And like that, the switch flipped on. His brain settled into position, and he was even able to shake off the feeling of Mark’s eyes on him, filled with amusement, no doubt.
“You can call me Greta, you know.”
He smiled down at her. “Call me Luke.”
“Right,” she answered. “Gretchen told me that was your name.”
His heart swung low into his stomach and bounced back up. “Gretchen?” She was talking to other people about him? Maybe a chance existed, still. He just needed to keep his mouth shut about Liesel and the Inn and the house. Play it cool. Teaching stuff. What they had in common. Those were good topics. Avoid her living arrangements and anything he might have to do with them.
“Engel? I’m staying with her family until I find a place.”
He winced then glanced down at her. They stood at the coffee table, and she was pouring herself a cup and shaking her head slowly.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. I just... nothing.” A small smile took shape on her lips, but he tried to look away.
“I’m going to go in for seconds, myself.” He gestured to the plates and followed her down the line. They didn’t speak as she added bits of fruit and a cup of yogurt to her plate, appearing to hem and haw over the croissants.
“They’re delish. The cafeteria staff bakes everything here, which I guess is super rare for a school district.”
But Greta just shook her head. “I’m not very hungry.”
They returned to the table, and Luke caught Mark’s stare. Luke shook his head discreetly, a warning.
“So, Miss Houston,” Mark said, his voice booming. “Tell us about yourself.”
Luke looked at her, waiting to hear more of what he already knew.
She surprised him, though, and instead of reviewing her qualifications and why she chose to apply and this, that, the other, she went a different direction. “Well, I was born and raised here. My brother, Rhett, and I came to H.G.M.S., although I don’t think any of our teachers are still here.” She looked around the room. “I left for college and studied English, of course. Mainly, I wanted to have a job that would allow me to spend lots of time with my family.”
“Are you married?” Mark asked.
Luke knocked his friend’s knee beneath the table. But Mark kept a straight face, and Luke realized that if there was any new information to be mined, it was best that Mark do it. So, he relaxed, leaning back, sipping his coffee, and listening.
“Oh, um. Almost,” she answered.
Coffee dribbled into the wrong pipe at the back of Luke’s throat, and he started to choke.
Mark gave him a thud on the back, which made it way worse momentarily. When he finally came up for air, he glanced around the table. The women were staring at him, including Greta. He began to apologize, but searing feedback echoed across the cafeteria. Mrs. Cook was at the mic, her finger to her ear and her hand outstretched as a tech guy scrambled around her to fix the problem.
Quickly, it resolved, and Mrs. Cook welcomed everyone back and opened the meeting.
And Luke had no idea what in the world Greta meant when she said Almost.
Chapter 13—Greta
Greta sat and listened to Mrs. Cook pep them up with a quick overview of what made H.G.M.S. great! Then she brought them back down to reality with humbling test data before pepping them up again over parent survey responses. Greta listened to information on the new bell schedule and professional learning community norms. She listened to the dean and the secretary review attendance and grade procedures. When to send students to the office with referrals, when to manage the behavior independently.
But Greta couldn’t hear much. Blood pulsed through her veins, filling her head and muffling the too-loud sound system and the too-familiar droning of administrators at the start of the new year.
If she weren’t sitting next to Coach Hart—Luke—she’d be able to concentrate. She could take notes. She could have a list of questions on hand for the next time she got the principal alone.
None of that was possible in his presence, and Greta could not tell if it was because of their awkward conversation at the fish fry or because of how her body buzzed in such close proximity to his. Her palms were sweaty. Her eyes dilated. Her flesh prickled with heat.
Plus, she hadn’t meant to end the history teacher’s line of questioning with a vague reference like she had done. An almost family? How silly. Greta felt fairly humiliated to come across as a melodramatic enigma. The first chance she had, she’d clear that up. However, the morning info session seemed to go on and on endlessly. It was impossible to focus on anything. She was too aware of Luke. Too distracted.
