The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée by Cindy Kirk

between them.
    Resting his back against the counter, he surveyed her with hooded eyes. “I’ll help you pack.”
    Her eyebrows slammed together. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œI’m staying at a friend’s home in Spring Gulch. He only uses it during ski season. You’ll stay with me.”
    Not asked, she noted. Told. She crossed her arms across her chest. “Not necessary and unworkable.”
    He raised an eyebrow.
    â€œNot necessary because we can spend time together during the day.” Sylvie blew out a breath. “Unworkable, because, well, just because it is.”
    He smiled. “If you recall, we didn’t live together in Boston.”
    There were good reasons for that. Sylvie had been living with a friend in an efficiency unit not far from the bakery. He’d been staying at his parents’ home until renovations were completed on his high-priced condo in Millennium Towers.
    Though Andrew had invited her to stay with him at his parents’ home—and his suite of rooms was certainly large enough for two—she hadn’t been able to bring herself to agree.
    â€œPerhaps if we had spent more time together, we wouldn’t find ourselves in this position now,” he mused.
    â€œHard to know for certain,” Sylvie said equitably. “But I can’t live in Spring Gulch. It’s too far out.”
    â€œYou can tell me why you feel that way outside.” Without waiting for agreement, he opened the exterior door and held it open. “It’s too nice a day to spend cooped up in here.”
    â€œYou’re not getting your way on this point,” she muttered, brushing past him.
    The sidewalks around her shop teemed with tourists. Women in capris and men in cargo shorts wandered in and out of the shops.
    Andrew began to walk. “Let’s check out the Town Square.”
    â€œIt’ll be even busier there,” she warned, even as she fell into step beside him.
    Up ahead four antler arches stood at the corners of the George Washington Memorial Park, commonly referred to as the Town Square.
    Sylvie heard herself babbling about the arches, instead of articulating all the reasons she couldn’t move in with him. “The Antler Arches are a huge tourist draw. Did you know each arch is made up of two thousand antlers? Many of the elk antlers were harvested by the Boy Scouts after winter sheds.”
    If he found it odd she was such a wealth of information about a community she’d only recently begun to call her own, it didn’t show. As they covered the last block, she added a little more history about the arches gleaned from a trip to the Jackson Hole Historical Society one rainy afternoon.
    Sylvie had been surprised by how quickly this place—so far from where she’d grown up—had begun to feel like home. Perhaps it was because the people here seemed to appreciate individuals who forged their own path. Or maybe it was because Jackson Hole residents embraced the arts. Sylvie had been amazed by the number of painters, sculptors and writers who made their home here.
    Jackson Hole was also an athletic community where residents skied, biked and jogged as much as the weather would allow. Even Sylvie, who’d never considered herself particularly athletic, had recently begun hiking the trails and doing a little cycling.
    Yes, Jackson Hole was her home now, in ways Boston had never been, never could be.
    Sylvie cast a questioning glance in Andrew’s direction. “Want me to take a picture of you under the arch? You could send it to your family.”
    He didn’t even crack a smile at her teasing tone. “Tell me what you have against Spring Gulch.”
    She expelled a heavy breath.
    â€œI don’t have anything against the area.” The subdivision outside the town of Jackson was one of the nicest in the Hole. “It’s lovely. I’m sure your friend’s home is