Adam still had his little project with Molly working in his favor. He could spend time with her. To what end, he didn’t know. He just knew he craved her company. Would she pump him for information about Jordan? The thought of watching Molly mooning over his friend wasn’t a pleasant one.
He heard a muted sound downstairs. They must be coming inside finally. Had Jordan kissed her good night? The thought made his stomach coil tightly. His fingers tightened around the quilt.
The steps creaked quietly, and a few moments later he heard Jordan’s door close softly. He must not have walked Molly all the way to her door. Or she’d stayed downstairs to make sure the inn was locked up. Either way, she was safely home.
Only then did he allow his full weight to sink into his pillows. But he knew sleep would be a long time in coming.
twenty-two
The next morning Molly ran the dustrag over an armoire, her thoughts going over her date with Jordan as she cleaned. They’d lingered over their meal at the Crow’s Nest, and by the time the restaurant was closing down they weren’t ready to end their date. Since everything was closed for the night Molly suggested they continue their conversation at the park. It was well lit and had a nice gazebo overlooking the lake, but they settled at a picnic table instead.
Jordan regaled her with stories of growing up on the ranch, and Molly entertained him with some sibling stories of her own. She enjoyed their conversation. He was easy to talk to, and once her nerves wore off, she stopped worrying about what she said and how it might sound. Almost two hours passed before she knew it. She’d stopped thinking of him as Nathaniel Quinn and had begun thinking of him as just Jordan.
She’d only gotten nervous again as he walked her up the porch steps. She was surprised to find herself hoping he wouldn’t kiss her. She liked to take things slow, but she feared he—being a city boy—might rush things.
But on the porch they wrapped up their conversation, and he’d simply hugged her good night. Other than that he’d only touched her once throughout the evening—when he’d held her hand on the way into the restaurant. And he’d nearly let go before she’d even noticed.
He’d checked out early this morning to catch his flight, so they’d said their good-byes the night before. He’d gotten her number on the porch, promising to call once he was back in the city. He said he might return to Bluebell in a month or so.
The thought didn’t excite her as much as she suspected it should have, and she wondered at that. She liked Jordan a lot. She’d like to get to know him better and hoped he did call her.
She gave her head a shake. It was possible she’d built up Nathaniel Quinn in her mind to proportions he couldn’t possibly fulfill. He was only human, after all—brilliant literary genius though he might be.
Molly carried the bag of trash out to the hall where the cart awaited. She’d gathered the mini toiletries and a fresh stack of towels when the door to Adam’s room opened.
He stepped into the hallway, his brows rising at the sight of her. “Good morning.”
“Morning. You’re up early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. I actually got up to see Jordan off.”
She wondered what Jordan had told him about their date. He’d seemed to enjoy their time together. “I had fun last night. He seems like a genuinely nice guy. Not at all arrogant. Very down-to-earth.”
“He’s a great guy.” Adam pushed up his glasses as he ducked his head.
“I’d figured as much, since he’s your best friend and all. And of course, I feel as though I know him somewhat through his writing. But you know, I’m always half afraid to meet an author I admire so much and find out he’s really a jerk. It would forever spoil his books for me, and what a tragedy that would be.”
“Well, no need to worry about that, obviously.”
“How’s your work going? Did you get any research done this morning? Is there anything I can do to help? Now that I know exactly what you’re doing . . . feel free to pick my brain about anything.” Just the thought of having some tiny part in one of Nathaniel Quinn’s books was enough to give her goose bumps.
“I’ll keep that in mind. I didn’t get much done this morning, I’m afraid. My brain’s not awake yet.”
“Well, you should go have some coffee and muffins now that the kitchen’s open. It’s strawberry rhubarb today. A little sugar rush might be just the thing.”
He placed a hand over his flat abdomen. “She’s killing me with those muffins. I’m heading out for a jog first. I’ve gotten lazy since I’ve been here.”
“I didn’t know you were a jogger.”
“My regimen has slipped since I’ve been here, but I’m usually in training for some half marathon or another—it keeps me motivated.”
“I admire anyone who can run a marathon—or even half of one. Yoga is more my speed, and I haven’t exactly been diligent about that lately.”
“I’m sure you’ve had your hands full with the inn.”
She pulled the stack of towels into her stomach. She wanted to ask him about their project, but she didn’t want to push. He’d had company all weekend, after all, and was likely behind in his own work.
“Well,” she said, “I’ll let you get on with your day.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Would you have time later to work on our project at the library? I’d like to go through more microfilm.”
“I’d love to. I should be finished by three.”
He nodded. “I’ll be downstairs most of the day in your library. Should we walk over when you’re free?”
Molly gave him a winning smile. “Sounds like a plan. Have a super day, Adam.”
* * *
Adam glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes. It was almost three o’clock. He’d spent an inordinate amount of his day anticipating his time with Molly. His whole jogging time—when ideas usually flowed like water from a spigot. And his working time. All of it had been spent thinking of Molly and what they’d talk about on their walk to the library.