Not to mention, her home life was still lacking the whole home part. When Maggie had told her that Liesel Hart wanted someone to help run the bed-and-breakfast, she knew it was a nonstarter. She had zero hospitality experience, and besides, she was beginning a new school year at a new school in a new(ish) town. Anyway, the whole thing came across as extremely awkward, and by the end of Liesel and Fern’s pitch, Luke was all but ignoring her. Clearly, he didn’t want to mix business with business. A fellow teacher and a property manager were too much for one man to handle. She could tell.
Fortunately, Rhett promised he’d spend the day driving around looking for rental signs. He told Greta he’d call her with anything that looked halfway decent. She appreciated the gesture, even if she suspected her brother hadn’t quite listened to her non-negotiables. At any mention of Greta’s plans to find a place, he was conveniently absent. She’d begun to wonder if he was a good man for the job, but then, she wasn’t picky. At least, not very picky.
The only property that was totally out of the question, of course, was June Hart’s old home. That family’s bed-and-breakfast was a better fit for someone else. A small-town girl with small-town dreams. Not Greta, who simply needed a house. Not a house and a second job. Then again, if working for Luke (in addition to with him) ended up as the only option...
No.
He clearly became uncomfortable with that once his aunt pounced her way into the conversation. Typical men. Afraid of overcommitting.
It was fine. She could have him as a daydream, instead. A handsome, if goofy, P.E. teacher who had no time for a relationship, probably, since he coached football and ran a bed-and-breakfast, too. Maybe they’d warm up to each other. Maybe they’d settle into something flirty. That might tide her over during the week. Then, she’d take to Louisville on the weekends. Reconnect with old friends. Drink wine and make eye contact with businessmen who were as busy as Luke but distant enough that Greta could write off their disinterest as a matter of fact. It was a sufferable rejection. Not an intimate one.
With Luke, she was too up close and personal. Too aware of how perfect he was. Talk about an enigma. Who the heck was he, anyway? This almost-local who juggled two jobs, ran his late grandmother’s inn, and was clearly well loved by every single person who came into contact with him? If someone like that—someone who cut water boy deals with middle schoolers and volunteered at church... someone so down to earth—found cause to reject her, she wouldn’t handle it well.
Businessmen or engineers or tech folks—they were way safer. They were naturally aloof, and their busy schedules had nothing to do with community outreach and everything to do with a facade. The same facade that had kept Greta from falling to pieces after her mother passed. A perfect, superficial life. No room for grit and truth and heart. No room for sweet nothings on the sofa with a pile of popcorn and a jug of sweet tea within reach. No room for the good stuff. Just the stuff that would carry Greta to and from a job that could fulfill her emotionally. A job that could save her from falling even further in love with Maggie’s family and the crazy mess of a big, happy family in her tiny, close-knit hometown.
***
Come ten-thirty, when they had their first break, Greta slipped her phone out of her purse. Sure enough, Rhett had sent a flurry of texts, confusing ramblings
about the lack of rentals in town. His final message, and the most important one, was his conclusion that there were exactly three places in town with any ounce of potential, but it was looking like Greta might want to just stay in the barn. That, or else consider living in Louisville and commuting.
Commuting was out of the question. It would add extra time to her workday, and besides, if she was going to work in Hickory Grove then she would live there, too. It wasn’t New York City. There was no subway. No fast-paced world in which to get lost. Just the good, hard work of a teacher.
Her eyes slid across the pictures Rhett had sent. Two of the three were definite negatives for her. Way out of her budget, made clear by the rent price indicated on their signage. She still had to get furniture (assuming the rentals were unfurnished), which meant the rent had to fit her budget.
The third photo, however, held some promise. It was a big house and a beautiful one. Probably too good to be true, in fact, since the sign did not indicate the cost of rent.
