by Melissa Tagg
And something in her heart hiccupped at the sight of their handshake. At the way Blake reached for Fletcher’s sheet and offered to help him fold it. At his, “I’m no good at folding, either,” and the spark in Fletcher’s eyes that signaled his gratitude and trust.
“There’s nothing sexier than men doing laundry.”
Autumn whirled. “Lucy!”
Lucy shrugged innocently. “I heard Angela say it once.”
With a giggle Autumn moved to the doorway, glancing behind her once more to see Blake moving on to the comforter piled at the foot of Fletcher’s bed.
Fine, so maybe Lucy—Angela, whoever—had a point.
Before she could reprimand herself for even thinking that, her phone blared from her pocket. She pulled it out. The bank? “Uh, gotta take this guys. Just a sec.”
She stepped out of the room, tapped her phone to answer the call.
And was still speechless when it ended a few minutes later.
“Everything okay?”
Blake stood in the doorway now, the sound of Lucy and Fletcher’s laughter drifting from behind him.
A choir of surprise and delight sang inside her. “That was the bank. They’re approving a short-term loan. It doesn’t . . . it doesn’t make sense.” She dropped her phone in her purse. “They said no the other day. A firm no, according to Grady.”
As if contagious, she saw her own happiness reflected on Blake’s face. “That’s awesome, Red. Don’t try to figure why it happened, just be happy it did. Now you can put me to work. After we get Lucy moved, that is. And after we celebrate, that is.”
“What? Oh no, I have way too much work to do. Especially now that there’s money to do it with.” Dominic Laurent would arrive before she knew it. But finally, hope that everything might work out didn’t feel so far out of reach. “Anyway, you’ve seen the state the inn is in.”
Blake folded his arms, the fabric of his cotton shirt pulling taut under his vest. “And I’ve seen the state you’re in. You need a break. Time to enjoy the thrill of winter in Whisper Shore.”
“Winter? We haven’t even seen a speck of snow yet.” She mimicked his crossed arms, leaning against the hallway wall. “Besides . . . thrill? In Whisper Shore?”
“They’re not mutually exclusive, believe it or not. You need to have a little fun.”
“I have plenty of fun in my life, thank you very much.”
He gave his doubt full exposure. “Really? What’d you do last Friday night?”
“None of your business.”
“None of my business because it was so scandalously fun you can’t tell me, or none of my business because it involved a book and a cup of tea?” He motioned raising a teacup, pinky up, on that last part.
Scary, really, how close he was. But no way was she letting him know that.
“Celebrate with me tonight, Red. And then it’s inn and festival business from here on out.” He ducked his head back into Fletcher’s room then. “Ready to start hauling your stuff, Luce?”
When he turned back to her, his dimpled grin was still in place. And she couldn’t help asking. “Why?”
“Because I think you, my dear, might be my open door.”
“Because I think you might be my open door?”
Blake said the words out loud for the dozenth time that day. And for the dozenth time, he pictured Autumn’s puzzled expression and felt his cheeks reheat. What kind of idiot said something like that to a girl? Especially one he had to, like, see again?
Blake rounded the Firebird—probably one of his last drives in the thing—and moved to the back of the car. In the distance, Lake Michigan lapped at the shore in the lazy shallows.
Thing is, even if he shouldn’t have said the thought out loud, he’d meant it.
“You don’t have to see every open door on the way to your end goal—just the one staring you in the face.”
Ike’s words from that morning had played over and over in his head as he’d driven from the airport. Then Betsy had called and he’d found himself driving Autumn to Hope House. He’d filled her in on his progress with the festival on the way, and then they’d met up with Lucy and Autumn had gotten her news from the bank. . . . Thank you very much, Hilary’s brother.
And just like that, standing in the hallway of Hope House, the thought hit him. Maybe Autumn was his open door. This woman who had listened to him go on about the festival, had taken time out of her day to pick up Lucy, who was working herself to the bone trying to fix up her inn in time for some investor so she could save her family’s business and her employees’ jobs. Suddenly he wanted to just . . . be there for her. The way she was there for so many others, him included.
Finally, after driving back to the inn and unloading all Lucy’s things, he’d worn Autumn down and convinced her to take a couple hours off to celebrate her good news. Now he just hoped she actually showed up.
Blake’s feet sunk into the glinting sand of the dunes when he reached the trunk. He pulled it open and reached inside for his sand-board, along with two oversized For Sale signs he’d picked up at the hardware store. Perfect for what he had in mind.
Autumn was just pulling up in her Jetta when he closed the trunk. She emerged, wearing a pair of impractical boots and a lightweight coat, indicative of the unseasonably warm weather. She looked wary. And cute.
What were the chances she’d forgotten his awkward words earlier?
“Hey, Blake.”
“You came.”
She eyed the board under his arm. “I said I would. Besides, I kind of owe you, after all your help today.”
“You don’t owe me. You do, however, owe yourself. I can’t believe you’ve lived this close to the dunes all your life and have never done this.” He started plodding up the nearest hill. A gentle breeze raked through his hair, and the sunlight glimmered off the quartz in almost snow-white sand.
“I usually wait for snow to go sledding.” She fell into step beside him. “You should know, I’m not athletic. At all. I tried to go out for basketball in middle school, and Coach Harris told me I should try the debate club instead.”
Totally understandable.
“Couldn’t we go see a movie instead? That’s fun. You said you wanted me to have fun.”
“Nope. Clearly you’ve not experienced all our little coastline has to offer. And don’t worry, you’re not going to break any bones.”
Her footsteps behind him stopped and he turned. Wow, her face was almost white. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He’d have laughed if she didn’t look so stricken. If his legs weren’t burning from the climb. Dude, it’d been too long since he’d had a good hike.
