some things still triggered her: the sound of tires squealing, the first scent of summer in the air, the crunch of gravel under her feet. And now the van.
She shook away the memory. She’d been through counseling as a child. Her doting parents and concerned siblings were almost smothering. After months and months of remembering, she just wanted to forget. She finally told her family to stop. If she wanted to talk about it, she’d bring it up. They finally acquiesced. It had been years since there’d been a single reference to that early summer day.
But Grace had not forgotten.
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