He’d planned to work at the downtown library today. He’d done more than enough research for his story, and he knew he’d be less distracted away from the inn. But when he’d discovered Molly would be available to work on their project he’d changed his plans just for the extra few minutes the walk would allow.
He was officially pathetic.
But his talk with Jordan this morning had left him desolate. His friend spent the few minutes raving about Molly and their date. Adam tried to be happy for him, but it was impossible.
If the relationship progressed, Molly was going to eventually find out Jordan wasn’t her favorite author after all. And in finding that out, she would also learn that Adam was.
He shook the thought away. They’d only had one date. Chances were, the relationship would fizzle the way so many long-distance relationships did. After all, Molly was tied here because of the inn. And Jordan was committed to the city where he could stay on top of his career. Of course, Molly didn’t know that. She fancied him an author who could live anywhere.
And then, of course, there was the deception.
But that was really a moot point. Molly might think she was in love with Nathaniel Quinn, but she wasn’t. She was in love with the masculine heroes he wrote about. It was only natural to believe one was the same as the other.
A few years ago he’d attended a book signing of Lisa Scottoline, the popular thriller writer. Ever since then, when he read her books, he pictured her in the place of the female protagonists. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
It was a similar phenomenon for Molly, only the other way around. She’d met Nathaniel Quinn’s heroes and then pictured the author bearing their attributes. Who could live up to that kind of pressure? Certainly not him.
“Hey there.”
Adam jumped at Molly’s sudden appearance in the doorway.
“Sorry! I interrupted your work.”
All day long, in fact. He
shut his laptop, giving her a smile. “Not at all. I was just about to call it quits. Ready to head on over?”
“Quick, out the back, before Levi decides the fireplace needs cleaning out.”
“Come along, Cinderella.”
They slipped out the back and around the walkway toward the sidewalk.
“To be fair, he’s a natural leader, and he only nags because he cares so much about the inn. And I’ll admit he takes more than his share of on-call nights, which I appreciate.”
“What does that amount to? An on-call night?”
“At night any calls go to our room phones. In case there’s an emergency and a family member can’t get hold of a guest. Or one of our after-hour check-ins has a problem.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Believe it or not, sometimes we even get a reservation at three a.m.”
“How does that go?”
She laughed. “Not very well when I’m answering. Everything’s on the computer, so we have to skulk downstairs in the middle of the night.”
“All that skulking . . . must be exhausting.”
“You laugh, but it’s no fun trying to be congenial at three in the morning.”
“Oh, I believe it. I’m rarely congenial before nine myself.”
“It’s just not natural.”
The afternoon was hot and sultry, heat rising from the pavement. Somewhere out on the lake a speedboat throttled to life. The smell of apples wafted his way, sweet and alluring. He slid Molly a look from the corner of his eyes, his body buzzing with her nearness.
“Did you get much done today?” she asked.
“I made some progress.” He searched for a way to change the subject, but he couldn’t seem to distract himself from the sweet smell of her. Their arms swung at their sides, only inches apart.
It was too quiet between them. He struggled for something to say. “I was surprised to find that the population of Bluebell is fewer than fourteen hundred, though I imagine that number must go up by a few hundred during lake season.”
“That it does.”
“Did you know the average age of residents is sixty-five?”
“Sounds about right. All the kids seem to graduate and hightail it out of here. I was planning to do that myself. I guess I still will eventually.” She gave him a sideways look. “You’re like the Wikipedia of miscellaneous facts.”
Smooth, buddy. He ducked his head. “Sorry. I collect useless information and tend to share it at the most random moments.”
Her laughter made the awkwardness worthwhile. “Good thing I happen to collect trivial tidbits then. And don’t forget my awkward habit of rambling on about nothing. At least your chatter has an educational benefit.”
When they reached the sidewalk they turned toward town. The sidewalks were empty this time of day, the Open flags fluttering under sun-faded canopies.
“Have you thought of any other avenues for finding Benjamin?” she asked. “Other than microfilm, I mean.”
“Not really. I did a little looking around online Saturday, hoping to find a record with his photo attached—now that we know what he looked like. But the search was unsuccessful.”
“Maybe we’ll find more information today. Or maybe we can find phone numbers for all the living Benjamin Schwartzes and just call them all.”
“That’s a lot of phone calls. And those numbers you find online are often obsolete landlines or old numbers. I feel certain we’ll be able to narrow it down if we just keep looking.”
“I’d really hoped Nonnie would remember something important.”
“Has she hunted up old photos or anything else?”
“Not yet. She was a little under the weather last week. When I didn’t see her at church I took her some chicken noodle soup. Poor thing seemed miserable.”
He looked at her from beneath his lashes. “That was kind of you to take care of her like that.”
“That’s what neighbors do. She probably had more food last week than she could eat in a month.”
“I miss that small-town kindness. You don’t get that in the city.”
