Page 28 of The Hitman’s Final Job

I consider lying. It would be the sensible option. A clean, simple No, it’s fine, and we move on and nobody examines anything too closely but …

“Yes,” I say.

He nods. “Do you want me to go?”

“No.” It comes out faster than I intend.

“You know, being a responsible adult sucks. Being emotionally intelligent and recognizing when you can’t have what you want sucks. And most of all, communication sucks.”

I laugh. “Communication is sexy as fuck. That’s the problem.”

“Maybe I should give you some space and not follow you around so much.”

I want to say I don’t mind him following me around, but instead I ask, “Do you want to go into town? Get lunch somewhere?”

He turns around and sits on the edge of the box.

“I thought you were trying to keep me hidden, like a dirty little secret.”

“What?!”

He pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, transferring some of the soil from his hands to his face, his lips curling up in a teasing smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think. You’ve been here three days, and I haven’t … I have a car. The one I use when I drive to Denver. It’s yours while you’re here. You should be able to get around or go into town, not get stuck here just because I’m⁠—”

“Vaughn.” He stands up and comes to sit on the overturned terra-cotta pot next to me. “I was joking. I’m genuinely enjoying myself. I like it here. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a break.”

I nod. “So, lunch?”

“After Tess’s bread, I’m going to warn you, my expectations are high.”

We go back inside to clean up and change and then take my truck into Pine Ridge.

I park on Main Street, and we walk toward the Bookshelf Café, Silas looking around at everything. I remember how it was when I first arrived here from Denver. I’d never been to a place that could appear as the dictionary definition of small-town charm.

“This place is too cute,” he says. “Like someone designed it.”

“To some extent they have. I believe there was some investment in the last fifteen years to renovate these buildings to attract more tourist trade. The town is charming enough, and a lot of people visit every year, especially for the festivals. There’s more than the pumpkin festival, but if I’m honest, I don’t know all that much about them.”

He stares at me. “Why?” But then he halts in his tracks. “What the fuck is that?”

I follow his line of sight across the road to Peak Treasures. The large window displays hand-carved wooden bears, locally made candles, pine cone wreaths, and a bunch of other things. But I know that’s not what stopped him.

Outside the shop, standing guard on the pavement like he owns the street, is a life-size bear carved from a tree stump. He’s easily six feet tall and wearing a hand-painted red scarf around his neck

“That’s the gift shop.”

“That’s a bear wearing a scarf!”

“His name is Bernard, but most people call him Bernie.”

I laugh. Chainsaw carving isn’t my thing, but I can’t deny the bear sculpted from a tree stump in front of the building is eerily lifelike.

“I need to go in there.”

“You absolutely do not need to go in there.”

“After lunch,” he says, like a decision has been made, and I know we’re going to be spending a considerable amount of time looking at the best that Pine Ridge artisans have to offer.