by E M Lindsey
The gravel crunched under his feet as he avoided tree roots and larger rocks, and eventually he got down to the shores of the lake. It wasn’t really much of a running path—mostly rocky which dug into the soles of his shoes no matter how thick they were. It made his calves burn early, and a sweat break out at the back of his neck, but it felt good. He knew this path by heart, could run most of it with his eyes closed if he wanted. The sun started to peak over the ridge of the mountain as he made the first curve, and he closed his eyes to feel the warmth on his cheeks, to watch the bright red-yellow glow against the backs of his eyelids.
“Do you always run with your eyes closed?”
The voice had him stumbling, losing his footing, and he crashed to the hard ground. Pebbles tore into his knees, but instead of sympathy, he heard a barely restrained snort of laughter. He didn’t have to ask who it was, and mostly he was annoyed at himself for not paying closer attention to his surroundings. But then again, he’d been doing this for years and no one had ever come to the lake this early, so of course it was Antoine.
Fitz brushed himself off, ignoring a warm trickle of blood on his knee, and the ache in his scarred wrist. Antoine was there, perched on a boulder that was wedged deep in the earth, a few feet above the shoreline. He looked, if possible, even better than he had on the side of the road.
His hair was short, messy from sleep, but he seemed careless about it. He had a thick sweater that hung off one shoulder, and his yoga pants fit him like a second skin. He had sunglasses that pushed his hair back from his forehead, and even in the dim morning light, his olive tone was rich and smooth across his cheeks.
“Do you normally announce your voyeuristic habits?” he shot back.
Antoine’s mouth quirked up in the corner, but he didn’t look amused. More like he was interested in the game. Fitz felt something warm flare to life in his gut, and he turned to the side when his dick took interest in it. “It’s nice out here, and it’s only a two-minute walk from the Lodge. This wasn’t on the website.”
Fitz’s gaze darted off to the south where he could see the tall peaks of the resort roof just barely above the trees. “Is that really important?”
Antoine laughed, the sound a little harsh. “The fact that you asked that only tells me how much work I have cut out for myself. The only website even somewhat passable is that gluten-free bakery, and I’m guessing it’s because that guy isn’t from here.”
Fitz crossed his arms over his chest, his heart beating hard from frustration which was better than any run. “You know, we’re not a bunch of Neanderthals out here just because we haven’t given our lives to the internet gods. However good at your job you think you are, there’s no way to capture the real beauty of this place on a computer screen.”
Antoine gave him a flat look. “Is that so?”
Gripping the back of his neck, Fitz locked his knees and set his jaw. “Are you telling me I’m wrong?”
Antoine raised a brow. “I’m telling you that the internet gods I sold my soul to are the ones who are going to get people across the city line. You need tourists to show up and actually see whether or not this town is worth visiting, and those are the people who are going to keep your small town asses from going bankrupt. And before you try to say you’re all fine, the mayor of the town wouldn’t have paid my ridiculous fee to come down here and fix this shit.”
Fitz took a step forward. Yes, Antoine was hot, but that was nothing compared to what a dick he was. “So, you’re taking advantage of a broke town to make cash?”
Antoine didn’t back down. He let one leg hang, long and well-shaped against the side of the rock, and Fitz hated himself for wanting to reach out and draw the flat of his palm along those muscly curves. “I didn’t up my fees, Smokey. He researched, he found one of the best in the business, and he made the offer. In fact, I waived my out of town fee for him because he asked me nicely. So you can…” He stopped abruptly, and Fitz took another step closer.
“I can what?” he asked. His voice dropped to a low rumble, and he saw it—he saw the way it affected this man. He saw when a very faint shade of pink rose in Antoine’s cheeks, and his pupils got a little bigger. He wanted Fitz. He was turned on.
“I’m trying to be professional,” Antoine said, the strain in his voice also giving him away.
Fitz grinned, predatory and kind of mean, and he watched Antoine’s color deepen. “Neither of us are on duty, are we, Hollywood?”
Dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, Antoine’s hesitation faded, and his eyes went hard as stone. He pushed himself up to stand, then leaned forward just slightly. The height gave him the illusion of advantage—of power. And Fitz was willing to let him keep that fantasy. For now.
“You can kiss my ass, Smokey. And you can write me a fucking thank you card when none of you are forced to sell all your shit and move away.”
Fitz said nothing. He watched as Antoine turned on his heel and made his way, careful and easy, over the shrubs. He even spared him the humiliation of being laughed at when he tripped over a root and fell to his knees. It served him right though, but he had just managed to suppress his own laugh when Fitz ate shit on the gravel.
Fair was fair.
When he was gone, Fitz let out a rush of air, filling it with his anger, with his irritation, and with the low, simmering want that had his dick half-hard in his jogging shorts. He pressed the heel of his hand to the bulge and closed his eyes. “You fucking traitor.”
His dick only throbbed a bit at the memory of the way Antoine dragged his tongue over his lip. It was probably a talented mouth too. With a lot of practice.
Running a hand down his face, he dropped his fingers to his thigh and pinched until he came back to earth and his dick softened. Antoine was going to be a problem—but only if Fitz let him. The solution was easy though—avoid him at all costs. If Antoine needed IT, that was Birdie’s department, and Fitz was more than glad to wash his hands of the entire damn thing.
Chapter Six
Antoine twirled his cup in his hand, trying not to admit he was drinking the best coffee he’d ever had in his life from this little food truck parked on the side of City Hall. Of course, the Rebel Rugelach looked like it belonged in a permanent spot on Pier 39 rather than some little nothing town in the middle of the Rockies.
And frankly the guy making coffee and pastries would have fit in perfectly. From his well-toned arms to his dark curls tied at the back of his head in a messy bun, to the intensity of his brown eyes. Antoine would have considered letting his gaze linger if it hadn’t been for the guy next to him with the shaved head—just as hot, if he was being honest—giving him a glare like he’d set Antoine on fire if he stared too long. So, he’d put a five in the tip jar and taken his coffee and headed into the lobby to wait on Rene.
The City Hall Mayor’s office was similar to others he’d visited. Cherry Creek wasn’t the first town he’d been asked to drag out of a potential financial fire from lack of tourism, but it was definitely the smallest. He’d half expected City Hall to be run out of some mobile unit with a window AC and unfinished plywood steps, but he was pleasantly surprised by the wide arches, and the tiled floors. Rene’s office was on the third floor, the lobby’s floor to ceiling window looking over the town, and it was a nice view.
Smokey the Bear had irritated him beyond all measure with his snap-judgement of Antoine’s motives and feelings toward the place, but then again, Antoine hadn’t bothered to correct him either. Not that the guy had given any indication that he would have listened or believed him. He’d written Antoine off as some spoiled California asshole who got the job based on his headshot instead of seven long years of schooling and clawing his way up from internship.
And that was fine. Antoine was more than happy to prove him wrong. He was thrilled about it, in fact. He tapped the side of the to-go mug, staring at the little rugelach drawing on the side with the angry eyebrows and tiny frown. It was mean and cute and very much like the two men behind the truck’s wind
ow.
He sipped the coffee again, rich, but not bitter with how much cream and sugar was mixed in. Checking his watch, he saw Rene was late, but he didn’t mind much. Since the accident, everything seemed right on the edge of frantic. He had been massively late for his reservation at the Lodge after the crash, checked in by a harried looking younger man wearing a beanie and a button-up shirt like he was on his way out. He didn’t give his name, but he swiped Antoine’s card too fast and slapped the key on the map without offering directions.
Antoine had spent too many of his nights in hotels though, so he had no issues finding it, and he fell on the bed and passed out before he could even think about dinner. He was on day two now, and still hadn’t gotten a real meal. He’d managed to swipe a bagel from the buffet spread and then the coffee from the pastry truck. What he wanted was a break, but he wasn’t sure that was coming anytime soon. This part of his job was the hard stuff. The getting to know people stuff. The digging into their lives before he took all that information home and put it to work stuff. This part was where the wicked got no rest.
