he wondered if her blond hair would be pulled back in a prim little bun. If she would be wearing one of those pencil skirts that he imagined was supposed to be demure, but instead put him in the mind of pushing it up her hips, or grabbing hold of the zipper and working it down, leaving it in a heap of demolished modesty on the floor of his bedroom.
He had not let himself have fantasies like this about her thirteen years ago. No way in hell. At least he hadn’t indulged them.
But she was a woman now, not a seventeen-year-old girl. So all bets were off.
He wasn’t going to do anything about it, of course. Same as back then. Because while she might be a grown woman, she was still off-limits. They needed to get through this business venture with minimal drama.
It felt right. Being here. Wearing the cowboy hat, and heading to the bank to sign a stack of mortgage documents that was probably about as tall as he was. Like he had finally found some way to reconcile the pieces of himself. To repair the parts of him that had been deeply uncomfortable and always displaced living in major cities. And to deal with that restless, unsatisfied part of him that had felt trapped in small towns.
He had gotten an opportunity to better himself, and he had taken it. To become something more. To add layers of importance to himself. To get all the money and status that his mother had sure as hell been convinced would have made her happy. Rather than her children.
And then, he had happily written her a check so she would finally shut the hell up.
He had taken immense satisfaction from the fact that he had been the one to provide her that money. He, the one who had been responsible for her sad, stale life, as far as she was concerned. Her most hated son. The one who had been beneath her notice at the best of times, going without food and water for extended periods. And the one who had been subject to her expressions of rage at other times.
But it didn’t matter. Not now. He had made good. He had gotten his own back.
Life was pretty damn good, all things considered.
On that note, he pulled into the parking lot of Copper Ridge Credit Union and killed the engine on his truck. He recognized Sabrina’s little silver car in the lot already. It was very her. Sleek, contained. Then he wondered what had happened to that pretty, reckless girl he had once known who ran barefoot and let her blond hair fly free.
You happened to her, you asshole, or have you not listened to anything she’s said to you?
He snorted. Listening had never been his strong suit.
Sabrina chose that exact moment to pop out the front door of the bank, her expression tight and her hand wrapped around a Styrofoam cup that was steaming, and full of coffee he assumed.
Bank coffee was not his favorite.
“There you are,” she said. “You’re late.”
He lifted his arm and looked at his watch. “Like two minutes late. Are they waiting?”
“No,” she said. “But I was.”
She turned sharply and went back into the building, and he shook his head as he followed her in.
The credit union building was new, at least new to him. With high ceilings and glossy floors. It was much larger and a bit fancier than anything he typically ascribed to the aesthetic of Copper Ridge. Though, there was also a touch of that rustic Oregon flair in the wooden crossbeams on the ceiling, and the supports throughout the lobby area. There were large windows that made the most of the view of the rocks, scrubby pines and the ocean out back.
The mist was clinging to the top of the gray waves today, the sky blending into the water.
And Sabrina stood out in bright contrast to that.
She surprised him today, wearing a pair of black pants that conformed to her slender legs, bright pink shoes and a neutral-colored sweater. Her blond hair was up. He hadn’t seen it down once since he had come back.
It made his fingers itch.
He found the coffee station and decided to make himself a cup, even though it involved powdered creamer. It was something to do. Something other than reaching up and taking Sabrina’s hair out of its bun.
He imagined that he probably shouldn’t harass her right before they went in to sign paperwork. He should wait until after. When it was too late for her to pull out.
He had already faxed over all the legal agreements for the business partnership, and they had been signed by Lindy. For this, Sabrina would be signing on behalf of the winery.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asked.
She jerked, like he had shocked her with a cattle prod. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Have you ever signed mortgage documents?”
“Yes. I bought a house four years ago.”
“Good.” That kind of surprised him. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. That she lived on the winery property, or that she perhaps still lived with her parents. Which was ridiculous, considering she was thirty years old.
But rich girls like her, they often did continue living with their parents. At least, in his head they did. Otherwise, they were sent to some fancy school by their parents. And then subsequently had their housing paid for.
“Where did you go to school?”
She looked at him blankly. “What?”
He realized that he had skipped a step with her. But in his head it had made sense. “School. I was just wondering where you went to college.”
“Oh. Just... I went to Oregon State.”
“I figured you would go somewhere a little bit...bigger of a deal.”
“It’s a great school,” she said, visibly bristling. “Go Ducks.”
It was fine enough, he was sure. But he had gone to a top-ranked university with her father’s money. He had assumed that she would do nothing less.
“I figured that you would go somewhere further afield,” he said. “That’s all.”
She stiffened. “Things change.”
“All right. I guess that’s true. So, what kind of house do you have?”
“What, is this interrogate Sabrina hour?”
“In fairness, it’s basically interrogate Sabrina five minutes. Hour is vastly dramatizing the situation.”
“Have you ever bought a house?” she asked, clearly looking to turn the spotlight onto him.
“Not a house. But a penthouse. New York City.”
She blinked rapidly, her pale eyebrows knitting together. “But those cost...millions of dollars.”
He just let the implication of that hang between them, and watched as her skin went slightly waxen.
“Grassroots
