The Heartbreaker of Echo Pass by Maisey Yates

CHAPTER TWO

GRIFFIN CHANCELOOKEDdown at the plate of cookies, and then at the extremely plain, mousy woman who was holding them.

He wasn’t sure which was the bigger surprise. The woman, or the baked goods. Really, anyone coming out of nowhere and materializing at his chosen retreat was a surprise. One of the things he liked about living so far up Echo Pass was the fact that he was isolated. Alone.

That was how he liked it.

“Do I know you?”

His voice was rusty. He didn’t think he had spoken in a couple of days. Not unusual. In fact, he was pretty sure the last thing he’d said was a vile expletive when he’d hammered his thumb working on the house a while back.

And before that... He couldn’t even remember.

“No,” she said. “No, you don’t. Though, I did leave a couple of messages for you?”

“My business manager handles that.” His words sounded disconnected. They felt disconnected.

He didn’t think about that side of his life often these days. It was why he paid someone to manage it. A payment that left his account automatically and required no effort or thought on his part.

The woman looked at him like he had grown a second head. He had to acknowledge that it was probably weird to hear a man who looked only just this side of Sasquatch say that he had a business manager.

But what this creature found weird or not weird wasn’t really his problem.

“Well. I haven’t heard from your business manager. But I got your address and I thought that I would come up here and talk to you. With... A peace offering.”

“The cookies.”

“Yes. The cookies.”

She looked around, the disdain in her muddy green brown eyes obvious.

“Are you going to invite me in?”

“Wasn’t going to.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

“Well, if you don’t let me in, I’m not going to be able to give you a cookie.”

“I could take it off the platter if I felt like it.”

“Well, you won’t be able to have milk.”

“I don’t have any milk.”

She didn’t seem to be deterred by that. “Well, what do you have? Coffee?”

“Whiskey.”

She straightened her shoulders, looking comically proper. Like a 1950s housewife in the thick of problem solving a dinner party dilemma. “Well, perhaps we can have cookies and whiskey.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she didn’t shrink back.

When he’d first set eyes on her, he’d thought mousy. But mousy wasn’t the right word at all. “Why are you here?”

“To talk to you about the building that you own on Grape Street. Which I said in my message. Which I left for your business manager. Who quite frankly isn’t doing his job.”

“Her job.”

She blinked. “Fine. Her job.”

She just looked at him, expectant. “I can let you in, but there’s nothing nicer in there than there is out here.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a seat in one of the rickety wooden chairs that sat on the leaning porch.

He stayed where he stood. “So you want to talk to me about the building.”

“Yes. I do. I want to start a bakery.”

He looked at her, then at the cookies. “That’s why you brought these cookies.”

“Yes,” she said, brightening visibly. “To show you that my offer is a good one. It is. Very good.”

“And that offer is?”

“I want to rent out the building on Grape Street and make it a bakery. But the rent that you’re charging is astronomical.”

“What am I charging?” He didn’t have a clue. He wasn’t entirely sure what building she was even talking about.

She named a figure that didn’t sound especially astronomical to him. But that was the problem with him these days. He didn’t know if it didn’t sound like much because living in the Bay Area had made him numb to real estate prices. If it didn’t seem like much because he’d made and spent more money in thirty-eight years than most people would ever see in a lifetime.

Or if it just didn’t seem like much because he didn’t care anymore. About much of anything. About money or expenses or...

Much of anything.

“I can’t pay it. I was going to rent the building, but then you bought it.”

“My business manager probably did that too.”

“Well, whatever. The bottom line is that you own it. And, now it’s kind of hindering my dream.”

“What’s your name?”

She blinked. “Iris.”

“Maybe you need some more realistic dreams, Iris.”

He’d expected a reaction out of that, but she remained nearly sanguine in appearance. “I am actively trying to make my dream more realistic by changing the circumstances around it.”

“Coming up here and negotiating with me is not exactly dancing with realism. Here’s a tip. Life is tough. It’s not fair. I don’t exist to make it fair for you.” He started to step back into the house, but Iris advanced.

This time, he’d succeeded in making her mad.

