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“Yes.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Probably.” Her voice drops. “And you promised to put out after our second date. I haven’t forgotten. Seven o’clock.”

She ends the call.

I’m still smiling when I return to the meeting. That may explain why everyone at the table is staring at me.

“Where were we?” I ask as I take my seat.

The finance director starts talking again. I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s only two fourteen. Seven o’clock has never felt so far away.

27

RACHEL

I’m outside the bowling alley, waiting for Eric to arrive for our second date.

By the time I left the Hartwell, the interview had drawn hundreds of comments. Many people supported us. Former guests shared stories about weddings and anniversaries, and one woman wrote three paragraphs about why family businesses should be protected.

As the clip spread, the comments became less kind. Some people said a Voss hotel would create jobs and bring more visitors to the boulevard. Others accused me of hiding behind history because I’m afraid a newer hotel will make the Hartwell look outdated and take our guests.

They aren’t completely wrong. I am afraid of losing guests to Voss. That doesn’t make my concerns about the tower or years of construction any less real. Still, it’s hard to watch strangers use one honest fear to dismiss everything else I said.

I spent the morning waiting for Eric to call and accuse me of betraying him. When he didn’t, I became anxious enough to call him myself. I needed to know if I’d hurt him—and whether the interview had changed whatever was growing between us.

Eric told me not to apologize for fighting for the Hartwell. By then, I’d spent hours thinking about our date and the kiss outside my building.

So I asked him out.

I want to see him but I’m not ready for the rest of Alton Hills to see us together. The last time Chloe and I came here, it was quiet, and we didn’t recognize anyone. Grandma’s friends are far more likely to spend their evening drinking wine and sharing gossip than wearing bowling shoes, so this should be safe.

At seven twenty-three, a compact silver Mercedes turns into the parking lot. I paid for the luxury option, but it seems luxury doesn’t include legroom. The back door opens, and one polished shoe appears, followed by a long leg and then the rest of Eric. He unfolds himself from the car and straightens his suit with what little dignity the entrance allows.

I sent the car to his office, so he’s still wearing a dark suit and tie. I’m in the green business dress I wore all day. Together, we look less like two people on a date and more like we’ve come to buy the bowling alley.

The car pulls away as Eric gives my dress a slow, appreciative look. His mouth begins to curve, but then he notices the sign above my head. He glances from it to the tiny Mercedes leaving the parking lot.

“Now it makes sense.”

“What does?”

“The car was sabotage. You cut off the feeling in my legs before making me bowl.”

I laugh. “You haven’t touched a ball yet, and you’re already making excuses?”

“I’m documenting foul play.”

We step inside, and Eric takes one look around before loosening his tie. He slides it from his collar, folds it into his jacket pocket, then opens the top button of his shirt.

The change should make him look more casual. It doesn’t. We still look out of place.

Bright lanes stretch across the room. Arcade machines flash along one wall, and a children’s birthday party has taken over three tables near the snack bar. The air smells like hot oil and whatever they spray into the rental shoes.

Eric slows beside me. “This is…different.”

“Not fancy enough for you?”