Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  Her gaze slipped to Adam briefly before she parted ways with the couple. As she walked across the grass toward them both men rose to their feet.

  “Hey, Molly,” Adam said.

  “Hey, Adam. Getting some work done?”

  “Trying to.” Adam was reluctant to introduce his good-looking friend, but basic courtesy required it. “This is my friend Jordan Ross. He’s here for the weekend. Jordan, this is one of the innkeepers, Molly.”

  The two shook hands and exchanged greetings, holding eye contact for longer than Adam liked. Of course, a millisecond would’ve been longer than he liked.

  “You’re giving boat rides these days?” Adam nodded his head toward the couple that had just disappeared inside.

  Molly finally pulled her hand back. “They didn’t feel comfortable taking it out on their own. It was fun playing tour guide.”

  “That was awfully nice of you,” Jordan said before Adam could get a word out. “Are innkeepers always so accommodating?”

  “We try to be.” Molly’s smile had broadened on Jordan, but her eyes returned to Adam. “I didn’t realize you had a friend coming.”

  “I, uh, I didn’t either.”

  “I surprised him. I have a few days off and thought, why not? Called up and made a reservation.”

  “How did you guys meet?”

  “We attended college together,” Jordan said. “Roommates through most of it.”

  Molly’s eyes teased. “And you still like each other?”

  “More some days than others,” Jordan returned.

  Adam shifted. What if Jordan goofed up and mentioned his work? He knew the deal, of course, and had always been circumspect. But that didn’t stop Adam’s muscles from twitching. The thought of Molly knowing he was Nathaniel Quinn suddenly mattered much more than it ever had before.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your visit. It was nice to meet you. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”

  “I’ll do that. You have a beautiful property. I’m sure I’ll be quite comfortable here.”

  With a final smile and wave Molly was gone. The men took their seats.

  Jordan watched Molly until she disappeared inside, then met Adam’s eyes with a laugh. “Now I see why you’re hanging around this place instead of spreading out in your own lake house.”

  Adam squirmed in his seat. “What?”

  Jordan gave him a knowing look, a smirk on his lips.

  “Molly? Don’t be absurd. They wait on me hand and foot around here. What more could I want?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. A pretty young woman looking up at you with a big dimpled grin?”

  It was a sharp reminder that Molly was way out of his league. Somehow, spending all that time together, researching that love letter, he’d forgotten that.

  His face warmed. “Get real. I’m here to work, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember. I just hope you do.”

  “I have no personal interest in Molly.” Except maybe as his muse. Yes, that’s all she was. His muse. And maybe his friend. But that was absolutely it.

  Jordan held up his hands, palms out. “All right, all right. I believe you.”

  Adam lowered himself in the chair, relief making his legs wobbly. He knew where he stood with the ladies. Back in college Jordan had been the girl magnet. He was a good-looking guy, and nice besides. Not like some of those arrogant fraternity types, only out to use a girl for a night or two.

  Of course, Adam had had a few girlfriends over the years, but nothing serious. And lately, his secretive career had proved to be a real stumbling block. At what point did he confess who he really was? And what if, when they broke up, she outed him to People magazine or something?

  “So what’s her story?” Jordan drew him from his reverie. “How is it she’s so young and running an inn?”

  “She runs it with her brother and sister. Their folks passed away last year, and this was their family home.” He could’ve expounded on that, but he was suddenly reluctant to draw a picture of just how courageous and selfless Molly was.

  “How old are her siblings?”

  “Her sister’s still in high school, and her brother’s older than Molly—and very protective.” The last was meant as a warning, but it backfired.

  Jordan arched a brow—challenge received. His special gift was charming people. Professors, editors, girlfriends’ parents. A big brother would pose no problem for Jordan.

  “So what else do you know about her? She have a boyfriend?”

  Adam feigned interest in a passing pontoon boat. “I don’t know much about her, really.”

  His friend was staring at the door Molly had disappeared into a moment ago, a contemplative look on his face. “I might just ask her out . . .”

  Adam’s internal body temperature shot up by a degree or ten. His gut felt hollowed and somehow weighted at the same time. He’d obviously done an adequate job of convincing Jordan that his feelings toward Molly were completely platonic.

  “Why would you do that?” Somehow Adam made his voice sound normal. “You live in New York.”

  Jordan hitched his shoulder. “Geographical challenges can be overcome.”

  “I’m not sure she’d date a guest,” Adam said finally.

  “Well, it’s not like I’m here for the summer.” Jordan gave a happy-go-lucky grin. “Besides, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  eighteen

  Molly closed Adam’s door behind her, set the trash bag on the cleaning cart, and pushed the cart to the suite at the back of the house. Last room of the day. She unlocked the door and propped it open. The Hendersons, a family of four, had left empty soda bottles, juice boxes, and various wrappers lying around. Area guides and maps lay here and there too, and pillows were hunched in random places as if the family had left mid pillow fight.

  Molly stepped into the room and went to work, quickly disposing of the debris before giving the bathroom a good scrub. When it was lemon-scented and gleaming, she gathered the dirty towels and replaced them with a fresh, fluffy stack, taking care to hang them just so.

