by Fields, MJ
“Excuse me,” that same voice called a few minutes later. I looked up and confirmed he was speaking to me. “This is going to sound strange, but are you familiar with the area?”
“I am. Lived here all my life.”
He angled his iPad toward me. “Do you happen to know anything about this hotel?”
I hesitated, a little taken aback by his abrupt question. Misinterpreting my silence when I dropped my gaze, he flashed me a suave smile that I had a feeling usually got him whatever he wanted. “Don’t worry, if I was hitting on you, I’d come up with a better pick-up line.”
I couldn’t help but smile. The possibility hadn’t occurred to me because he was a good decade and a half older than me and way out of my league, but his reassurance did strangely put me at ease. “That’s not what I was thinking, but good to know. And yes, I’m actually pretty familiar with the Serenity. Are you staying there?”
He shifted in his seat, pursing his lips together in contemplation. “Something like that.”
I lifted a brow and inspected his appearance again. Everything from his shoes to his haircut was a walking advertisement of his wealth. “You’re interested in buying it, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Now he was the one looking me over with a raised brow. “Clever girl. But I’m not in the habit of discussing my business with random strangers, regardless of how…insightful they might be.”
“Well, this ‘insightful, clever girl’ will be sure to let her grandparents know that Mr. Two-hundred-dollar-haircut was sketchily asking strangers about Serenity, so they probably don’t want to sell to him.”
His eyes widened momentarily, and satisfaction replaced my annoyance.
“You’re the Kincaids’s granddaughter?”
“Look who’s being insightful now,” I tossed back before standing to leave.
“My apologies, Ms. Kincaid. I feel like I gave you the wrong impression.”
I failed to suppress a snort. “Oh no, I think you gave me the right impression, Mister…?”
“Adams. Greg Adams.”
“Right. Well, have a nice day, Mr. Adams. Good luck with your research.”
“Wait,” he called, standing before I could walk away. “Please.” He paused, and the clench of his jaw told me that word wasn’t usually part of his vocabulary. Eyes that matched his gray tie locked onto mine. “I truly would love to hear about Serenity, and I feel like running into you, of all people, is fate. A sign.”
“Do you actually believe that?” I asked, skepticism flooding my tone.
He nodded.
“Why should I believe you? Better yet, why should I tell you about Serenity? You’ve found the website, you’ve clearly met with my grandparents, and you’ve probably got underlings to do grunt work for you.”
A practiced look of indifference washed over his features, bringing him back to calm and collected businessman status. “You should tell me about Serenity because I’m the right buyer. I’m the only one interested in maintaining the history and qualities unique only to Serenity. Brant Douglas is notorious for gutting practically every business he takes over, and I overheard Lorraine LaMarque discussing her ‘rebranding’ ideas. Despite whatever bullshit they’re selling your grandparents, the second the ink dries with either of them, the Serenity you know and love will be gone, and you’ll regret this moment. Unless you help me. I want to show your grandparents my commitment to Serenity, and this seems like a win-win.”
My mouth fell open. I was not expecting that answer. At all. As skeptical as I had been moments ago, his plea and interest in Serenity felt genuine. Plus, it’s not like he wanted trade secrets.
“All right,” I said, sitting back down. “I’ve got a few minutes to spare before my next appointment. What would you like to know?”
* * *
Since the technical status of Bryce bringing dinner was unclear, I refused to label our meeting a date. Plus, technically, I was maybe going to be his boss now.
I switched gears and forced myself to focus on the task at hand—Let Love Inn and its future.
In the end, it was Nana and Pops that convinced me to seriously consider their offer. “We’re retiring, Elliebelly, not catching the next flight to Mars.” Pops. “Of course we’d help get it up and running. We’ll be here to help you every step of the way.” Nana.