“I don’t expect you do. Where are you from originally? Every now and then I think I detect a little Southern drawl beneath that Yankee accent.”
His lips twitched. “That’s a Texan drawl you’re hearing. What’s left of it, anyway. I’m from a little town not far from Austin.”
“What do your folks do there?”
“My mom stayed home with us, but she also worked a little—ancestry stuff. She was adopted herself, and after doing some legwork searching for her birth mother she ended up with a new hobby and eventually a career.”
“Sounds like you got your penchant for research from her.”
“Maybe so.” He traded a smile with her. “My dad was a high school football coach—same school I attended.”
“Was?”
“He passed away a few years ago—heart attack.”
She winced. “I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose a parent. Especially when it’s so sudden.”
Somehow he didn’t think the loss had been the same for him as it had been for her. “We weren’t very close, I’m afraid.”
She gave him a long speculative look. “Then I’m sorry about that too. Did your dad teach there—at your high school?”
Adam chuckled and hoped it didn’t sound bitter. “This is Texas we’re talking about. Football coaching is a full-time position.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard as much. Did you play then, for your dad?”
Had he had a choice? “I did, but I wasn’t much of an athlete. My cousins were, though. Brody, my closest cousin, was a quarterback, plus we had a wide receiver and a couple on the defensive line. I’m afraid I’m the runt of the family,” he said lightly.
She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “I’ll bet you’re the scholar of the family. Nothing wrong with that.”
He muttered something noncommittal.
“Brawn and athleticism fade,” she said. “Brains endure a lifetime.”
That might be true, but in his family one aptitude was valued over the other. And he was in possession of the wrong one.
Molly pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen, going quiet for a long moment.
Adam’s gaze drifted her direction. She was reading a text, but he couldn’t make out the sender’s name. Not that it was any of his business.
She pocketed her phone. “That was Jordan. He made it safely back home.”
And so it begins. Adam’s stomach hollowed out a little. “Good to know.”
A long moment of silence followed while he searched for something else to say. Some other topic. No random facts. A breeze stirred the air, and leaves scuttled across the sidewalk ahead of them.
“He said he was a literary agent,” Molly said finally. “I guess that’s about as close as he can get to the truth.”
Adam scratched the back of his neck. That again. He could tell Jordan’s “lie” bothered her. And he didn’t feel right letting his friend take the fall for his own prevarication. “Don’t let that unsettle you, Molly. He’s a trustworthy guy.”
She gave a thoughtful nod. “So this is how you do this? You go on location and do all the research, and he writes the books?”
He swallowed. Cleared his throat. “Once all the research is done, it frees him up to focus on the story. Otherwise it’s a lot to manage all at once. Like spinning a bunch of plates in the air. He’s a plotter, so he works it all out in advance. The first draft is actually done in a matter of weeks. Then there’s the rewriting, of course.”
“I read that somewhere, about the plotting. It surprised me. For some reason I thought an author had to let the plot develop organically in order for it to be right.”
“The plot can develop organically just as easily during the plotting phase. As far as methods go, I don’t think it’s a matter of right or wrong. I suspect there are as many ways to write a story as there are authors to tell them.”
“That’s probably true.” She kicked a rock down the sidewalk, and it rolled several feet away, landing in front of him.
When he reached it, he gave it a kick.
She smiled a little when it landed in front of her, and then volleyed it into his path. “I’d love to talk to him about his writing sometime. If he ever feels comfortable enough to tell me the truth, that is.”
Adam kicked the rock, glad when it again landed where he’d aimed. Apparently all those years of his dad trying to make him into a decent punter were finally paying off.
“I thought he’d steer the conversation away from books last night,” she continued, “but he didn’t. We talked about our favorite authors and genres and all the classics—he likes them too, but I guess you know that already.”
Something twisted inside. Straight-up jealousy, no doubt. He’d come to think of books as their thing. Although that was preposterous, he realized. As much as Molly adored books, she probably talked about them with every book lover she could find. Still . . .
“Mi piacerebbe molto discutere di libri con te.”
The words rolled smoothly off his tongue. How nice to be able to speak the unmitigated truth. Even if Molly didn’t comprehend a word he said.
* * *
I would very much like to discuss books with you.
Molly’s eyes cut to Adam. He said the sweetest things. And she loved that he was too shy to say them in English.
He pushed up his glasses, giving her a little smile. “Books are the windows into many worlds.”
She blinked at him, preferring the actual translation to the one he’d made up. “That’s a beautiful sentiment and entirely true.”
She’d missed her turn at kicking the rock, she realized. And her heart was beating too fast for the pace they were keeping. Obviously she needed to get back to her yoga.
“Did you finish the Jack Reacher novel?” she asked.
“I did. I enjoyed it so much I went on to another one.”
“Book seven? Or did you start over at number one this time?”
He gave her an impertinent smile. “Neither. I’m currently reading The Hard Way.”
“But that’s book ten.”
Lake Season Page 13
