Page 13 of One Kind Goal

Chapter Three

Morgan sat back in her seat and rubbed her stomach. “I have not pigged out on pancakes in eons and bacon has been a foreign concept. I hope I don’t regret this breakfast.”

“How can anyone regret pancakes and bacon?” Sawyer’s plate was basically licked clean, but Morgan imagined an extraordinary body like his needed quite a bit of fuel.

Especially when he’d expended so much energy thoroughly satisfying her. That probably explained why she’d been so famished as well. Looking down at her plate, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d actually eaten everything served to her.

“I suppose we won’t have to regret this feeding frenzy if we properly exercise later.” Morgan took a sip of her orange juice, but she kept her gaze trained on Sawyer over the rim of her glass.

His eyes darkened. “Time to find that rope.”

“Hey, guys!”

They both flinched before looking over at Isabel who had appeared beside their table.

“Good morning,” Sawyer said.

Isabel tapped her wristwatch. “You mean good afternoon. But I know how time is . . . irrelevant sometimes.” She winked. “Are you having fun together so far?”

“We are,” Morgan said. “That cottage is fantastic.”

Isabel beamed. “The renovations happened as envisioned. I wasn’t always sure it would all come together, but my grandfather and I are pleased with the end result.”

Sawyer gestured to the full dining hall around them. “And it looks as if the resort is drawing a good crowd.”

“Yeah. We’ve done some marketing around skiing on Mount Woodrich and going on winter adventures through Dakota’s company, Birch Peak Adventures,” Isabel said. “So far that angle has been working nicely for us and Dakota and other local businesses. We’ve been busy all season. Spring will bring new offerings to our guests.”

“So we’ll have to be sure to visit again in the spring.” Morgan slid her foot up the inside of Sawyer’s leg under the table.

He caught her foot, pressing his thumb into the arch and moving it in a massaging fashion that nearly had Morgan moaning aloud at the table.

“Yes, you should definitely come in the spring. We’d love to have you visit any time of year.” Isabel bent as if to say more, but a man and a boy shuffled over.

“Hi,” the man said shyly, eyeing Sawyer. “We don’t mean to interrupt, but are you . . . you’re Sawyer Lundin, aren’t you?”

The boy’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open a little as he stared at Sawyer. He looked as if he might explode with excitement.

Morgan slid over on the log bench where they were seated and patted the spot next to her. “He sure is Sawyer Lundin. Have a seat.”

The dad nudged the boy onto the bench then he perched on the end. “I told you it was him, Zack.”

The boy still stared at Sawyer.

“Do you play hockey?” Morgan asked Zack. The question made the boy turn his head toward her.

“Y-yes,” Zack stammered.

“What position do you play?” Sawyer asked.

“Center forward . . . like you.” The boy’s cheeks pinked.

“He’s good too,” his father boasted. “Moves like the wind on the ice.”

Zack’s cheeks flushed a brighter red. “Dad . . .”

“What? It’s the truth. And he’s basically learned to play hockey by watching footage of you,” the father said, pointing to Sawyer. “My husband and I like hockey, but we’re pretty crappy at it.”

That made Zack giggle. “They really are.”