They weren’t catching a flight to Mars, but they'd neglected to mention that they were catching the next flight to Vegas. Seriously. They’d sent us a group text this morning apologizing for the date mix-up and promising that they’d catch up on what was discussed as soon as they got back. We’re old geezers now. Our memories aren’t what they used to be. Good thing we’re going to Vegas while we still remember how to play blackjack, right?
Yeah, right.
I wasn’t buying it.
“What do you think their angle is?” I’d asked Sophia.
She gave me a ‘wow, you’re hopelessly dense’ look, and said she’d bet money that it had to do with trying to get a certain granddaughter of theirs to cozy up to a certain architect.
I told her I thought she and Bryce would probably live a long, happy life together.
She rolled her eyes and called me an idiot.
Aren’t sisters the best?
I pulled up to the inn, turned my car off, and looked up to find Sophia perched on the steps of the front porch with a book in her hand and a guilty look on her face.
I hopped out and joined her on the top step. “What’s up, Soph?”
She closed the book and gave me a ‘don’t kill me’ smile. “You remember how I told the Millers I’d keep the kids on my off day so they could go to that children’s literacy fundraiser?”
“Vaguely.”
“You also remember how it was a couple of weeks ago that I mentioned that?”
“Yeah…”
When I just stared at her dumbly, she picked at a lock of my hair. “Sometimes I forget you’re blonde. Thank god there are moments like these to remind me.”
“Hey!” I objected. “Ohhhh. The fundraiser is tonight?”
“Ding ding ding! I have to be at their house in an hour.”
“But what about Bryce?”
She shrugged. “If he gets here soon, we can do a quick run through before I have to go.”
I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes at her. “Did Nana put you up to this?”
“Yes, months ago the planning committee called Nana, and she suggested they schedule the fundraiser for tonight knowing I’d have to bail early on the meeting we scheduled five days ago. We all conspired to make sure you and Bryce would have some alone time.”
“You’re lucky I find your sarcasm endearing,” I shot back, using the book she’d set down to playfully hit her on the arm.
We both laughed as we walked through the door.
“Seriously, though, El, sorry I have to bail. I know you’re stressed and have a lot going on right now. When Nana and Pops get back, we can sit down and figure this whole thing out. Deal?”
“Deal.” I looked down at the book for the first time as I held it out to Sophia. A ridiculously buff, half-naked male torso graced the cover. Ripped & Ready for Love.
She quickly grabbed the paperback and stuffed it into her oversized purse. “Oh, please. Like you walk around carrying the New Testament as your light reading material.”
I laughed and held up my hands. “No judgment here. I’m sure Mr. Eight Pack is a surprisingly deep character.”
“Mr. Who?” Bryce asked, simultaneously rapping against the open front door as he stepped across the threshold.
We both whirled around to face him.
Holy mother of hotness.
I’d forgotten that Bryce wore glasses.
They were black and square-framed, and I suddenly lost all desire to do anything other than stare at his face. It shouldn’t be possible to look this hot in glasses.
“No
one. Nothing,” Sophia sputtered quickly. “So, uh, what’d you bring?”
Only then did I look down and notice his hands were full.
He had a notebook in one hand and a bag in the other. I lifted my gaze from the bag back to his face and caught his broad smile. It was genuine and warm, but more than that, it was full of an all-encompassing happiness. That feeling you get on the first day of a vacation, when your troubles and worries seem distant and irrelevant…that was the feeling Bryce’s smile effortlessly emanated.
“Tía Maria’s. Is it still your favorite? And these are my preliminary sketches,” he added, shaking his other hand.
“I can’t believe you remembered that.”
He grinned.
Sophia cleared her throat. “Uh, as much as I’d love to stand around and be the awkward third wheel indefinitely, I can’t stay long, so we’re going to have to speed this along.”
He set the bag down and flipped open his sketch pad. “Works for me.”
