Van’s attention went to the person on the other end of the phone call. “Connie, I’ve had a change of plans. Cancel the rest of my day.” He paused. “I agree.” His green gaze scanned from my head to my toes as a smile curled his lips. “This is highly unusual.” He disconnected the call.

“Who are you?” I asked.

His gaze glistened like fine emeralds. “Accept my offer and find out. Do you accept?”

“The job offer or the marriage proposal?”

“Accept the job offer,” Van said, “and we’ll put the proposal of marriage on hold. Those are my terms. If you want the job, the proposal won’t be taken back nor will I accept your second answer. Your first instinct, Julia, was to say yes. You want time to discover yourself. Take that time to let me do the same. And you can get to know me.”

“What about sex?” I asked.

“The job comes with your own living quarters.”

“Does that mean no sex?”

“I’d like to leave that subject open for debate. If you agree, we can get to know one another as we explore the more personal aspects of a relationship.”

I took a deep breath.

Is this exactly why I left Chicago?

Is red sin the new life I haven’t known I am searching for?

“Julia?”

“A new life.”

Van nodded.

“I think I owe it to myself to see what it entails.”

“Does that mean...?”

“It means that yes, Van, I accept.”

9. Julia

Julia

Somehow during my drive along the white ribbon, I’d gotten off the main road. At least my GPS had kept me on roads. The road I followed took me west of Ashland. That was how I ended up on the outskirts of Van’s property. If I would have continued, instead of crashing into a snowbank, I would have reached Lake Superior. Now after accepting Van’s offer of exploring the job opportunity, I was following his large black truck northwest from Ashland to the west side of Chequamegon Bay.

The country and land near the shores of the Great Lake were stunning, even with their white covering. Tall trees of all varieties reached up to the blue sky. Though the snow had stopped, the massive accumulation of lake-effect snow now appeared as tall white walls on the sides of plowed roads, ones that were barely wide enough for two-way traffic.

Following in Van’s truck’s tracks, I scolded myself for not accepting his offer of a ride to his house. If it weren’t for the tracks from his truck, barreling through the snow that had blown back onto the roads, I was skeptical as to whether the car I rented would be able to proceed.