she didn’t jump. But giving up her solo practice was a huge step.
“Just a few more days to clear my head,” she begged.
Good. The request was vague enough that she wasn’t committing, but neither was she saying no. Maybe she did need this vacation. Perfect opportunity to get herself over this weird hump. She was going to take the job. It was indeed a once in a lifetime opportunity, and she hadn’t found the right man without it, had she?
“All right,” Irwin said kindly. “Give your father my best.”
“I will.”
“We’ll talk soon.” Irwin posed it like a statement not a question and Fiona appreciated the grace.
“Absolutely.” She was already formulating her acceptance, which she’d give him after letting Ang drag her to Vermont. Irwin deserved a one hundred percent whole-hearted commitment and nothing less.
Spring in Vermont apparently meant something different than it did in New York. Instead of delicate budding flowers and cute yellow ducks, Vermont got snow. Lots and lots of snow.
If Fiona didn’t know better, she’d think they’d gone back in time, and not just a few months. Decades. Everything here had that old-world feel to it, the same kind she sometimes got when crossing the threshold of a building on the Lower East Side that hadn’t changed since the early part of last century. Ghosts of days gone by flitted through the very atmosphere, weighing everything down with a sense of permanence and roots.
That part, she appreciated.
“It is so pretty here,” Angela gushed as Fiona drove past yet another white field that looked exactly like the adjacent white field. “Fun fact. Did you know Vermont has more cows per capita than any other state?”
“And it snows in the springtime,” Fiona couldn’t help but add as they passed another field covered in white flakes. Come on. Some variety would be nice right about now. “Can you check my phone and see if I have service yet, please?”
“What?” Ang sputtered. “No. No more work.”
Ang should know by now that Fiona’s real estate brain didn’t just shut off because her friend had willed it to be so. “Just because I’m out of town doesn’t mean my clients have to know that.”
“Okay, you have to let it go. You are here to relax and enjoy.” Ang punctuated each word with a smooth hand slicing through the air.
“And forget,” she muttered. Easier said than done. “I’m nervous about seeing my dad.”
Work provided a great distraction. Without it, emotions threatened to take over.
If anyone would get that, Ang would, though Fiona hadn’t meant to blurt it out like she expected free therapy. There was a fine line when you had a psychologist for a best friend.
“Five whole days of heartfelt healing ahead,” Ang spouted enthusiastically, which Fiona had totally asked for by opening her big mouth.
If it was that easy to heal the rift with her dad, she would have done it already. She hated that they were at odds. Hated it. It was rough on Delia and even sometimes got in the way of Fiona’s relationship with her brother, Brandon.
Of course, having a good relationship with Delia meant that her stepmom sometimes came on a little strong when expressing her concern for Fiona and her life.
“And some heartfelt grilling from my stepmom about why Nate and I broke up.” Yay. Delia meant well. It was just a lot harder to maintain the façade with someone who wouldn’t hesitate to ask probing questions, like what Fiona had done to mend things. “And we’re here.”
A sign with a black swan at the top and The Inn at Swan Lake across the bottom marked the way. Fiona drove the rental crossover SUV up the lane past a picturesque barn like the kind in storybooks with the large white X over the door and shuttered haylofts. The house nestled into the apex of the road where it circled back to the main highway. Horses grazed nearby, peacefully chomping on whatever horses ate when their food source had been buried by a layer of snow.
Throwing the car in park directly in front of the house that doubled as the inn, Fiona stepped out, the chill in the air stealing her breath for a moment. “Welcome to paradise. Or Siberia. This is definitely the frozen tundra.”
“This is adorable,” Ang said, her head swiveling around to take it all in so fast that it was a wonder she registered anything. “I love it.”
“Sure, Vermont is beautiful,” Fiona allowed and flung a hand at the charming two story house with a generously wide wraparound porch. “This only cost me my childhood home.”
“Oh, you poor thing.” There came Ang’s sarcasm, which meant Fiona had blathered on about it too long, apparently.
Can’t have it both ways, Ang. If she wanted Fiona to express her feelings about things, then she was going to have to hear about it too, now wasn’t she?
A racket on the other side of the car cut her off before she could remind Ang that she’d been the one to insist Fiona get in touch with her inner crybaby. Turning simultaneously, both women got an eyeful of the best scenery in Vermont thus far—about a hundred yards away, a rugged, clean-cut guy loaded wood into a wheelbarrow.
Hello. He bent to pick up another log and Fiona couldn’t help but notice how he moved, as if comfortable in his own skin. Very nice. Hey, she might be nursing a broken heart, but there was absolutely nothing broken about her eyes.
“Who is that?” Fiona murmured. “A groundskeeper or something?”
“I don’t know.” Ang waggled her brows. “He’s cute, though.”
Yes, he was. Straight out of an LLBean catalogue, and apparently he lifted weights, too, because some of those logs were not small. This was the kind of scenery Fiona could really appreciate.
Angela’s cell phone rang. “Oh, I have service. What part of ‘I’m on vacation’ did you not understand?” she bit out to whoever had called as she paced away.
So not fair that Ang had reception and Fiona didn’t. It was one more cruel joke in a long line of disappointments this Spring. “Oh, this is definitely not Manhattan.”
Only the sky heard her because this place put new meaning in the term “remote.” Even the cute groundskeeper couldn’t hold her attention. A rooster crowed and as she glanced toward it, a huge pile of mushrooms near her feet caught her attention. They were growing right there on a pile of logs near the drive.
“Gross.” She kicked at them but there were a lot and they held on tenaciously. Some of the slimy roots stuck to her Fendi boots that she’d snagged at an end-of-season sale at Barney’s only two weeks ago. “Yuck.”
“Hey, whoa!” The cute groundskeeper rushed her suddenly, peeling off his gloves as he crossed to the pile of logs she’d been kicking, his expression incredulous. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just getting rid of these mushrooms.” Not that she had to explain herself to him. “Eyesores like that can really decrease a property’s