He twisted his head from side to side, feeling the tight twinge from the accident, but he was glad he hadn’t been wrong about his injuries. The last thing he needed was to wind up in too much pain to actually do his job. It was bad enough he had to deal with the rental company’s insurance, and he was waiting on a call from the town’s mechanic to see what the real damage was—but god only knew how long people took around there. They seemed to move at the speed of zero hustle, and that was going to grate on him sooner or later.
“Mr. Tremblay?”
Antoine turned away from the window and smiled at Rene who was sticking his head out of his office door. Side-stepping the low table covered in magazines, Antoine stuck out his hand, and Rene took it in a familiar shake. He was wearing his usual charcoal suit and white shirt—a crisp blue tie that matched his eyes tucked under his chin.
He gestured to the chair, and Antoine gave the office a cursory look around since it was the first time being invited to the town. “Sorry I was late. I had a phone meeting at the crack of dawn and I’m already knackered.” Rene’s voice was rich and deep with a faint Scottish brogue. “I hope you werenae waiting too long.”
Rene knew exactly how long he’d been waiting out in the lobby, but he wasn’t looking to pick a fight. “It gave me time to get caffeinated. I need it after yesterday.”
Rene winced. “Aye. I spoke with the park ranger last night—Ronan. Have you met?”
Antoine shook his head. Just the one firefighter asshole, his brain supplied, but his filter was at least active that morning. “The person who responded was Fitz—I think his name was? He showed up and gave me a ride into town.”
Something gleamed in Rene’s eyes, but Antoine was too afraid to ask. “Ronan did a sweep of the area for any animals gone astray, but he didnae see anything.”
“It was a wild goat,” Antoine said sourly. “The Fire Chief seemed to think that was hilarious, but I know what I saw.”
Rene cleared his throat and said mildly, “Yes, well. I’m sure no real harm was done—except the car,” he added apologetically. “But luckily our town is small enough to get around on foot without a lot of trouble. Good exercise for the legs, anyway.”
Antoine wanted to argue that he hadn’t come here to fucking exercise, but he knew the guy was trying to make lemonade out of these rotten lemons. “It’s fine. I’m sure they’ll send me a replacement at some point.”
There was a pointed silence, then Rene laid his clasped hands on his desk. “So. I suppose we ought to come up with a game plan. I’ve spoken to most of the business owners around town and they all seem open to the idea of a revamp.”
Antoine nodded. “I suspected they would be. It could really only benefit them.”
“I’ve had a bit of pushback from some of the citizens,” Rene went on, and Antoine was the opposite of surprised. “But I think we can get them to come round.”
Waving his hand, Antoine took the final drink of his coffee and sighed happily. He could go for another, but he was already stressed, and he didn’t want to deal with a cardiac event, no matter how good it would taste. “I’m not too worried about it. If we can get most people on board, I can create a city website that’s easy to navigate. I just need people to agree to promo photos and website relaunches.”
Rene gave him an amused look. “You didnae tell me you’re a photographer.”
Antoine laughed and shook his head. “Oh god, no. I’m not. My company provides the IT and I have some background in web design, but I can barely take a selfie. I figured I’d look local first. I mean, what better way to highlight the town than hiring as many locals as we can for the project, right?”
Rene’s entire face relaxed, even though his eyes widened in surprise. “I wasnae expecting that.”
“What?” Antoine frowned as he fiddled with his cup.
“Hiring local. I just assumed you’d sweep in with your…team, or whatever you had on hand and sort it out.”
“I mean, I can,” Antoine started, but Rene shook his head.
“Let me put you in touch with a couple of people who are ready to meet you first. Gwen Fitzgerald owns the real estate company here and she’s thrilled to talk business. She does mostly vacation rentals because we dinnae have a large market.”
Antoine cocked his head to the side. “Do you want a larger market?”
At that, Rene looked torn. “I don’t want this to turn into an overrun tourist stop. A lot of our businesses are mom’n’pop shops.”
