Although we haven’t had to do that since the lodge reopened after renovations, and for a while, I had a private chef preparing our meals while I was going through the divorce. When it was finalized, I didn’t want to get rid of Damien, so I hired him to run the kitchen at the restaurant in the lodge.
We went from being a place to eat at the lodge to being the hottest place in town. Not that the town of Breckenridge is huge, but we stole a bit of business from the other joints in town.
There’s always a wait, even on weeknights off-season. Reservations are recommended.
“Are you any better with dessert?” I ask, glancing at Cali over my shoulder.
She sits propped on the stool, and I swear if she falls off, I’ll never forgive myself for buying those chairs.
“I’m good at eating it.”
I chuckle. “Come here, taste my sauce.” I stir the concoction, and she slides off the stool, eyebrow raised.
“That sounds dirty, Mr. Henderson.”
“Call me Logan.” I let her taste the red sauce with the wooden spoon.
She blows on it for a second before bringing it to her lips. Her eyes close, and she presses her lips together with a slight moan. “Gosh, that’s amazing.”
“You like my sauce?” I say with a smirk. I’m all about innuendo, and this woman is making me hard, watching her tongue swipe across her lips. Her cheeks are rosy and her pupils dark.
“Yes, I’d die for another taste.”
“How is it? Is the sauce too salty?”
“Not at all. It’s perfect. You know how to cook.”
Why does she seem surprised by that fact? I grab the bowls and dish the pasta first, letting her put however much sauce and meat she wants on her meal.
We bring the dishes to the small wooden table in the kitchen. The table expands, but Julianna and I eat downstairs most nights, so there’s been no reason to extend it.
Dinner is pleasant, with polite chit-chat but nothing too intimate or personal. She strays from asking questions about my divorce or daughter, and I do the same, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.
I invited her for a nice meal, not to convince her to sleep with me. Besides, that door is shut. After Jess cheated on me, trusting women again isn’t easy.
By the end of dinner, we’ve demolished the exquisite bottle of wine, and I clear the dishes, rinsing them before putting them into the dishwasher.
“You’re going to make dessert, right?” I joke.
“That depends. Do you have a box of brownie mix in the pantry?”
The elevator dings, and Julianna and Izzie come waltzing into the penthouse. “Hi, Dad. Cali!” Julianna squeals, excited to see who I’ve brought home. My daughter’s eyes widen. “OMG, are you on a date, Dad?”
I never get used to her saying her text speak aloud. “I promised I’d take care of dinner for Cali if she went to the in-house physician.”
“You made her visit Dr. Reynolds?” Julianna’s face scrunches. “He’s hotter than you, Dad.”
“Gee, thanks, kiddo.” I splash her with water, and she shrieks like she’s melting. My kid is all drama. I’m surprised she didn’t try out for drama club in high school.
“Your daughter is right. Dr. Reynolds is easy on the eyes,” Cali says. She wiggles her eyebrows. “Is he married?”
“No,” I say, and shake my head. “But you’re not his type.”
“What’s that mean?” Cali asks.
“That’s harsh, Old Man, even for you,” Julianna says.
“Old Man?” I glare at my daughter. I’m not the least bit angry, just perturbed that she’d call me that in front of Cali, no less. “And he’s not interested in women nearly half his age,” I say, pinning Cali with my stare.
“I’m twenty-nine,” she says, like that somehow makes it better.
“Dad,” Julianna interrupts us yet again. “Can Izzie spend the night?”
“Izzie needs to ask her parents, but it’s fine with me.” I’m glad to see Julianna spend time with a friend outside school.
Julianna and Izzie head toward the elevator. They’re not done exploring the lodge or may not want to be around any parents. I’m okay with that as well. I like the thought of having Cali alone, to myself.
Once the girls are gone, it’s just Cali and me, alone.
“I was joking earlier about liking Dr. Reynolds,” she says.
I’m unsure why she feels it necessary to explain herself, but I let her ramble on because it’s endearing to listen to her speak.
“Were you?”
“He is easy on the eyes, but he’s not my type.” She lets that thought linger a little too long.
“What is your type?” I ask. I shouldn’t. I should open up a bottle of water, not another bottle of red. I’m pouring us each a glass while I mix the ingredients to make brownies.
Cali is right beside me, her back against the counter. I’m not sure if it’s holding her up or if she’s steady on her feet. Either way, at least she won’t be driving anywhere tonight.
It’s a dangerous game, flirting with a girl bound to break my heart. The woman I loved had destroyed me. Why wouldn’t a woman whom I barely know?
“Tall, dark, handsome.” She smirks, glancing me up and down. “A man who knows what he wants, is kind and considerate and isn’t afraid to speak his mind. Even if it means a disagreement.”
I stew on her words. I’m not sure I fit into the ‘kind and considerate’ category, but the rest is easily me.
“What about you?” Cali asks. “What’s your type?”
I turn the oven on and wait for it to preheat.
“My type?” I ask, and fold my arms across my chest, my back against the counter as I mull over her words. “A woman who doesn’t cheat. That’s honest, even if it’s brutally painful to hear.”
