Falling for the Innkeeper

by Meghann Whistler

  “Gotta keep the kids occupied.”

  Emma ran up to the chain-link fence surrounding the trampoline park, which comprised twelve outdoor in-ground trampolines. A few of them were already occupied, the kids twisting and twirling and doing splits in the air.

  Laura went up to the cashier’s kiosk to pay for Emma’s admission, but Jonathan stopped her, wallet in hand. “Least I can do for forcing you to take me along.”

  Laura shook her head—if anyone had been forced to do anything, it had been him. Plus, he’d already paid for breakfast, but she had the sense he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Thanks.”

  They watched Emma leap onto her trampoline and start jumping. “She’s got a lot of energy,” he said.

  Laura laughed. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  “So,” he asked after a long moment, leaning back on the inside of the fence to watch Emma while she jumped, “did you go to high school in Hong Kong?”

  “No, Boston. I was fourteen when my family moved. I stayed here.”

  “With your grandmother?”

  She shrugged. “During the summer. I went to boarding school the rest of the time.”

  His eyes popped. “Boarding school? Wow. People still do that?”

  “People still do that.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded flat.

  She would never forget how her parents had left her with the headmistress at Chestnut Hill and taken off, not even bothering to see her dorm room or meet her roommate. Nor would she forget the stiff way the headmistress had walked her over to the redbrick building that was to be her new home and said an awkward “Well, here you are, then” before going on with her day.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to Hong Kong,” Jonathan said.

  “Yeah, it’s something.” She had mixed feelings about the Asian city. Hong Kong itself was vibrant and exciting, hard to forget even though she hadn’t been back since Emma was born: the mountainous terrain with its steep, winding roads; the massive skyscrapers that lit up the sky with a laser light show every night; the harbor, the heartbeat of everything, letting the junks and ferries and cargo ships in and out.

  But staying with her parents was always difficult. That feeling of forever trying—and failing—to live up to her father’s expectations. That feeling that, somehow, if she did it—if she made him proud—maybe then she’d finally feel like she was somebody she could be proud of, too.

  Coming to Christ had meant coming to terms with the fact that there was no achievement so big that it would ever fill the emptiness inside her. God doesn’t love us because we’re so awesome and amazing, she could remember her grandmother saying. He loves us just because we are who we are.

  “What’s your favorite thing about it?” Jonathan asked.

  She thought for a moment, chewing her lip. “Repulse Bay Beach is beautiful. Very different from here. There’s an open-air temple on one side, luxury skyscraper condominiums built into the slopes of the mountains behind it—one of them with a dragon hole right in the center of the building. You can swim almost all year round. Lots of little jellyfish. They used to call it the Asian Riviera. It’s gorgeous.”

  “What’s a dragon hole?”

  “It’s a feng shui thing,” she said. “They literally leave gaping holes in some of the buildings to let the dragons fly from the hills to the water.”

  “What? That’s wild!”

  She smiled. “Yeah, a lot of people think of Hong Kong as an Asian New York, but it’s really different. I mean, yes, there’s shopping, but it’s a city built on mountains, so there’s tons of nature, if you want to look for it.”

  “You like nature, huh?”

  She gestured up at the sky. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Strong words for a city girl,” he said.

  “What? You grow up on a farm or something?”

  He laughed. “Small town in Upstate New York.”

  “Moved away for college and never looked back?”

  He hitched a shoulder. “Something like that.”

  “Would you?” she asked, watching Emma do sit-jumps on the trampoline.

  “Would I what?”

  “Ever go back to a small town?”

  He cracked his neck. “Not a lot of job opportunities in a small town, especially for the type of work I do.”

  She gave him a measuring look. “And you like it? Handling mergers and acquisitions and contracts and whatever else you do in corporate law?”

  “Contracts are important,” he said mildly.

  “Well, there you go, then.”

  “There you go.”