“But you have a YouTube celebrity and a Michelin Star chef living here,” Antoine pointed out. He was annoyed that Rene looked impressed about Antoine doing the bare minimum of research about the town. “You don’t think they bring in guests?”
“We get tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of Tristian, but he films out of town a lot since he works with celebrity chefs, and Enzo is…” Rene stopped and his face dropped into a surprisingly sweet grin. “He’s no’ really a people person, and his reservations are booked months in advance.”
Antoine sighed. “Fair enough. You need to prepare for expansion, though. This town is nice—it’s more than nice. It’s idyllic and the weather’s good and from everything I’ve read so far, it’s very liberal and LGBT friendly, considering their mayor is married to a man. That matters considering the current state of affairs.”
Rene smiled and his eyes flicked over to a photo that Antoine assumed was his husband. “It does, and we don’t want to discourage people from moving here if they need an escape. I just don’t want it to…you know…”
“Turn into some boujee nightmare with Airbnbs on every corner and kale juice bars?” Antoine offered.
Rene’s lip turned up at the corner and twitched a bit. “Something like that. We want the people who have lived here for most of their lives to continue to afford their homes. I know what happens when expansion takes over.”
Antoine bit his lip, but he knew Rene wasn’t wrong. “I understand, and I’m on board with you. I’m not interested in driving up the cost of living. I just want you to be able to survive without worrying about your long-time shops closing down during the slow season.”
Rene sighed and rubbed his fingers against his temples. “Do you have any suggestions for the real estate market?”
“I’ll see what Gwen thinks. She’ll be the expert in those matters. You might be better off freeing up places for summer homes and winter chalets. There’s skiing an hour away. You have a Farmer’s Market, yes?”
“Aye, from May to August,” Rene told him. “It just got started last week. Every Thursday.”
Antoine pulled out his phone to make a note. He’d seen it on the blacksmith’s website, but it was so poorly done, and the information was dated. “Have you all considered making it a weekend thing? Friday and Saturday nights?”
“Well, we had it on Fridays but,” Rene stopped abruptly, and Antoine raised his brows, staring until th
e man finished his sentence. “We were trying to be better inclusive.” When Antoine still didn’t speak, Rene let out a frustrated sigh. “Friday night is the start of the er…the sabbath? We had a Jewish bakery that couldn’t participate on Friday nights.”
Antoine was startled, but not in a bad way. “Oh. Okay, that’s fair. I mean…”
“He moved, though,” Rene interrupted, looking thoughtful. “He owned Bette’s Chametz—but Indulgent is there now.”
“Gluten-free cupcakes,” Antoine muttered, adding that to his notes.
“His brother runs the Rebel Rugelach truck that’s parked downstairs. He’s…he diznae mind Fridays. It’s something we can consider.”
Antoine set his phone down and clasped his hands over his right knee. “It’s just a suggestion. You can attract people from further out than the immediate Colorado Springs area if you expand the days to weekends. People will be willing to drive, and some might be willing to stay for a bit. It means pouring money into the economy.”
“I hope so,” Rene said.
He nodded. “And what about for winter?”
“We have a holiday market,” Rene said, but he didn’t sound enthusiastic. “People dinnae get as involved.”
“So change that. Spruce it up. Set up booths, have a tree lighting ceremony, get the shops to decorate. I’ll do some research in the meantime and see what other towns have been successful with.” Antoine pushed to his feet, then dug his card out of his wallet and slid it over toward the Mayor. “Can you have your secretary make me an appointment book? My time is your time right now, so fill up my slots.” He knew he was being demanding, and a little annoying, but he wasn’t being paid to make friends.
For his part, though, Rene looked more intrigued than anything, and Antoine relaxed. “Head to Gwen’s office right now.” Rene stood, then grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled two addresses on it. “She’ll be there, and I’ll give her a heads up you’re on your way. After that, the Tavern. Rose and Sonia Flores own it, and they’ve seen a sharp decline in business over the last couple of years, but it’s no’ for anything they’re lacking.”