When was the last time I’d had this reaction to a woman? Years. Not since three winters ago, when I’d had a no-strings fling with a former client. Both of us were divorced and hadn’t wanted any type of commitment beyond sex.
At least, that was what we’d agreed upon. But that hadn’t stopped her from coming over four months later and asking for more.
I didn’t have more.
My dating history was, well…nonexistent. Not once in my life had I taken a woman to dinner and a movie. Not even in high school. Not even Rosalie.
I’d just never met a woman I’d wanted to date. To chase. And these days, limiting complication was the goal.
The last thing I needed was another ex-wife. The occasional one-night stand and an orgasm or two was all I had to offer. Even then, the women hadn’t been addictive. The moment I’d crawled out of bed, it was over. So what the hell was it about Della?
I’d spoken to her for a whole ten minutes. Yet something about her was…different. Lasting. Maybe because Katy talked about her all the time. Because it felt like I’d known her before we’d ever met.
For months, Della had infused our conversations. When I asked Katy about school, Miss Adler was usually part of her reply. She was an undercurrent in our text threads and the grammar lashings doled out by a twelve-year-old.
Whatever my interest was with Della, it would pass, right? Hell, I doubted I’d ever see the woman again. So I shook her out of my head, made a quick adjustment to my dick, then checked my phone again—still no reply from Katy.
“Huh.” Not normal. Katy was always quick to reply in the mornings. But maybe she’d gotten distracted, so I tucked my phone away and headed outside.
I was the first to arrive at the office, but Korbyn walked in thirty minutes later, knocking on my office door with a yellow sticky note between his fingers.
“Morning, Jeff.”
“Morning.” I saluted him with my steaming coffee mug. “What’s up?”
He waved the note. “Hans called. Wants you to call him back.”
“All right. Thanks.” I picked up my desk phone and punched in Hans’s number.
“Jeff?” He answered on the first ring.
“Hey.”
“I’m just rolling in. Be there in a sec.”
“ ’Kay.” I hung up, then snagged my phone, checking for a text from Katy. Still nothing.
We texted all the time. When she was with Rosalie, she had to ride the bus to and from school, and in that forty-minute commute, she’d blow up my phone with fifty texts because while hers were all grammatically correct, she never included two sentences in the same message.
You okay?
I stared at the screen, waiting for those three dots to appear in reply to my message, but it stayed blank. So I turned on the ringer so it would chime whenever she replied before setting it aside, just as Hans appeared in my office’s doorway.
He was dressed in a ratty flannel shirt this morning, the sleeves rolled up his forearms and the hem untucked. One knee of his jeans was damp, like he’d dropped it in the snow outside. His white hair was cut short, but his matching mustache was a creature of its own, bushy and thick.
“Good morning.” I gave him the same coffee-mug salute I’d given Korbyn.
“Hi.” He shuffled inside and closed the door. Well, shit. Hans never closed the door, even when he was having a private discussion.
“Am I going to like this meeting?” I asked.
“Yes?”
“Why did that sound like a question?”
Hans chuckled and took a seat, kicking up an ankle over his knee. “I’ll cut to it. I’m retiring.”
The tension ebbed from my shoulders. His retirement was nothing to worry about because the man wouldn’t retire. This was the third time in five years he’d come in here to announce his retirement. “Sure.”
“I’m serious this time.” He pointed at my face. “After this season, I’m retired.”
“Okay.” I didn’t buy it for a damn minute.
My hunch? The season would come and go, and instead of setting a retirement date, he’d spend the winter talking about employees and budgets and special projects.
“You don’t believe me,” he said.
“Nope.” I took a sip of coffee.
“Then maybe this will convince you. I’d like to sell you Alcott.”
My hand froze midair, mug included. That was new.
During the previous discussions, he hadn’t mentioned a long-term plan for the company. Part of why I’d never believed he’d actually retire.
“Believe me now?” He smirked, the ends of his mustache lifting.
“Back up.” I set my mug aside before I dropped it, then leaned my elbows on the desk. “You want to sell me Alcott?”
“Yep.”
In my wildest dreams, I wouldn’t have expected this. Sure, I enjoyed working for Hans. I loved this job. But owning the business? That wasn’t something I’d even let myself hope for.
“I can’t afford it.” The words burned as they came off my tongue, but it was the truth. “Thank you. I’m honored that you’d think of me. I just…I don’t have that kind of money.”
Alcott Landscaping was worth millions.
I had a mortgage and a lackluster savings account.
“You don’t need that kind of money,” Hans said. “I’m not searching for a lump payment. I’m looking for retirement income.”
Huh? My brain was still stuck on the fact that he’d even thought of me as his successor. “I’m not following.”
“We’ll draw up a contract. Basically, treat this like you’re taking out a loan but instead of from a bank, from me. You run Alcott. It’s your business. And every year, you pay me a certain amount.”
“That sounds…” Too good to be true.
Hans must have read my mind because he gave me a gentle smile. “I don’t have kids. No one to pass this down to. The idea of selling it to a stranger, having to watch someone else run this place, makes my skin crawl. This morning, I said as much to Mary. She smacked me across the head with the newspaper and told me, ‘Then don’t sell it to a stranger, dummy.’”
I’d always loved Hans’s wife. Still, it seemed too out of the blue. Was something wrong? Was there a health concern I didn’t know about? “Where is all this coming from?”
He shrugged. “I’m ready. Finally. Mary and I want to travel. It will be an adjustment, but usually I’m excited this time of year. Anxious for the season to get started. This year? I’m dreading it.”
“We can handle everything. If you want to travel, travel. You don’t have to sell Alcott to do that.”
“No, I know myself well enough that if I don’t cut myself off, I won’t walk away. It’s time.” There was a weary note in his voice. He sounded tired. Serious.
“Why me?”
“That’s a dumb question. And the wrong question.” He scoffed. “Why not you?”
Why not me?
“Good?” Hans asked, not really wanting an answer. He smacked his palms on his knees and stood, moving for the door. “I’ll have my lawyer draw something up. Are there any donuts in the break room today?”