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The blinking blue light caught her eye, and she reached for her phone. A call must have come in while she was busy having her nervous breakdown. Hoping it wasn’t more vitriol from Claire, she punched in the numbers and listened as Cassie’s gentle, lilting voice spoke to her.

“Hey there. I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to catch up with you this morning like I had hoped. Today was ridiculous at work. There were a couple of issues that needed my attention and I got stuck there much longer than I expected to. Then I had dinner at my sister’s. I’m home now and exhausted. I’ve got hockey practice in the morning, but maybe we could get together for some coffee or something after that? Okay. Call me back if you get a chance. Oh! I have two tickets to a show next week. My friend Jonathan and his boyfriend can’t go and he gave the tickets to me, so I need a date. It’s a play, but that’s all I know. Tempting, huh?” She chuckled, which was an adorable sound. “I think that’s it.” A beat. “Call me back, okay? Bye, Emerson.” The last two lines were said very softly, almost intimately, and Emerson felt them in the pit of her stomach. And lower.

She quickly erased the voicemail, then sat with the phone against her lips, her eyes staring off into the middle distance, her own taunting voice echoing in her head.
Next week? A date? I don’t think so, Cassie. It’s time you learned what most people already know about me. I am not the dating kind. I’m just like my father.
Reaching a decision, she hit the Call button, scrolled for a contact, and dialed. She reached voicemail, which she expected, as it was after business hours. At the sound of the beep, she spoke.

“Hi, Brad. It’s Emerson Rosberg. I’d like you to set up a meeting for me with Mr. Cross for Monday. I’ve looked over his offer, and I think I’m ready to sign the papers.”

A light layer of
snow had fallen overnight. Not really enough for the kids to get excited about the season’s first snowfall, but enough to have left a dusting of white on everything in Lake Henry, making the whole town look fresh, clean, and sparkling in the morning sunshine.

Emerson was being a coward and she knew it full well. She was not happy about it, and her sour expression said as much to anybody who looked at her face as she hurried down Main Street to The Sports Outfitter’s front door and pulled it open.

It was fairly quiet inside. Popular music emanated from hidden speakers, but the volume was low, as if worrying about disturbing the crisp and gentle morning. Stomping the light flakes of snow off her hikers, Emerson walked toward the back of the main floor where the same vaguely familiar woman she’d seen before stood behind the register focused on the computer screen. Emerson cleared her throat.

“Well, hi there,” the woman said cheerfully. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, is Cassie here?”

The woman shook her head. “I’m afraid not. She’s coaching hockey practice this morning. She should be back around eleven, though. I’m her mom. Can I give her a message?”

Cassie’s mother. Jesus Christ, didn’t that just figure? No wonder she looked so familiar. Emerson could see it now, despite the difference in hair color. Cassie’s eyes were the same rich brown as her mother’s, and the angle of their eyebrows was identical. Their build was also very similar—a confident posture. Glancing down, she noticed they had the exact same hands.

“Emerson?” Cassie’s mom prodded when Emerson went for a long moment without speaking. Emerson’s eyebrows rose and Cassie’s mom chuckled. “Of course I know who you are, honey. Most of the town does. Did you want me to give Cassie a message?”

“Um…” Pulling herself back to the present, Emerson fished in her pocket and pulled out the bright yellow fleece headband Cassie had lent her on Halloween. Emerson had held on to it for…god knew what reason. “This is hers. She let me borrow it. I just wanted to make sure she got it back.” She set it on the counter before Cassie’s mom could reach for it, muttered a “thank you,” and turned away. She could feel eyes on her back as she hurried to the door and pushed through, feeling almost as though she couldn’t breathe until she reached the fresh air outside. Once on the sidewalk, she turned and looked back at the store, the clean, streak-free windows, the bright lettering in neon colors announcing a big sale on ski equipment, the number above the door.

The number above the door.

The address of Cassie’s store, of the building where she lived and worked, of the building that housed her entire life.

The number above the door.

217.