Two stories with peach paint and white trim, wildflowers. Landscaping spread from the mailbox on up to a beautiful little porch. It looked very familiar, though Greta couldn’t pin it down. The sign in front simply read FOR RENT and listed two local numbers, both of which were neatly handwritten in thick black marker.
The teachers at her table had started complaining about some new policy regarding grades. Two wandered off for more coffee. Luke remained in his seat next to her, his leg bouncing up and down beneath the table. She kept herself from smiling and quickly tapped out a quick text to the first phone number. She left out any details and simply asked if it was still available. She didn’t want to get her hopes up.
“Well, what do you think so far?”
Greta looked up, worried as though she’d been caught texting during class. It was Luke, testing the waters of conversation. This time, just between them.
She smiled at him. “It’s... it’s going well, I think. A lot like the other places I’ve been.” She lifted her head to indicate the cafeteria and roaming faculty members.
He nodded. “So, you were saying before... about your family?” His face took on an almost pained expression, and Greta saw her opportunity to finish what she was saying, but her phone buzzed on her lap.
“I don’t have a family, exactly. I mean, I do have a family. What I meant was...” A waiting text glowed from her lap, and she realized she couldn’t properly explain herself while a possible landlord sat there, waiting for her reply. “Um, I’m so sorry. Mind if I just read my text?” She pointed to her device, and Luke nodded vigorously.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
He took his phone out, too, mirroring her, as she read the reply to her inquiry.
I AM CURRENTLY DRIVING AND WILL ANSWER YOUR MESSAGE WHEN I ARRIVE AT MY DESTINATION. THIS IS AN AUTOMATED RESPONSE.
“Oh,” Greta murmured.
Luke glanced at her. “Everything okay?”
She let out a small sigh. “Yes. I just... do you think I have time to make a quick phone call?” She scanned the podium for any action, but Mrs. Cook was nowhere to be seen.
He followed her gaze then nodded. “Yeah. I can come find you if they start before you’re back.”
Smiling, she thanked him and excused herself to the nearest bathroom, the girls’ restroom. Same one from her days at H.G.M.S.
Once inside, Greta chuckled. It was just the same as she recalled. The dated stalls, etched in middle-school musings. The stall doors with embarrassingly wide gaps. The wall-length mirror where Greta and her friends would pat their hair down into place and apply no fewer than forty swipes of lip gloss.
Safely inside, she pulled Rhett’s photo up again, briefly committing to her memory the second phone number. This time she would call. That way she didn’t have to sneak a peek at her phone during the second session.
Just as she dialed, she heard shuffling come over the loudspeaker. Worried to miss anything, and aware that poor Luke wouldn’t be able to retrieve her, Greta pressed the phone to her ear and stepped out of the bathroom.
It turned out that the distance from where she stood to the rest of the cafeteria was sufficiently private, and the noise she heard was the tech person, fiddling with the speakers. Mrs. Cook could be spied whispering with the dean of students at his table.
Luke still sat where she’d left him, scrolling through his phone while the social studies teacher—Mark, was it? —gesticulated and chatted with the other English teachers.
The phone started to ring, and Greta turned away, focusing now on what she would say. She was from Hickory Grove, back in town with a full-time teaching position. She had enough for a deposit and would love to know if the place came furnished by any chance. Her expectations at bay, she held her breath.
A man’s voice answered. Vaguely familiar, much like the house in her brother’s photo. It was too garbled with background sounds for her to pin down.
“Hi,” she answered. “I’m calling in regard to the house for rent on...” she realized she didn’t have so much as a street address, “... the two-story house. I saw a sign for it with this phone number?” She squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her bottom lip.
“Oh, of course. Yes. It’s still available.”
Now she knew she recognized the voice but still couldn’t figure out whose it was.
“Terrific!” Greta answered, turning back around now that she had a little momentum. “Can you give me a little more information?”
“Sure, well it’s a two-story like you mentioned. Three bedrooms, two baths. Great family home.” The background noise made it hard to hear him again, and Greta began to wonder if it was the noise from her end or his. He went on with more details but kept cutting out.
