Winning Back His Wife (Camp Firefly Falls Book 1) by Gwen Hayes, Zoe York Page A

sundae," she growled, but her eyes flicked to the freezer.
    Ah ha. So she had ice cream. The sundae tradition started in their senior year, when they found themselves pitted against each other in a business class competition.
    She'd kicked his ass, and instead of yelling at him when he was grouchy about it that night—when they'd gone back to their little apartment just off-campus—she'd made him a chocolate sundae.
    Winner gets bragging rights, she'd said . Loser gets whipped cream.
    That had been the night he'd decided to propose to her. Because she was more than he'd ever deserved. Because she was gorgeous and smart and funny and kind. Because he loved her with all of his being, and even more so when she trumped him good.
    But today, he was the victor. So she'd get the sundae, and if he was really lucky, she'd see that he was trying his damnedest to be for her what she'd been for him all these years.
    What she'd been for him. That was it.
    "Back to basics," he said slowly. "Back to nature?" Her eyes lit up despite herself. He grinned. "Get back to what really matters."
    Her lips parted. He had her. Leaning forward, he snagged his legal pad from her hands and scrawled that across the paper in big, bold letters.
    Around the slogan, the rest of what he'd sketched before flared out as if he'd planned it like that. Treetop walks. Ziplining. Overnight camping. Really challenging stuff. Nothing fluffy. And workshops led by national experts.
    She'd been right. His first instincts were too slick. Too corporate. But she'd pushed him to find the raw, real edge of the idea. Together, they could work some serious magic.
    He leaned back again and held up his sketch pad like it was a PowerPoint presentation at the front of a boardroom.
    "Get your team back to what really matters," he said again. His voice was unexpectedly husky as he held her gaze. "Not the first time you've reminded me of that, is it?"
    Warmth flooded her gaze as she caught her lower lip between her teeth. Her cheeks turned pink.
    He wanted to pull her on top of him and toss the notepads onto the floor, but they needed this. He needed to work through his biases and figure out how he could really help her. She needed to see that he was truly on board.
    "Overnight camping, done right, would be a key way to differentiate Camp Firefly Falls in the marketplace," he added. "Lots of places pick one or the other. Rustic or luxurious. We could be both at the same time."
    "That sounds expensive."
    "The equipment—"
    "Not the equipment. The guides. Who's going to lead these excursions? It's gotta be someone who takes the experience to the next level. Who understands that it's not just camping, but really getting…" She trailed off, her eyes bright as she flicked her gaze back and forth between his face and the notepad he still held up. "Back to what matters. Plus they'd have to have all the knowledge and skills, and…"
    "Not one person." If he'd learned anything over the last fifteen years, it was how to delegate. "Guides and corporate trainers could work together. Yes, it might be expensive. But it would also be valuable, and we'd charge accordingly."
    She nodded slowly. "Build the cost of training into the budget and pass it on."
    God, he loved it when she talked numbers. "That one week could cover the cost of those two staff members for an entire month."
    "And then we could do a non-profit week as well." Her breath hitched and her chest rose and fell unevenly. "Oh, Michael…"
    He dropped the notepad on the floor beside the couch and held out his hand. She took it and scrambled toward him, coming to a stop only when her chest was pressed against his and her face was right in front of him, their noses bumping.
    "We'll position ourselves as offering a premium product at a fair price. Excellent value is the way we'll pitch it," he whispered.
    "We?"
    "You're the camp director," he said with a smile. "And I'm happy to be the handyman for a while. As long as tool-belts do it for