The Matchmaking Heirs: First Christmas in Winter Harbor (Winter Harbor Heroes Book 4) by Whitley Cox & Ember Leigh

Author:Whitley Cox & Ember Leigh [Cox, Whitley & Leigh, Ember]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whitley Cox & Ember Leigh
Published: 2023-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

HARLOW

“You know, this truly is the best place in the world to live.” My legal assistant’s thoughtful words settled pleasantly between us. Betsy and I stood transfixed by the dusting of snow kissing the asphalt beyond our law office’s window.

“I have to agree,” I said with a sigh as I absorbed the serene scene outside. “I’ve traveled the world and seen some beautiful sights, but … there’s nothing like coming back to Winter Harbor.”

“Our small town home.” She smiled warmly, squeezing my wrist before crossing to her desk to continue working.

The snow made everything even more picturesque in downtown Winter Harbor. Just beyond the parking lot, I caught the edge of the enormous Christmas tree they’d erected in the center plaza. Its mammoth branches came with their own artificial snow dusting—because snow was always a gamble in this part of the world—but now it had the real thing on it, too. Even better. Especially with Christmas only a week away.

I savored my last views of quaint downtown Winter Harbor before returning to my work. This certainly was my small-town home and … I planned on it staying that way. Our upcoming Christmas Eve open house party was just one more way to make this place even more of a home. Even though I’d grown up here, this was an entirely new chapter of my life and my relationship with Winter Harbor. This was the era of Hope Creek Manor and … reconciliation and … new beginnings, deeper roots, and a future of our dreams.

And I didn’t plan on letting anyone interfere with that.

My gaze meandered to my phone, where I’d entered a number but never initiated the call.

The number belonged to Griffin Zwick.

After we’d tracked him down in Summer Hills, there had been no response from the Tribune. No response to my emails and formal letters requesting retraction or modification. No response to multiple voicemails left at Mr. Zwick’s work desk.

But through my extensive network, I’d managed to track down his personal phone number.

This was my last ditch effort. I didn’t know what Griffin had planned, but I intended to stop the name-calling, the slushing, the general low vibe coverage of my loved ones.

I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it and waited without breathing as my phone rang. By the fifth ring, I’d conceded that he wouldn’t pick up.

But on ring six, he did.

“Hello?” He sounded groggy, maybe even suspicious.

“Hi, is this Griffin?” I tried not to sound too excited or ravenous. But I felt like a shark near fresh blood. This is what I’d been waiting for. Jackpot.

“Maybe. Who’s calling?”

“Oh, just an old friend.” My heart beat was quicker now. The objective was to make sure he didn’t end the call before I could make my offer. If I admitted the truth right away, I’d hear the dial tone sooner rather than later.

“I don’t recognize your number,” he snapped.

“How else would I have your number, then?” I laughed good-naturedly. “You don’t recognize my voice?”

He sighed tersely.

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