  Next she proceeded to the beds, changing the linens and taking the time to fold crisp hospital corners. She replaced the pillows, since they’d been lying on the floor, fluffed up the new ones, and arranged them on the bed.

  She dusted and vacuumed, then pulled back the drapes, letting the light flood in. She’d almost forgotten about the balcony—but of course the Hendersons hadn’t. The inn’s beach towels hung forgotten over the balcony railing, two coffee mugs sat on the little round table, and a well-read newspaper was scattered under the chairs.

  She slid open the patio door and stepped outside. Warm, humid air brushed her skin, and she shooed away a fly that was hovering around the mugs.

  As she reached for the mugs a familiar chuckle caught her attention. She peered over the railing to see Adam and his friend still sitting outside.

  She’d been a bit disappointed that he had company for the weekend. They’d had little luck in their research over the past week and a half, and she’d hoped—selfishly—that Adam would have some free time over the weekend to devote to their search.

  She took the mugs inside, depositing them on her cart and replacing them with clean ones. When she stepped back onto the balcony, she couldn’t help but overhear Adam as she gathered the towels.

  “Any word on the movie?” he asked. “Last I heard Claudia said the script was going through rewrites.”

  “I’ll check with her Monday. These things always take time. They still have another several months on the option, but they’ll likely have to re-up.”

  “And we thought publishing was slow,” Adam said, a wry note in his voice.

  Molly paused in the removal of the last towel, ears pricking. Was Adam’s friend in the movie or publishing business?

  “Have you heard how sales are going on This Time Forever?” Jordan asked.

  Molly’s breath caught at the title of Nathaniel
Quinn’s most recent release.

  “Not recently,” Adam said.

  “Well, it’s still on all the lists six months after publication.”

  “That’s all we need to know, I guess.”

  Molly waited, standing quietly. A squirrel shimmied through a nearby branch, making the leaves flutter. But all she could think about was the conversation going on below her.

  These men were somehow tied to Nathaniel Quinn’s books. She thought of the job description Adam had given her. Researcher. He’d never gone into detail, but maybe that was because he worked for the anonymous and elusive Nathaniel Quinn. Which meant—

  Her breath caught in her lungs. She strangled the bunch of beach towels clenched to her stomach.

  Was Jordan Ross really Nathaniel Quinn?

  She replayed the conversation in her head and tried to puzzle it out. She’d recently read that one of Nathaniel’s earlier books, A Moment in Time, was being developed into a movie. That must be what the men had been talking about. She couldn’t construe it any other way. Why else would they care so much about the book’s sales or the movie deal?

  She supposed they could simply be part of his publishing team, but Adam was here to research something. And now Jordan was here too—possibly scouting out the setting of his next novel? Did fiction writers even have researchers? She thought she’d once read something about a bestselling novelist who used one.

  She was so lost in thought that she missed something Jordan said. Now he was getting up and making his way toward the house, phone to his ear. A moment later he disappeared beneath the balcony. She heard the creak of the screen door as it opened and then a quiet slap as he entered the house.

  Molly shifted to go. But as she did so the boards rubbed together beneath her feet, making a loud squawking sound that seemed to echo across the lake.

  nineteen

  Adam whipped back around to face the lake. He heard the slide of the patio door above him and imagined Molly disappearing inside the room.

  How long had she been on the balcony? Had she overheard their conversation? They’d been talking quietly, but sound carried out here. He’d been cognizant of their surroundings and being overheard, but he’d never thought to look up.

  He rewound his conversation with Jordan. They’d been discussing his sales and the movie. Had they mentioned anything that would tie the conversation to Nathaniel Quinn? Had they talked about specific titles? Yes. Jordan had mentioned A Moment in Time.

  He winced. If she’d been out there long enough, she had to know the truth.

  Biting back frustration, he sprang to his feet, grabbed his laptop, and made his way down the incline of the yard. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wasn’t going to stay here in plain view like a sitting duck. If she’d overheard them she’d seek him out. And he wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not even close.

  He ran a hand over his face. His heart was thudding as though he’d just run five miles, and his lungs worked to keep pace.

  Maybe she hadn’t been outside long enough to hear anything. Maybe she’d even been wearing earbuds. She wore them sometimes when she cleaned.

  When he reached the shoreline, he stepped onto the pier and walked the length of it. It creaked and wobbled under his weight. As much as he longed to go far, far away, he couldn’t take out the boat—it had to be reserved and signed out. But there was a bench at the end of the dock that was all but hidden from the house by the trees. Good enough. He headed that way.

  He had to plan for the worst. If Molly had overheard them she’d know he was Nathaniel Quinn. He’d have to own up to it. The thought was like a sucker punch.

  He lowered his weight to the bench, his body drooping in dread. He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, fingers over his mouth.

  It was always in the back of his mind—the fear of being found out. It had actually gotten worse over the years. Maybe he should’ve just put his real name on his books to begin with. But it was too late now. His secret identity had become a “thing,” and the revelation would be significant.