I scanned the room while Bryce and Sophia jumped right into conversation about his ideas. After seeing what Bryce had done with The Rose House, I knew whatever he’d come up with for the inn would be just as magical, but I couldn’t stifle the apprehension I felt about altering the place Nana and Pops worked so hard to build. This was where Sophia and I differed; she felt pure excitement at the prospect of restoring and revamping the inn, and I was terrified we’d tarnish our grandparents’ legacy.
“El, what do you think?” Sophia called. They were both looking at me expectantly, and I realized I’d been totally spaced out for the past several minutes while they talked and swapped ideas.
My eyes zeroed in on the page Bryce had open, which was a fireplace framed by neutral-colored stones of various sizes with a simple wooden mantel. Living in central Texas meant a fireplace was rarely necessary, but it was the focal point of the living area, and it had been one of the first parts of the house I’d thought about updating. Apparently, Bryce either heard me say that or we were on the same wave-length. I nodded toward his notebook. “I love that.”
“Yeah?” Bryce beamed. “Since I wasn’t sure exactly what y’all would want yet, I kept it broad. I want to take out that wall,” he pointed behind us before continuing, “to open up the kitchen a little, but put in a bar to keep the kitchen removed from the dining area and to keep it from being totally open. Kind of the best of both worlds.”
The sketch showed exactly what he was describing, and though it wasn’t detailed, I could see what he was going for. It was everything Sophia and I had discussed last week. He wasn’t kidding about hearing what we said and knowing where to go from there.
Bryce stood from the couch and walked through the kitchen, tilting his head to signal us to follow.
“I’m thinking that corner would be perfect for a big booth, then the rest of the seating can be tables of different sizes.
“Oooh, I’ve always wanted a booth,” Sophia exclaimed.
I liked that idea too, but my eyes stayed glued on Bryce. He was completely in his element, and I understood now that his decision to take a job at the firm in Seattle was the right one. Bryce working at Crush would’ve been like Ellen Degeneres designing shoes instead of pursuing comedy.
He was born to share his talent with the world.
“I’ve got some ideas for the upstairs, but for the sake of time, we can go over those later on,” Bryce called, walking toward the door to the back. “As far as the exterior goes, it seems to be in pretty good shape structurally, so I’m thinking a fresh coat of paint would do the trick. I’ve also got some ideas for the back.”
He walked over to some old, sad lawn chairs and spaced them out, then used a few sticks to outline a circular area. I watched, equally mesmerized by his ideas and the way his muscles contracted with his movements. “I’d put in a fire pit here. Nothing too fancy, but a nice area with some chairs and a bench, where guests could roast s’mores or hot dogs or whatever.” He nodded his head across the yard. “Over there would be perfect for a little pergola with seating underneath, or even a hot tub if you’re okay with the upkeep for those things. Just a couple of options to consider.”
I stared at Bryce for a few seconds, unable to respond thanks to the images his ideas summoned in my mind. One of those images—Bryce in a hot tub—short-circuited my brain and robbed me of the ability to form words.
Bryce registered my reaction and frowned, his eyes drifting to Sophia. “Yes? No?”
“I love it,” Sophia answered, bumping my shoulder. “Elliot just needs a minute to let it all sink in.”
Bryce eyed me with curiosity, uncertainty lingering in his features.
I blinked reality back into focus and nodded. “Soph’s right. I, uh, just needed a second. But I do love those ideas.”
“Yeah? I’m glad,” he replied with an excited grin.
Sophia cleared her throat and drew our attention. “On that note, I’ve gotta get going. You know, mac n’ cheese to cook, kids to entertain. Nanny duty calls.”
She skipped off toward the house, tossing a "later, B-lice" over her shoulder.
Bryce grinned at her use of the nickname she’d given him as a little kid. “I think she’s warming up to me.”
I shrugged, watching her go. “Guess so.”
When I looked back, Bryce was right where Sophia had been standing, less than a foot away. If I reached out, I could touch him.
“What about you, Uno? Are you warming up to me too?”