  Their eyes locked. She felt magnetized. He was everything she didn’t want in a man, and yet... She couldn’t look away.

  He leaned in, his eyes dark and intense, and—

  “Mommy! Did you see me? I did the splits! I really, truly did the splits! And I jumped so high!”

  With a guilty jerk, Laura turned to her daughter and clapped delightedly. “Good job, baby! Good job!”

  “Did you see, Mr. Jonafin?”

  He gave her a big thumbs-up. “Nice work, Tiny! Show us again!”

  Laura stood next to him, not looking at him, for the rest of Emma’s allotted time on the trampoline, her mind churning. She’d never felt like this with her ex. She’d been flattered by his attention, thrilled that someone as smart and handsome and charming as Conrad wanted to be with her. But there had always been a certain element of trying with him. Of willing herself to be the person he wanted her to be.

  There was an ease to spending time with Jonathan, a comfortableness she hadn’t known before. When their eyes had locked, she’d felt... She didn’t know what she’d felt, exactly, but it wasn’t like anything she’d felt before.

  It was then that she knew she was in real trouble.

  The man had a big career that was important to him—more important than her, more important than Emma, more important than The Sea Glass Inn. He wanted kids “someday, maybe.” And she’d known him for a grand total of all of four days.

  She pulled away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. She might like Jonathan, she might think he was very attractive, but she couldn’t let her feelings dictate her actions. She couldn’t let her feelings for him carry her away.

  Chapter Eight

  The drive back to the inn had been...awkward. After their near kiss, Laura had seemed remote, almost cold, rebuffing his attempts at conversation with one-or two-word answers.

  Jonathan had overstepped. He was sure of it. They’d been there with her daughter. He shouldn’t have let himself get so carried away. He honestly didn’t know what had come over him—it wasn’t as though he didn’t have self-control.

  The truth was, the women he tended to date—casually, since he didn’t have time for anything else—were all a certain type: career driven, status oriented, high-maintenance. Laura definitely didn’t fit that mold. She was surprising. She was easy to talk to. She made him laugh.

  And her little girl, Emma—he had no idea what to make of their instant connection. He didn’t have much experience with kids, but that didn’t seem to matter to Emma. She’d taken to him, and he’d taken to her right back.

  You’re losing your focus, man. He could practically hear Mike Roe’s voice in his ear. Forget about Laura and the girl and keep your eyes on the prize: The Sea Glass Inn.

  Ah, yes, the inn. His ticket to a partnership at the law firm...if the deal went through and Jonathan could convince the almighty Carberry Hotels to bring its business to Meyers, Suben & Roe. Even then, Jonathan thought ruefully, there was no guarantee that he’d end up as a partner. It suddenly seemed like an awful lot of effort for an outcome that was far from certain.

  But what else could he do? He’d worked his whole life for this. He couldn’t just give up now.

  He looked out the window
in his room—the view was nice, but only one window was usable; there was an air-conditioning unit in the other one, cutting off his sight line to the beach. There was no phone in the room, and the door unlocked with an actual key rather than a card. This place was, most definitely, due for an update.

  It was a sizable property, and he’d already drawn up conditional offers on the neighboring homes. The new resort certainly wouldn’t be on the same scale as any of the flagship Carberry Hotels, but it could do nicely as a boutique resort. Connor had painted him a fairly vivid picture of the plans, describing large, airy rooms, a yoga studio, a spa, a small gym and juice bar, and beachfront painting classes.

  He might be able to convince Connor to preserve the parlor or at least its design and fixtures; with its plate glass windows and the battered treasure chest and the sea glass chandelier, it was charming. The small and serviceable bedrooms, though, needed to go.

  At any rate, it looked as though what he’d hoped would be a quick, three-or four-day trip to do some initial due diligence, draft a contract and get it signed was going to turn into a full week here, maybe even two, what with Laura’s reluctance to compile the documents he needed and the fact that Eleanor Lessoway was still MIA.