If she’d been a bird, her feathers would have been ruffled. As it was, her cheeks turned pink, her lips pulling down at the corners.

“I’ve never labored under the illusion that life was fair. You’re making assumptions about me because you think you can just look at me and see exactly what I am, but you can’t. I’m strong and I’m determined. I’m a hard worker and I’ve dealt with enough life to be certain I won’t buckle underneath stress. We can both make money on this business. I will promise you a percentage of my profits.”

Something about her persistent optimism made him feel mean. “And you’re so confident that your little bakery is going to make a profit on the main street of a nothing town where any number of businesses on that main street struggle to break even in their first five years of business?”

It was weird to hear that come out of his mouth. Weird to remember that at one time he’d been something else. Something different.

Different than a loner up at the top of the mountain?

It was difficult to remember life before that. Before days spent in this cabin, getting up when it suited him, putting in a hard day of labor before collapsing back in bed. Some days he allowed himself the time to ride his horse. Another echo from another time. This, though, this was part of a life long gone. But somewhere, inside of him, apparently dwelled a developer. He hadn’t really missed him.

“I’m telling you, I have an idea. It will be primarily sweets, but I would also like to make fresh meals to go.”

“Seems like splitting your focus.”

“Maybe. But the more something can be convenient, particularly right in Gold Valley, the better. Oftentimes to get a variety of food people need to go into Tolowa, and that’s forty-five minutes away. The more they can shop local, the better. If they can make a stop for a treat, and also pick up a convenient, healthy meal, I think they will. And there’s plenty of single men in town who would like a home-cooked meal.”

“Okay. So you’re proposing what? There’s a bakery counter and then...”

“The fridge. With to go meals.”

“What else?” He didn’t know why he was indulging this, and he was out of practice at reading his own motivations. Because one thing about being by yourself, having your life taken down to the studs, was that you didn’t have to.

He ate when he needed to, drank when he felt like it. Moved with the sun if he needed to, or didn’t if he was tired early, or not tired at all.

It didn’t matter. And because it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to engage in any internal dialogues about his intent.

He was curious about it now, though, and lacked the inner vocabulary to sort through it.

“I make bread. There will be a bread rack.”

“All right. Well, I guess that’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

He was struck by the absurdity of it all. That he would be standing there on his front porch, talking to this little creature still plaintively holding a tray of cookies.

“But really,” she said. “You should try my cookies. And then, you might agree with me.”

“I’ve had any number of cookies in my lifetime, Iris. What makes you think yours are so special?”

Color mounted in her cheeks, and he searched the recesses of himself and it dawned on him that there were definitely two meanings to something like that.

“Just try them,” she said, quiet, but insistent. She was a strange thing. But by no means as timid or plain as he’d first imagined.

“Did you walk?” he asked, suddenly realizing there was no vehicle in sight.

“From a ways back,” she said. “There’s a tree in the road.”

There hadn’t been a tree the last time he’d been down. But that had been a couple of weeks.

“And if I try one of your cookies, will you leave?”

“Depends.”

“You’re trespassing,” he said. “I could call the police.”

“Sure. But my sister is the police. So, I’m not sure how far that would get you.”

“They say you can’t negotiate with terrorists, but apparently here you can’t negotiate with terrorists or little brunettes bringing cookies? Because you have the police in your pocket.”

“In this instance, yes. I do.”

He reached out, and picked up one of the cookies. It looked like it was chocolate chip. Standard cookie fare. Big mistake. If you were going to come all the way up the mountain and try to impress a man with your baking, you had to get beyond the basics.

Unless she put cyanide in it.

Entirely possible.

The thought of that didn’t really...faze him.

He popped the cookie into his mouth whole, and chewed.

And had to revise every thought he had previously.

Because it was the best damn chocolate chip cookie he’d ever had in his life.

And that was saying something. Especially nowadays. He didn’t really eat for pleasure. Didn’t do much of anything for pleasure. He ate to not die, he drank to not feel.

Dessert? Unless it was a convenience, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something sweet.

And maybe that was coloring his perception on these cookies. But there was something about them that was almost painful. A window into something domestic that he didn’t have anymore.

A look at another life.