Seven
Elliot
I looked up to meet Bryce’s gaze and tried to process his question. Am I warming up to him? If the heat burning through my veins was any indication, I was probably more along the lines of melting than just warming up.
“Um, that depends,” I answered.
“On what?”
“On what you brought for dinner.” I slowly stepped back toward the house, waiting for him to follow.
He flashed me another one of his way-too-sexy smiles and trailed behind me.
I picked up the bag holding our food and looked around the bare room. “I was thinking, unless you’re a fan of eating in stifling heat, we could eat out back. Not that it’s much better outside, but at least we’d have a breeze.” I stepped around Bryce and eyed the back yard. The grass was wild and overgrown, and I wouldn’t let a garden gnome use the rusted chairs. “Though I don’t know where we’ll sit.”
“I’ve got some towels in my car. I’ll go grab a couple, and you can scout the best spot for us.”
“Perfect.”
After Bryce returned with the towels, we found the least-overgrown spot and quickly set up a picnic.
“So…do you always drive around with spare beach towels in your car?” I asked.
He shrugged and leaned over to unfold the far corner of his towel, and I ogled his oh-so-bitable backside. I would’ve felt guilty about it, but he was the one who put it on display by leaning over that way. I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Get caught in enough downpours without an umbrella or raincoat and you’ll learn to keep enough towels to cover every inch of upholstery in the car at all times.”
His response snapped my concentration, and I pulled my eyes away from his butt faster than a tween busted watching porn. “Exactly how many downpours did it take for you to learn that lesson? Isn’t rain kinda the norm in Washington?”
“Let’s just say a few.”
I shook my head with a playful tsk-tsk sound. “Typical guy. Never learning your lesson.”
A laugh rippled through him as he pulled out the aluminum container holding our food. “Didn’t Millie ever teach you not to tease the guy who brings you dinner?” He peeled back the lid and waved the container around so I could get a whiff of the mouthwatering goodness inside. “Beef fajitas, to be exact.”
I edged my way closer to the food, crawling across the towel on my hands and knees. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to tease a girl about food? Nobody comes between
me and my fajitas, Bryce.”
He leaned back, supporting his weight with his free hand. My intention was to steal the container, but from this angle I could make out the ridges of every vein in Bryce’s forearm. The sight was distractingly sexy. As in, what-even-are-fajitas sexy.
“I forgot how deep your Tex-Mex love goes,” he said, drawing my attention away from his arms.
“It doesn’t go that deep. But really, just try and think of something else that would taste as orgasmic as these fajitas or that queso.”
“Oh, I can think of a couple things.”
Bryce’s brow and the corner of his mouth lifted, and as soon as I registered his reaction, I froze and felt my eyes widen in horror over what I'd said. I pushed off my hands and sank back onto my knees. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Yep, sure did.” He nodded and diverted his attention to the food, pulling out another container and setting it between us. I was still trying to figure out a way to gracefully recover when he looked up, hitting me with a full smirk. “And, just so we’re clear, your Tex-Mex love isn’t the only thing that goes deep.”
Sweet Jesus, I think Bryce McKnight is flirting with me. FLIRTING.
All I could do in response was stare at him.
Just in case I wasn’t sure of his insinuation, he gave me a wink that confirmed we were no longer talking about food.
I forced my jaw not to fall open (because letting out all the drool would be the only thing more embarrassing than my initial comment), and instead bit down on my lip while my eyes missed the memo not to stray south.
“I bet,” I said, quickly lifting my gaze. “I’m, uh, I mean, let’s eat!”
I twisted around to dig into the bag, focusing entirely on pulling out the food and utensils and ignoring Bryce’s quiet laughter.
I bet? Seriously, Elliot? Just do yourself a favor and swallow your freaking tongue. Right now.
I piled a couple strips of beef onto my tortilla, followed by onions and peppers, and topped it all off with a dollop of queso. “So, were your parents glad you moved back?”