  A week or two was fine, though. He could do his other work remotely, and it was definitely more relaxing to work from here than the office.

  He took out his laptop. It might technically be the weekend, but truthfully, weekends never gave him much of a break. He got through the new emails in his inbox before he heard a tentative knock on his door.

  “Mr. Jonafin?” Emma looked up at him with her big green eyes. “We’ve got pizza for dinner.”

  He crouched down to talk to her. “Thanks, Tiny. Your mom know you’re inviting me?” Laura had been so cool toward him earlier—he hoped she’d started to thaw out.

  “Mr. Brett and Aunt Chloe said to get you.”

  Mr. Brett? The stab of jealousy was as uncomfortable as it was unfamiliar. Who was Mr. Brett?

  Downstairs, in the dining room, Chloe—the woman from the other night, the one with an obvious penchant for thrift store clothes—and a well-built guy with shaggy hair were standing at the sideboard, bickering over which pizza toppings were the best.

  “Help me out here, man,” the tall, shaggy-haired guy said with a nod of acknowledgment to Jonathan, waving a small piece of pineapple around. “There is no way fruit belongs on pizza.”

  Chloe swatted him with her empty paper plate. “Don’t mess with my pineapple! We got you your meat lover’s pizza. No need to mess with mine.” She held out a plate to Jonathan. “What do you like? We’ve got meat lover’s, Hawaiian, cheese and a couple of meatball grinders.”

  “Grinders?” he asked, not sure what they were.

  “Subs,” she replied.

  “That sounds good.”

  Chloe plopped one on his plate. It was heavy. It smelled good. “And cheese for Ms. Emma,” she said, laying a slice of pizza on a plate for the little girl.

  Jonathan sat at the table and the other man plunked down beside him. “You must be Jonathan. I’m Brett.”

  “My oh-so-irritating brother,” Chloe added, joining them at the table as the two men shook hands.

  “All I said was that your shirt and your skirt don’t match,” Brett insisted.

  Chloe sniffed. “Like you know anything about fashion.”

  Brett gave Jonathan an exaggerated eye roll and said in a low voice, “If that’s fashion, then I’m the governor of Massachusetts.”

  Chloe glared. “I heard that!”

  “You were supposed to!” Brett sang back brightly.

  “I like your skirt, Aunt Chloe! The poodles are sooooo cute!” Emma gushed.

  “Thanks, honey. You want to say the blessing?”

  Emma obliged with a prayer Jonathan had never heard before. “A-B-C-D-E-F-G, fank You, God, for feeding me. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the adults chorused before digging into their dinners.

  “Where’s Laura?” Jonathan asked Brett as Chloe and Emma started a giggle-heavy conversation about noodle-eating poodles, tweetle beetles and a fox in socks.

  “Had some errands to run. We told her we’d keep an eye on Emma—it’s one of the last weekends we’ll be available for a while.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Once the summer season starts in May,” Brett said, “we’re flat-out on the weekends at the restaurant.”

  “You own it?” Jonathan asked, remembering that Laura was building a website for them.

  “Me and Chloe, yeah.”

  Jonathan nodded. “What kind of restaurant?”

  “Seafood. The fancy kind. You know, ‘haute cuisine.’” Brett put finger quotes around the French term.

  “Nice.”

  “I wanted to sell it after our folks died, but Chloe wouldn’t let me. Where else could a kid barely out of culinary school come in as the head chef?”

  Jonathan winced. “Sorry to hear about your parents.”

  Brett waved him off. “All things work together for our good, right?”

  Jonathan squinted, wary of platitudes. “Do they?” If God worked all things for good, why would his father have gone off the deep end? After all his hard work, why would he have to come down to Cape Cod to scrabble and scrap to make partner? Why couldn’t everything just work the way it was supposed to—without all the hassle and heartache?

