Violet by Chris Keniston

Author:Chris Keniston [Keniston, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie House Publishing
Published: 2019-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

***

How did they go from business to favorite color? Grant actually pondered if this was somehow a trick question. “Blue?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Violet grinned.

“Telling.” How much trouble could he get into revealing his favorite color?

Her smile intact, Violet nodded. “Mine too.”

More surprises. He would have expected something more girlish. Pink, purple, maybe daffodil yellow. Then he thought of a blue spring sky and thought how well it suited her.

The minute Grant had complied with her request and turned his cell phone off he’d anticipated the time when he’d be back at the shore and could turn it on. Even a time or two on the earlier walk along the shore, his mind wandered back to the silenced apparatus. But high up on the mountain, blanketed with peaceful silence and breathtaking views, the blasted phone hadn’t crossed his mind even once.

By the time Violet had barely slipped the car into park, his mind once again snapped to attention and was running full speed ahead. Now silently approaching his cabin, he was torn between the adrenaline rush over getting back to what he did best, and leaving his lifeline to the real world turned off and soaking in this pristine rustic beauty. And wasn’t that the dangdest thing? He’d vacationed from one end of the globe to the other. From the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda to this ski slopes of Chamonix. Not since his school days had enjoying the passing of time taken precedence over getting work done. Or maybe it was merely about spending more time with a woman who had sent his blood pounding with a simple high five. Perhaps when he returned to his cabin he’d look for a thermometer. A fever could explain a lot.

Slipping the contraption from his pocket, he pressed the button and listened to the musical tones as his only connection with the outside world came to life. Despite the flickering notifications of a long list of missed calls, Grant put on a smile and slid the thing back into his pocket. What would a few more minutes cut off from the world hurt?

They’d strolled past his cabin and Violet bit back a smile, pretending not to notice his deliberate avoidance of the very reason he’d returned to the lake shore—his phone.

“You know quite a lot about me from my hippie mother to my temperamental pipes. Tell me more about Grant Whitaker.”

“Not much to tell. What you see is what you get.”

“Oh, I bet there’s a lot more behind those pressed pants and leather loafers.”

“Nope. Ordinary kid. Played ball, any kind of ball, but loved baseball.”

“Where you any good at it?”

“At baseball? Oh yeah. I could pitch at 75mph when I was still in junior high. By my senior year my fastball had dozens of universities and major league teams following my games, but I opted to go the straight academics route at Harvard like my dad.”

“And your grandfather for his MBA.”

He nodded. She paid attention. “Found I enjoyed playing

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