“Oh, fuck,” Emerson whispered. “Oh, no, no, no…” She shook her head slowly back and forth as she backed away from The Sports Outfitter and walked as fast as she possibly could toward the Lakeshore Inn without actually breaking into a full-out sprint.

Could things possibly get any worse?

***

God damn, it was cold.

Another couple of years and it was going to be time to retire someplace warm. That thought didn’t used to zip through Arnold Cross’s mind, but it had lately, especially the past winter. It had been brutally cold. Not so much snowy as bitterly frigid. He wasn’t getting any younger, and neither was the missus. She was already talking about the pros and cons of Florida versus Arizona. He would let her research for a while before he told her in no uncertain terms that he would never live in Florida, that armpit of the country. He hadn’t worked his tail off his entire life to make money so he could live in a place with undrinkable water and bugs the size of cinder blocks. Not to mention the humidity. No thank you. He was all for the Southwest. Arizona was a possibility. San Diego was even better. But he’d let his wife read up on all of it before he gently began steering her toward the other side of the country. By the time she settled on San Diego, she’d think it had been her idea to begin with.

Cross got out of his car and stood in the parking lot, looking out at the water, 217 Main Street at his back. It was a fabulous setup with a dock reaching out into the lake and plenty of room for boats to be anchored. Of course, he’d build up the dock so it was wider, more substantial, not just a four-foot-wide plank path leading out onto the water. He’d build a much bigger one that opened up into a huge seating area out onto the lake. Maybe he’d even install a seasonal bar right out here for the summers. People could steer their boats right up to the dock, tie off, grab a cocktail. There was plenty of space for that.

Turning to face the building, he assessed it. Two separate retail spaces, both three stories plus basement levels. He knew the top floor was a spacious apartment, so only slight changes would be necessary when he transformed the whole thing into condos. He could go the upscale route and just fashion it into two separate three-story units, complete with basements. They’d be pricey, but gorgeous. Or he could get more bang for his buck and convert it into eight smaller units, two on each level. Or he could go with six, two on each level from the first floor up and combine the basement levels for a restaurant, opening up to the water.

He rubbed his hands together and smiled. So many options.

That was both a blessing and a curse when it came to renovating property. If he had few options, decisions were easy, obviously. When there were several ways to go, outside parties had to be consulted. Designers, financial analysts, and so on. Too many fingers in the pie could be stressful, but often that was the best way. After decades in the business, Cross was aware of this. Most people would send their contractor in, not bother with worrying about it. But not Arnold Cross. He liked to go in first, get the lay of the land, weigh his alternatives, and then he’d have to think about it.

From the outside, the building’s structure looked sound. There was no telltale crumbling of foundation corners, no obvious shifting in the framing. The roof was old. He’d need to replace that soon. He pulled a small notebook and pen from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and jotted a few things down. Then he told his driver to sit tight, and he walked slowly around to the front of the building, examining every aspect of it with a trained eye.

He nodded his satisfaction as he left the parking lot behind. He liked that there was so much space for cars. Parking was at a premium in Lake Henry, and a lot this size was money. He jotted another note, reminding himself to take little to none of the lot when renovating. If restaurants went in the basement level, they’d need outdoor seating—a no-brainer when right on the lake—but he’d make sure to steal as little of the parking as possible. Condos with their own off-street parking would garner more money.

The location was lovely, right smack in the middle of the business district of Lake Henry, and the main reason he’d jumped at the chance to buy it. Structures on the outskirts were still nice, there was still money to be made, but this was the equivalent to being in the center of Manhattan. Everything of importance was within walking distance with the exception of the slopes and the bobsled run, and to use either of those things, you’d have equipment to carry, which meant you’d drive anyway. The ice rink, all the major restaurants, shops, and bars could be reached on foot, as could the beach and the park.

The storefronts were classy and neat, the windows clean, and the sidewalk swept. Boutique stood on the right, the type of shop filled to the rafters with useless trinkets and knick-knacks that cost way more than they should and served little to no purpose. Cross’s wife could be lost in there for hours and drop hundreds of dollars. He’d take a look in there next. On the left was The Sports Outfitter, a nicely maintained sporting goods store that was fairly busy every time Cross had been by. He felt a tiny pang of guilt that he’d be closing the place down, but Lake Henry didn’t need more stores. It needed more living space.

