She had a feeling her cheeks had turned the dark red of the loveseat. “I…yes. I heard them talking about you.”

He didn’t appear offended. Or gratified. Simply slightly amused and somewhat indifferent. As if he didn’t particularly care what others’ opinions were.

Envy stabbed her. “They sounded as if they come here often?” He’d obviously been around this place before. Maybe she could learn something about the area so as not to sound like a total idiot at the interview tomorrow. She might even learn if she’d want to live here.

“McNally is close enough to Anchorage that women come to enjoy the mountains and be pampered. The spa is gaining a good reputation.” He gestured toward the group of men at a table. “Not every fisherman wants to spend the night in a sleeping bag. Some prefer to be picked up in the lobby and driven to the boat. After a day of fishing they’re brought back while their salmon is cleaned, iced, and packed to take home.”

She studied the men. “I pretty much thought of fishing as a grungy tent or RV sort of activity, but the resort’s method would be nice.” Cazador was probably from Anchorage, too. A city guy, if Anchorage could be called a city. She settled into her chair, feeling more comfortable. Her hunger was assuaged, and her brain had a pleasant fizzing sensation going on, thanks to the drink.

Even better, she had someone to talk with. A man who wasn’t putting moves on her but was interested in conversation.

He picked up his beer and took a sip. “What do you like about living in Nevada, JJ? I’ve never been there.”

“Nevada’s the only state with Area 51 and UFOs.”

When he laughed, she grinned and continued. “Really, it’s a state of contrasts.” She told him about the quirks of Nevada—the gambling city of Las Vegas surrounded by gorgeous, wide-open land and wild horses. Desert, yet with snow-capped mountains and forested valleys. The Burning Man festival and Nevada Day. And, as she talked, homesickness swept over her. She loved her damn state. How could she move?

Turning her gaze away, she pulled in a hard breath.

“Ah, chica, you go home tomorrow.” His voice was soft. Sympathetic. As if he could tell her throat had clogged with homesickness, he took over the conversation, offering intriguing Alaska tidbits, as well as comparisons to South America, the Mideast, and Europe.

Although the man had been everywhere, he wasn’t all about his adventures but asked her questions. Listened. Was obviously interested in her opinions. When she asked him about dangerous Alaska wildlife, he took out his phone and moved to sit beside her on the loveseat. He had amazing pictures: a moose with a baby, a moose walking through a downtown area, a moose attacking a car—that one widened her eyes.