  “You know it, man,” Brett said easily. “Romans 8:28. Words to live by.” He took a big bite of pizza, then hurried to chew and swallow. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about ball hockey, would you?”

  Growing up in Upstate New York, hockey had been Jonathan’s game. In the summer, the boys in his neighborhood had played ball hockey in the streets, pulling their goals to the side of the road whenever a car dared to drive by. In the winter, they’d flocked to the local park, where there was an outdoor ice rink that had never seen the underside of a Zamboni.

  He’d play outside in the bitter cold for hours, sweating in his snowsuit, then come home and inhale the kind of dinners only a teenage boy could eat—heaping servings of meat loaf and mashed potatoes, whole boxes of spaghetti, entire chicken potpies.

  Just thinking about it—the camaraderie, the physical exertion and the comfort of coming home to a well-cooked meal—made him nostalgic. How different his life was now: the sterile loft where he slept, the take-out meals he ate at his desk, the running he did by himself in the early-morning hours, before most people were even out of bed.

  As much as he wanted to discount his childhood as unhappy due to his father’s illness, he couldn’t deny that there had been elements of it that had been wholesome and healthy and social—certainly a lot more social than the way he lived now.

  “I know a little about hockey, yeah,” he told Brett. “Why?”

  “I’m doing this youth ministry thing. The kids want to play ball hockey, but I don’t know much about the game.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I’m not going to be here that much longer—”

  Brett waved his pizza in the air, and a piece of sausage fell off. “Doesn’t have to be a big commitment. Come out with us tomorrow. You can be like our guest-starring coach.”

  “I’m not really active with church, let alone ministry work.”

  Brett snorted. “Dude, you say that like it’s a dirty word.”

  “No,” Jonathan insisted, “it’s just, if you’re looking for some kind of role model for the kids—”

  “Man, I’m just looking for someone who can play the game. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?”

  Brett nodded. “Yeah.”

  Jonathan thought about his experience the other night at the mission. Although it had been a bust in terms of getting a lead on his father, seeing Laura and Emma and the other volunteers
giving back had been eye-opening. And the fact that he’d pitched in to help had felt...nice. “Okay.”

  “You’re in?”

  “I’m in.”

  “Awesome!” Brett gave him a fist bump. “One o’clock tomorrow afternoon. The parking lot behind the church. Be there.”

  * * *

  Laura parked her car outside the inn and wandered down to Sand Street Beach. Outside the air was bracing, her breaths white puffs against the night sky. The sound of the waves hitting the shore filled her ears, and she kicked off her shoes and felt the cold sand worm its way between her toes. She loved the beach at night, the vastness of it, the stars sharp as needles over the deep gloam of the sea.

  It was impossible to forget, out here, that you were just one tiny speck on God’s great canvas. It was impossible to forget that, in the grand scheme of things, your problems amounted to little more than a fleck of dust.

  She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking at the flashing light at the end of the jetty. She’d driven for an hour to get from the inn to Massachusetts National Cemetery in Bourne, where they’d laid her grandmother to rest next to her grandfather. The cemetery was huge, and even though she’d been there last week for the burial, she’d gotten lost looking for her grandparents’ plot. Then she’d spent an hour by the graveside, a few minutes grabbing some fast food and another hour driving home.

  She was lucky to have friends like Chloe and Brett—friends who understood what it was like to lose your mooring. Friends who were happy to step in, happy to help.

  She thought about Jonathan and the way he’d swung Emma up onto his broad shoulders that morning, and how shaky he’d looked the other night before they’d gone into the mission to try to find his dad. She dug her feet into the sand. She wanted things she shouldn’t want. She wanted things she couldn’t have.

  She turned toward the inn. Hopefully he’d still be holed up in his room, working or doing whatever it was he’d been doing since their near kiss at the trampolines.

  Instead, she found him, Chloe and Brett in the parlor, watching a Bruins game on TV. Determined not to make things awkward, she addressed the room. “Emma asleep?”