He pulled the door open and went inside, happy to get out of the cold and into the warmth of a bustling shop.

***

“Hey, Mom.” Cassie pulled off her gloves and unzipped her jacket as she walked up the aisle of the basement level of the store.

“Hi, Sweetie. How was practice?” Katie was arranging the paddle display to make room for the extra ski poles that wouldn’t fit upstairs. During the winter months, the water equipment section of The Sports Outfitter became the overflow for ski paraphernalia.

“It was good, but I’ve got to run up and get an order placed. Brian Turner is running the booster club for the boys’ team and he wants to order ski hats and scarves, but he’s so ridiculously disorganized.” She shook her head as she shucked her jacket. “I just told him I’d take care of the design and colors and such.”

“Brian?” Katie asked. “Vanessa’s husband?”

Cassie nodded.

“Isn’t that going to be…awkward for you?”

Cassie shook her head. “I don’t think so.” At the look of skepticism on her mother’s face, she reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay. Don’t worry.” With a reassuring smile, she turned away and headed straight up to her office the back way, wanting to avoid any customers or employees until she could take care of the order.

As she sat down behind her desk, she realized what she’d told her mother was the absolute truth—despite the look of doubt Katie had shot her. She was fine where Vanessa was concerned. It still stung. It was still a little bit difficult, but she was okay. She was moving on, and that was a good thing. A very good thing.

She tried to ignore the fact that she had something (or more accurately, someone) else to focus on.

A couple of catalogs in her filing cabinet would help her find the right items for the booster club, and she yanked a drawer open and flipped through a bunch. Picking three, she took them back to her desk and glanced at the security monitors as she sat down. A particular face caught her eye, and she did a double-take. Focusing on the small, rounded body of Arnold Cross, she watched him carefully as he zipped quickly through her store, jotting notes into a palm-sized notebook.

“What the hell?” she asked aloud, then watched him for several more moments before narrowing her eyes and pushing herself out of her chair.

Less than a minute later, she tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned to meet her gaze, a look of dread shot across his face, though he seemed to work hard to push it away.

“Can I help you, Mr. Cross?” Cassie asked.

“Ms. Prescott.” He held out his hand and Cassie, having been raised with manners—and aware of the clientele milling through the store—shook it quickly.

“I’ve been watching you on my security cameras. You’ve been taking notes. Can I ask why? What are you doing here?” He scanned her, seemed to take in her stormproof pullover, her Ripstop nylon pants, and her all-weather hikers. Then he tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket and met her eyes. “Mr. Cross?” she prodded.

With a regrettable sigh, he said simply, “I’m taking notes on the building, as I am going to own it soon.”

She blinked at him. Simply stood and blinked at him, as if he’d spoken in Latin or Hebrew. A wave of panic flushed through her. After a moment, she stammered out, “I—I don’t understand.”

Cross cleared his throat, kept his voice low and controlled, almost as if he was being conscious of not embarrassing her. “The owner of this building is deceased, and the remaining family has decided to sell. I am going to buy it. On Monday. I don’t mean to intrude, Ms. Prescott. I was in the area on other business and just thought I’d stop in to take a closer look. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

With that, he pulled his trench coat closed and belted it. Cassie still stood unmoving, trying to comprehend what he’d told her, but the words just kept jumbling in her head. When she finally glanced up at him, she was surprised to see the apologetic look on his face, like he was sorry he’d told her.

With a nod, he left her standing there and pushed through the doors. She watched out the window as he was jostled by passersby. He hurried around the building, but she did not follow. Why would she? What good would it do?

She couldn’t move anyway.

***

“Did you know?”

Jonathan jumped at the sound of Cassie’s voice. He’d been absorbed in a printout from the previous month’s sales and had his back to the counter when she blurted her question. He gave a quick glance around the store, then spoke quietly. “Good morning to you, too, Cass. Good lord, are you trying to give me a coronary?”