  And disappointing Molly was now a very real possibility. He remembered the way Grace had teased her about her crush. Molly would remember that same conversation, and she’d be mortified all over again. And after realizing who he was, those feelings would be null and void.

  He closed his eyes, wishing he could make himself disappear as easily as he could obliterate the image of the lake. All those times he’d disappointed his dad rose to the surface like buoys, bringing a load of hurt and a feeling of unworthiness that went core deep.

  The pier vibrated with footsteps. His eyes popped open. So much for hiding. He resisted the urge to turn around. He knew it was Molly. He could feel her presence.

  If she was seeking him out, she’d probably overheard the conversation. He had to accept that. Had to apologize for not being more forthcoming, especially after Grace had ratted her out. If things were too awkward—for either of them—he could always find another place to stay.

  For some reason that only made him feel worse. Dread swelled inside until he felt consumed by it.

  “Hey,” Molly said, caution in her tone.

  He flickered a look at her, unable to hold her gaze. “Hi.”

  She edged around the end of the bench. “Can I join you?”

  “Sure.” He stared out at the water, not really seeing it. Her apple-y scent wrapped around him, and he found himself once again tongue-tied.

  Molly drummed her fingers on her leg. “So . . . I have to admit that I overheard your conversation with your friend.”

  His eyes shot to hers. She ducked her head before he could get a read on her.

  “I’m really sorry—I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but I was cleaning the room and the guests left things on the balcony, so I went out there to pick up and I couldn’t help but overhear.” A flush had crept across her cheeks. She bit her lip, her fingers still drumming.

  It was hard to say which of them might be more embarrassed. “It’s all right,” he eked out, because he’d say anything to put her at ease. But there was nothing he could say to fix this.

  She turned those wide amber eyes up to him. “I know the truth—I know that . . .”

  She must be so disappointed to find out her writing hero—her crush—was him. Nerdy, boring Adam Bradford. He fought against a familiar flood of despair.

  He flinched even as his heart sank down to the planks at his feet. “Molly—”

  “I figured out that Jordan is Nathaniel Quinn,” she finished.

  Wait. What? He blinked.

  “I mean, you were talking about a movie and then book sales, and you mentioned A Moment in Time by name, and that’s my very favorite.” Her hand pressed against her heart. “I mean, I love them all, but if I had to choose just one—I’ve read it a dozen times. Okay, maybe more like fifteen.” She covered her face with both hands. “I can’t believe he’s here. I’m shaking. I’m shaking like a leaf. Look.” She held out her hands.

  They were indeed trembling.

  She placed one hand at her throat. “Nathaniel Quinn, right here, staying at our inn . . . It’s inconceivable. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe the Nathaniel Quinn is staying right here under the same roof as me. I know I already said that, but it bears repeating.”

  He had to correct her—didn’t he? “Um . . . Molly . . .”

  “So you came here to research the location of his next book, right?” Her eyes suddenly lit. “Oh, and don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul, I promise. I know his anonymity is a big deal and—what’s up with that anyway? But no, never mind. None of my business. Mum’s the word.” She zipped her lips closed and threw an imaginary key into the lake.

  He’d never even once considered the idea of Molly running her mouth. “Thank you,” he managed.

  “Of course. I’d never do anything to—well, and besides, he’s a guest of the inn. We have to be discreet, you know.”

  “Um, he’ll appreciate that. We both d
o.” What was he doing? He was crossing a line. It was one thing to leave something important out of the conversation and quite another to go along with a lie.

  “And, uh, maybe you can not mention to him what Grace said? About my little, you know, crush or whatever?” Her face turned a deeper shade of red. “I know it’s silly but— Unless, you already told him? Please tell me you haven’t told him.”

  “No. No, of course not.” He deserved to go to hell when he died.

  “Oh. Good. I feel so silly now that he’s here. I mean, five million women are probably infatuated with him. Nathaniel Quinn isn’t going to want to be stuck here with an innkeeper-slash-fan who’s harboring a raging crush on him.”

  She might be surprised.

  “I mean, I don’t have any idea why he hides his identity, but he must be a little reclusive or not like attention or something.” Her brows drew together thoughtfully. “Although now that I think about it, he didn’t seem particularly shy. He seemed rather congenial, actually—and I’m totally not trying to pry information out of you. I promise. You must be sworn to secrecy. I get it.”

  Unable to conjure up actual words, he gave her a bland smile.

  She suddenly sat up straight. “You know, let’s just pretend I didn’t hear a word. I know nothing, nothing at all. He’s just a regular old guest. How’s that? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me, and around here we have to be, above all else, hospitable.” She paused, her brows raised.

  He took that as his cue to respond. “Right. That’s—a good idea.”

  “All right. It’s settled then. I feel much better.” She popped to her feet. “Whew! Glad to have that off my chest. Now I really have to get back to work. I’ve been ignoring Levi’s texts, and he’s fixing to hunt me down. Thanks, Adam. Have a great afternoon.”

  “You too, Molly.”

  He looked out to the lake. What in the world just happened? Whirlwind Molly had come along, making assumptions, and he’d just let her, that’s what.