She stopped him. “Sir? I’m so sorry, but it’s a little hard to hear you. I’d hate to lose out on this, but is it alright if I call back during lunch or after work?” She winced, aware she might be cutting out on him, too.
“Actually, yes. I’ll send you details via text, then you can call me back later. I’m free after three.”
It was still hard to hear him well, but she put it all together and anxiously responded, “Perfect!”
They hung up, and she held her phone against her chest, praying the details he sent over would be something she could handle. A reasonable rate. A simple lease agreement. It would make everything perfect. She could return to her little hodgepodge table of English teachers and Luke and the Mark character and maybe, just maybe, focus on learning about her new school. And if she was really lucky, she could clear the vague misconception she floated out there that she almost had a family like some flakey floozy with a history of men or a long list of ones that got away or something. Or even a complicated family picture that was just too involved to discuss.
She wanted her colleagues to think of her just as she was: an efficient, capable, single woman on a mission to educate the children of Hickory Grove. No history of heartache. No drama. Just Greta.
As Greta neared her table, Luke was on his phone, texting frantically.
“I’m back,” she chirped, setting her own device squarely on the table in front of her. Until Mrs. Cook resumed the meeting, she would be on the lookout. Then, like a good new hire, she’d tuck her phone away. In the meantime, she could hope and pray everything would work out.
“So,” Luke said once he was done with his own business. “Have you found a place yet?”
Chapter 14—Luke
It was a risky move, to ask about the very thing that seemed to stand in their way of going from awkward strangers to comfortable colleagues.
Luke, however, was a risk-taker, by nature. Well, not really. But ever since Greta Houston took a step into his life, he felt like there was danger lurking around every corner. She was like a siren, and he had no interest in getting caught up in some unrequited crush with a big-city transplant. Even if she was originally a small-town girl, she still put on the act. Like she was there to work, and that was it. No more fish
fries. Just teach and make subtle hints about a life she left behind. Luke looked to the future. He had a football program to run. P.E. students to blow a whistle at. No time for games.
Not only that, but now he was fielding phone calls about the Inn. Wasn’t Liesel supposed to be on-call?
“Not yet, but I’m hopeful. Plus, it’s not like I’m homeless.” She laughed nervously, and Luke wanted to kick himself all over again.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply...”
“No, no. It was just a joke.” Her laughter fell away, and she glanced down at her phone.
Luke swallowed, his jaw tensing. Maybe she was texting with her boyfriend. Or husband, even. He wasn’t totally certain there wasn’t someone in the picture. After all, he couldn’t count on any information that his aunt pieced together from her grapevine.
Once she set her phone back down, he got a text of his own to busy himself with. Usually, he’d have the darn thing stuffed away in his pocket. Luke wasn’t the type to mindlessly scroll through silly videos or whatever, but it was pretty convenient that he was getting calls and texts about the Inn at the time that he needed to look a little less... available.
“Sorry. I need to answer this.” He gestured down, and Greta smiled and nodded her permission, as though they were on a date or something. In his dreams.
As he read the message, pressure dissipated in Luke’s head. Everything the inquiring woman wrote aligned with his search for a good tenant. He just needed to let her know of the terms of the lease. It had been a dealbreaker so far in wooing a prospective tenant-slash-manager—or innkeeper, as Liesel preferred to say.
He carefully considered his response. In the woman’s message, she indicated the price was right but wanted to know more about the terms. Also, the address. This alarmed him. How did she see their sign if she didn’t know where the house was?
Closing his eyes, he blew out a sigh. Probably a scam. He hated to call out an innocent person, but Luke wasn’t going to pretend that her questions didn’t add up. Sorry, but don’t you know where it is? You saw the sign, right? He winced and wondered if he was being awkward or harsh, but one thing he knew was that if something smelled funny, then it probably was.
The Innkeeper's House Page 9
