Eva could use that infighting to her advantage.
“I’m not lying to you. Withholding information is not the same thing as lying. You’d be wise to remember that.” He held out his hand to her and spoke in a louder voice. “You must be Eva.”
She pulled out her most friendly and innocent smile.
“Yes. I knew who you were right away. You must be the tallest people in the county. Who knew Finns were so tall?”
Anders smiled at her right away—getting men to smile at her was never difficult. Sanna was another story—definitely not charmed. The tall woman snorted and rolled her eyes.
“We’re Swedes, not Finns.”
Eva blinked. That mistake would cost her, she’d have to appeal to Sanna with a different strategy.
“Well, now I know.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll grab us a table while you get your drinks.”
Eva left them to it while she settled into a tiny table in a corner. The shorter chairs would bring them down to her height. She set her binder of documents on the table. It shouldn’t take long to convince them that the money was definitely worth it. Her offer was well over market for their land. In a few minutes, they were all settled.
“Eva, why don’t you start with what you plan to do with the property?” Anders began.
Eva paused. Most people didn’t care what WWW planned to do with the land. They just wanted the money. But easy enough to change her pitch on the fly. She pulled out another binder and opened it to a rendering of the proposed hotel and water park.
“Here is the initial sketch. It always changes during the project, but you can see this is the road, the parking lot, water park, hotel.” She pointed to one end. “This will be an adults-only pool. We find some of our patrons prefer a quieter atmosphere.” She winked at them, grinning. Anders smiled. Sanna just stared at the image.
“Where are the trees?” Sanna asked.
“The trees?”
“You’re buying an apple orchard. In Door County. You’ve even named it The Orchard.” She pointed to the top of the image. And it’s true, they were planning to name the complex The Orchard, or at least something tied into a Door County theme. Her designers were still working on final interior plans.
“I guess we’ll plant a few along the edges after construction is done. See, you’re already seeing how plans can change.” Eva smiled, giving it her best “I’m with you” look.
“You’re going to cut down all the existing trees to build this.” Sanna pointed at the picture. “Then plant some new apple trees.”
“In my experience, it’s easier for construction to remove any existing physical obstacles, then bring those elements back as newer or updated.” Eva didn’t understand what was so complicated about this. “Let’s move on to the financi—”
As she spoke, Sanna stood and walked out of the coffee shop with no warning and no explanation. How unprofessional. Anders rubbed his forehead with one of his huge hands.
“Is she coming back?” Eva asked.
“No.” Anders looked at her. “Let me be frank. I think it makes sense to sell. I think your offer is a good start. But if you want any chance of making this deal happen, you either need to find a way that she won’t care about those trees being cut down or build the water park around them. Call when you have something new.”
He stood and followed his sister out.
Save the fucking trees? Who cared about trees? You can always plant more trees. But Eva’s mind already started churning out ideas. Her brother would have strong-armed the sellers into an agreement using more money as his blunt tool, but Eva could tell money alone didn’t matter to Sanna. This was what her dad and brother never understood about women, about people, really. There was usually more to any deal than dollars alone. She needed to win Sanna over, earn her trust, find a way to save those trees, and then her deal would be done.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was barely light out when Sanna snuck out of the house, leaving a fresh pot of coffee brewing. She used her dad’s truck so Elliot’s loud engine wouldn’t wake her brother—she’d see him soon enough at the hospital, where, after five days of eating bland hospital food supplemented by containers of Mrs. Dibble’s home cooking, her father was waiting to come home. Before she left, she stopped at the mobile home and knocked softly on the door. No response. She waited a few moments, then knocked again more firmly. She admired the trailer’s recent improvements. The grass had been edged neatly around the base of the building and mowed a few yards out, creating a small yard. Terra-cotta clay pots of geraniums flanked the steps, the red popping against the surrounding emerald. It looked homey.
She raised her hand to knock again when she heard steps on the other side of the door, and in moments she stood face-to-face with Isaac. A shirtless Isaac. A shirtless, rumple-haired Isaac, who rubbed his eyes and waited for Sanna to say something. He wore gray loose-fitting shorts, and that was it—a light smattering of hair highlighted rather than covered his toned chest and stomach. The man needed more dessert. Fuzzy tan lines blended the dark tone of his forearms into much paler skin on his upper arms and shoulders. She’d never had the urge to trace a farmer’s tan, but at the moment, she needed to stuff her hands in her pockets to avoid it.
“Is everything okay?” Isaac asked. He scratched his beard while waiting for her to speak.
“Uh . . . yes. I’m bringing my dad home from the hospital. Today.”
Sanna returned to blinking. She could feel the warmth of sleep radiating off him.
“Good.” He paused. “Is that it?”
“No. Sorry.” Sanna scrambled for an excuse. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Take the day off since we won’t be doing any work. I wanted to let you know so you could do something fun with Bass if you wanted.”
Isaac smiled, and she resisted the urge to lean into him. Instead she took a step away and stumbled down the few steps, barely keeping her balance and knocking over one of the pots. Isaac stepped out onto the tiny landing where Sanna had just stood.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m so sorry.” Sanna shoved the loose dirt back into the pot and righted it. When she straightened, she was looking directly at his navel. Being around him left her unmoored, like one of those candy-colored kayaks pulled off the beach by an incoming storm, bobbing around on the waves at the mercy of the current. She couldn’t tell if he was the storm or the rescue boat. The closer she was to him, the more she tossed about, except the few times they touched. Then calmness and security took over, and she knew no harm would come to her. Was he her safe harbor or a fierce storm? Or perhaps it was best to stay well away from him entirely? She didn’t like the idea of him affecting her at all.