CHAPTER FOUR

      LOOKING AT JASON’S facts and figures, Fleming felt as if she’d ended up at the top of the naughty list. “I’d love to talk to Mr. Paige about why he did this.”

      “I’ve talked to him. He has a story about how the bank didn’t set him up with a fair retirement, and he was just providing for his own. Forget about him. You have to concentrate on what you want. Does this store mean as much to you as it did to your mother?”

      “Are you suggesting I give it up?” Fleming eyed the numbers on his tablet screen with horror and reached blindly for her hot chocolate. “My mom and I both love that store. I have to find a way to keep it.”

      He straightened. “For your mother?”

      “For me.” She had a secret she never shared, not even with her mother. Writing. She’d thought she’d have that and the store, and one would feed the other. She’d been making up stories about their customers since she first stood on a step stool behind the counter.

      So far her writing hadn’t gone the way she’d dreamed of, but none of her plans included walking away from the store that had been her after-school care, her shelter from the storms of childhood and her summer job each year of college.

      It had been her and her mother’s place. Like their home. She couldn’t walk away.

      “Fleming?”

      “It matters to me, too, but I didn’t actually understand how much business has fallen off this year. How can a shop that caters to Christmas fail in November in a resort town that explodes in population this time of year?”

      “Give me a try,” he said. “I’ll help.

      She felt sick. “That’s exactly what Mr. Paige said.”

      “But Paige was lying. I don’t lie.” Jason dusted his hands on his jeans. “It’s business,” he said. “The fewer loans we lose, the better off we are.”

      “I think you’re telling me you’re giving me more time at a slightly lower interest rate, but I’ll still be paying almost the same amount over the life of the loan.”

      He nodded. “I want to help you, but I can’t actually take a loss on the arrangement.”

      With shaking fingers, Fleming leafed through the pages of notes and compared the figures he’d jotted down to her income and outgoing debt payments. She got up and grabbed her phone off the island to open the calculator and rerun the equations.

      Her cheeks flushed, but she ducked her head and tried to let her hair flow over her face. She could almost feel his longing to get out of here, making the whole situation even more humiliating.

      “It’s a building,” he said. “Not a person. Not a member of your family.”

      “You say that because you haven’t found the place you want to stay. You aren’t tied to a building or people.” Though Fleming didn’t buy that all bankers were that detached.

      “I’m asking you to think about this decision, the same way I’ll ask everyone else I have to see. If you take on new terms, you’ll be putting a lot of money and even more time into a place. You can get another job.”

      She shook her head stubbornly, trying to see herself anywhere but in Bliss, doing anything else. Except the writing that was her secret joy, the dream she superstitiously feared shattering if she shared it. “This is who I am.”

      He sipped his cocoa once, then again, but was so intent on her finances he didn’t seem to notice how much he clearly liked the drink she’d made him. “Have you considered carrying different lines from less expensive suppliers? Your profit margin seems to shrink every year.”

      Her hackles rose. “I can’t sell tawdry items. That wouldn’t go over in this town. You don’t know Bliss.”

      “You have that right.”

      “And even if I were positive you’re in this with our best interests, rather than the bank’s, I can’t afford your consulting fee.” Fleming ran out of breath. “Sorry. Again. I’m sounding rude, but I’m really trying to be careful. This time.”

      “I keep trying to make you see the bank won’t survive if its customers fail.” Standing, Jason took his jacket off the back of his chair. “You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but talk to someone you do trust, and let me know what you decide.”

      Maybe she could breathe deeply again without him in her house. He picked up his cup and headed toward the sink, but she took it from him. Washing her dishes was absolutely beyond the scope of his job description.

      * * *

      “YOU’VE BEEN HERE three weeks, Jason. You know people actually choose Bliss as a place to have fun?”

      Jason looked over his coffee cup at Lyle. “When there’s snow on the slopes, I assume?”

      “They’re making snow right now. You could take a car up the mountain and ski back down.” Lyle waited until Jason put his cup down, and refilled it.

      “Thanks. I don’t think so.”

      “Afraid one of the hundreds of people who’ve paraded through your office at the bank will follow you up there and shove you off? I heard what happened the day before Thanksgiving.”

      “That was different. Paige lost his retirement fund.”

      “He took funds from a lot of people. You can’t make it right for everyone.”

      Jason pushed his chair back. “People tell you things, Lyle.”

      “We’re a small community. We tell each other everything—except our secrets. But someone always discovers them and tells those, too.”

      “No one’s told you I’m not here to make things right. I’m here to do a job for my grandfather and move on.”

      “I remember your grandfather.”

      That wasn’t information Jason felt inclined to investigate. He didn’t remember this place. He didn’t necessarily want to remember it later. The only important thing he needed to know was that when he left, his father would make sure a decent loan officer and bank manager took over.

      “Thanks for breakfast.” Jason stood up, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I’m going out for a while.”

      “Sure.” Lyle smirked a little, as if to say he didn’t mind a dismissal.

      Jason