Who knew that butter and chocolate could accomplish such a thing?

“It’s good, right?” she asked.

And the strangest thing was he knew that she was just confirming. Because she knew it was good. And there wasn’t a hell of a lot else that made her interesting. But her confidence did. That flat-out assurance that she had something here that was better than average. That she was better than good. And she had come all the way up the mountain to make sure he knew it.

Spare few things intrigued him, but that did.

He picked up another cookie off the plate, and her grin became that of a satisfied cat.

“I told you,” she said.

“I’m a soft target,” he said, “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had a cookie.”

“I don’t have a lot of money,” she said. “A little bit that I have saved up from...things. And, what I’m anticipating I’ll make on the bakery. But by and large, the start-up is going to be pretty cost prohibitive.” She took a deep breath. “If I could do some things for you around the house, or bring you things...”

“Are you suggesting we should barter?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I’m suggesting. I’ll bring you food. I’m going to be making dinners anyway, and I’m going to be making baked goods. I’ll cook for you.”

“How do you know I need someone to cook for me?”

She looked past him, at the decrepit cabin. “Just a hunch,” she said.

“What makes you think I want that?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll trade you. Domestic services. And the percentage of my profits. And if after twelve months it’s not worth it to you, then it’s done. But it’s just empty right now, and I guarantee you that very few people in town are going to be able to make that rent. Even if they do, it’s going to be some fool who came up from California—no offense—and thinks that they know how to run a business here. They’re going to think they know better what people here want. They’re going to aim to please tourists, ignoring the fact that you have to give something to the locals as well. I know this town. I know these people. Like I said, my sister is the police. My brother is one of the most well-respected men in town. My cooking is something people know about.” She straightened, lifting her chin. “I’m something of a legend.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re very small for a legend.”

“And you’re awfully talkative for a mountain. But here we are.”

And he didn’t know what to say to her. Mostly because he had no reason to argue with her. Not really. He could give her what she was asking for. The only thing he needed money for these days was the equine facility down in Santa Barbara. And most of his previous investments handled that.

And yeah, there was the house. And it had to be finished. A promise was a promise. It had just taken him a while to get here. And then, taken a while to get to where he could think about starting. But in the meantime, he didn’t need exorbitant rent money. And if he had someone bringing him food, he could leave the house less often. He could actually get a decent start on building.

And yeah, doing it by himself was something a little bit past foolish, but he’d gotten to where it was possible. And anyway, it was about the only thing he could do to occupy himself.

“Come on in,” he said, jerking his head toward the door.

Likely, when she saw the place, she would run.

He kept a close eye on her as they entered, trying to gauge her response.

And at this point, he wasn’t sure whether he hoped she would go, or hoped that she would stay.

He looked around the dilapidated cabin, trying to see what she was seeing. It was... Well, it was a mess.

The furniture was in disrepair, and everything was shoved into one room, and the floors were buckled. It was dim and dark, and it didn’t bother him any. But she looked bothered.

“Do you have electricity?”

“I have a generator. Sometimes I bother to run it. Mostly I don’t.”

“So, you live here...alone.”

“What gave that away?”

“All right,” she said, as if steeling herself for a battle. “All right. I will clean this place twice a week, plus provide dinner for every day. And dessert that goes with whatever I’m making at the bakery. And twenty percent of the profits.”

“Twenty-five.”

That lit her face up like a beacon. “Twenty is more than generous.”

“And no rent is something a bit past generous. And I’m not known for that. So, if I were you, I’d take a deal when one is offered.”

She looked mulish. “Fine.” Still holding the plate of cookies in one hand, she extended her other for a handshake. “Griffin Chance,” she said, “you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Sounds good, Iris.” He grasped her hand in his, and for a moment it was like the world tilted.

She was soft. And warm.

And right then, he was trying to remember how long it had been since he’d touched another person. He’d never even had another person in this cabin.

“What’s your family name?” he asked, dropping his hold on her hand.

“Daniels.”

“Sounds to me like we’re business partners, Iris Daniels.”

“Sounds like it.”

“You start Monday.”

“That’s tomorrow,” she said. “That’s not very much time.”

“Then I suggest you get busy.”