I don’t have much else on the list right now. Jess had met all my mental boxes on the imaginary checklist for girlfriend and eventually wife. But it didn’t matter, because she managed to screw me over, but not before screwing that numb-nuts.
“I’m sorry she hurt you,” Cali says, her voice soft, and she sounds genuine and sincere.
“Yeah, I don’t want to talk about it.” I down the glass of red and pour another, filling the glass. It doesn’t matter if I get tipsy or fully drunk. This is my house and my lodge. I can do whatever the hell I damn well please.
“Understood.” Cali rests a hand on my arm.
Her touch is warm and comforting and radiates a tingle of heat throughout my body. She stirs a flame that I thought was dead inside of me and could never be rekindled.
She steps closer, closing the distance, and her hand rests on my arm, the other on my chest. Cali leans on her tiptoes.
I know what’s coming, and I don’t stop her.
She kisses me, her breath soft and warm. Her lips are smooth and sweet. She tastes like fresh cherries.
I open my mouth to deepen the kiss, but my brain keeps replaying the horrible things that Jess did to me, and I pull away.
“You should go,” I say.
“But we haven’t had dessert yet.”
I turn off the oven, making it apparent that dinner is done. There will be no dessert. She ruined it by crossing the line and kissing me.
I walk toward the elevator, and she sighs, following several feet behind me. I press the button, wanting it to be here already.
The tension in the room is thick.
Cali is breathing heavily from the kiss, or maybe my abrupt nature has her flustered. But I can’t go down that road with her. Not now and likely not ever.
I’m a man too far damaged for repair. She doesn’t deserve me and all the baggage that comes with me.
The elevator doors ding open, and Cali steps inside.
“Goodnight,” I say roughly, and her eyes tighten. She doesn’t say anything. Not even a thank you for dinner.
She’s biting her bottom lip, and I swear if she cries, I won’t be able to contain myself. Cali doesn’t get to cry. She wasn’t the one who was ripped apart and torn to shreds by the one person who vowed to be with me through all of it.
Logically, I recognize it’s not Cali’s fault. But I can’t separate the two tonight.
The doors shut, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she’s gone.
Six
Cali
What the hell just happened? My head spins, and my eyes burn.
I lean back against the elevator, not pressing any buttons.
I can’t remember what floor my room is on. Everything inside of me aches.
I hit the button for the lobby, and the elevator car takes me down to the first floor. I stalk out, heading straight for the bar.
While I could go to bed, a drink sounds better. I walk into the bar. There are a few patrons, but it’s not overly crowded. Most of the lodge is family oriented. The bar is the exception.
I grab a seat at the counter and order a Long Island iced tea. It’s sweet enough, but it will pack a punch. Plus, I’ve already had my fair share of expensive wine upstairs.
That’s probably the reason I stupidly leaned in and kissed Logan Henderson. I didn’t realize he’d freak out when I locked lips with him.
Was kissing me that awful?
“Cali, right?” Wyatt asks. He strolls up from the opposite side of the bar where he’d been playing darts.
“Yes,” I say. I don’t give him much else.
He glances me over as the bartender brings my drink over to me. “Thanks,” I say, and Wyatt gestures toward the alcoholic beverage.
“Put it on my tab. And I’ll have another round.”
“I can buy my drinks,” I snap at him.
“I’m sure you can, but I was being a gentleman.” Wyatt smiles and leans back against the bar. His thumbs hook on the belt loops in his jeans.
He’s handsome, and the longer I stare at him, I can see the resemblance between the two brothers.
“Teach your brother to be a gentleman,” I mutter, gulping down my drink.
Wyatt shifts sideways to face me and eventually takes the empty seat next to me. Perhaps he realizes it’s going to be a long night. “He usually is the gentleman. What’d he do?”
“He kicked me out, sent me into the elevator because I kissed him. Heaven forbid my lips to touch his.”
Wyatt cracks a grin. “You kissed my brother? Good for you.”
“Yeah, not good for me. Did you hear what I said? He kicked me out.”
Wyatt’s brow pinches, and he runs a hand through his hair. “He probably freaked out.”
“From a kiss? The guy’s forty-something. He’s not a virgin,” I say. How can he possibly be freaked out from one simple kiss? I didn’t even get to explore his mouth with my tongue.
“He’s been married since he was nineteen to the same woman. His first and only love. The man doesn’t have much experience outside his ex-wife.” Wyatt chuckles. “And he’d murder me if he knew I was telling you this.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I down the rest of my drink and gesture to the bartender for another. “He acts like it’s a crime for me to have feelings for him. I shouldn’t like him. I want to hate him,” I say, and my nose twitches.
“But?”
“But he’s gorgeous. Have you seen your brother? Not to mention how kind and caring he can be when he’s not acting like a jerk. He carried me to dinner the other night when I hurt my ankle, and earlier today, he carried me to the in-house physician.”
“That doesn’t sound like Logan, carrying guests around the lodge.” Wyatt chuckles and sips his beer. “Don’t get me wrong. My brother likes you. It’s obvious. He doesn’t invite anyone up into his home, ever. He’s just not great with getting in touch with his feelings and shit.”
I don’t believe Wyatt. “He doesn’t like me.”
“I'll bet the next round that he likes you,” Wyatt says.