“There’s nothing to it. You’ll see.”
She gave a hesitant nod and finally started walking again. “Tell me something. How many times have you broken a bone in your life?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Tell me.”
“Privileged information.”
“All right, then, how many fires have you set?”
“What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?” He reached the top of the slope.
She shrugged as she caught up to him. “I need to know these things before I trust you to give me a snowboarding lesson.”
“Sand-boarding. And you mean, if I tell you how many bones I’ve broken or how many fires I’ve set, you’re suddenly going to trust me?”
She jutted her chin out. “Maybe.”
“All right then. Six and four.”
“Six bones and four fires or four bones and six fires?”
“That’s for me to know and you to go crazy trying to figure out. But for now, we board.”
“Blake—”
“Pipe down.” He dropped his board in the sand. “Now, this isn’t going to be quite as exciting as if we were at, say, the Kobuk Sand Dunes in Colorado or Alaska’s Great Sand Dunes National Park. Or even better, Egypt. Actually, sand-boarding is believed to have originated in Egypt back in the time of the
pharaohs. Supposedly they slid down dunes on pieces of wood.”
Autumn only eyed the slope in front of them.
“Boarding down Michigan dunes is like the bunny hill at a ski resort. Still fun, though.”
“Right. Fun.” Autumn pursed her lips.
“And for the record, this is a waxed Maven 105 centimeter board. I know you were intensely curious about that.” He laughed, stepped into the footpads, tightened the neoprene straps, and straightened. “I’ll go down first, just to show you there’s nothing to be scared of.”
He twisted his ankles to “skate” toward the precipice of the dune. “First time down, it’s better to go on your heels. Pull up your toes to keep it slow.”
It’d been a few years since he’d done this, but the hill was child’s play. Still, probably smart to take the first run slowly, just to test the sand.
“Shouldn’t you wear a helmet or something?” Autumn tucked her hands into the wide pockets of her coat.
“You worried about me, Red?”
“Well, if you break your neck, who’s going to install my new storm windows?”
“Touching.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. If I biff it, worse thing that’ll happen is I’ll swallow a little sand.”
With a flick of his ankles, he started down the hill, easing the pressure on his heels to gain speed. Sand hummed against his board, spewing up on both sides, and the landscape blurred as he angled down. It was nothing like snowboarding down the Alps, but the wind pushing against him, the slick hill moving underneath him as he used one foot and then the other to weave and descend, it was thrill enough for an impromptu afternoon outing.
“Whoo!” Close to the end of the hill he leaned back on his heels and eventually slowed.
He caught his breath at the bottom of the hill, the sound of water slurping at the beach not far away replacing the whir of his board on the sand. He glanced up the hill—it was too far away to see the features of Autumn’s face, but he’d have bet money she didn’t look away once as he slid down the dune. He knelt down to unstrap his feet and made his way back up the hill.
He gave a sweep of his arms when he reached the top. “See? Nothing to it.”
“It did look fun.”
His grin widened. “She can admit it. I’m impressed. Now it’s your turn.”
“Didn’t say I was ready to go down.” She folded her arms. He was about ready to name it her signature move. Honestly, stubborn looked good on her.
“I’m not going to have you go down on the board.” He reached for the For Sale signs he’d modified before driving out to the dunes. He’d attached hefty string to both the fronts and backs of the signs, the ones in front longer. “Saw this on the Web. Never tried it, but apparently it works good.”
“You’ve never tried this?”
Did the woman know she squeaked when she got worried? “Never fear, Red. You’re going to love this.” He looked for the steepest section of hill and tugged Autumn along with him, the signs swinging at his side. “It’s going to be more like tobogganing down a hill than boarding.”
He positioned one board underneath himself, legs out to keep from sliding, and pointed to her sign. “Sit.”
She obeyed, despite the hesitance still hovering in her face.
“That’s a good girl. Now, here’s what we do. Feet go toward the front of the sign. Hold on to the front string with one hand. The back with the other.”
He could almost hear her uncertainty. And yet, she didn’t scoot off the sign. Instead, she peered down the slope as if outlining her path. Same look she got when poring over one of her to-do lists. Finally, she nodded. “All right. I’m ready.” She tucked her feet onto the sign.
“I’ll give you a boost.”
“No really, that’s—”
But he reached out before she finished, pushing the back of her sign until it wriggled in the sand, teetered, and zipped down the slope. The imprint of Autumn’s makeshift sled ribboned down the hill. Her shrieks floated behind her along with her bouncing ponytail.
But he had to give the woman credit. She held on as she slid down, squeals turning to giggles until she thudded over a lump in the sand halfway down. Suddenly the sign slipped out from beneath her, and she flew into the sand, rolling.
He was on his own sign in a second, steering down the hill until he reached her. She still lay in the sand, hair splayed around her and sign out of sight. Was she moaning or laughing?
“Autumn!” He flung off his sign and crawled to her side. “You okay? You hurt?”
She was moaning and laughing. “I am going to have a bruise the size of a mountain tomorrow.”
There was sand in her hair and on her face, and one hand held her opposite wrist over her stomach. “You are hurt.”
She sat up then, still cradling her wrist. “I’m fine. Just twisted it a bit.”
His heart was still hammering. Not from the slide down, but from the panic. He’d brought her here. He’d coaxed her onto that stupid makeshift sled. He’d pushed her down.
Just like . . .
“Whoa, Blake, you’re going white.”
“I’m fine.” He sounded like her now. Only his voice felt muffled to his own ears, the setting suddenly distant and hazy.
“I don’t think you are.”
He squeezed his eyes closed, wishing away the image of his brother, willing his heart to steady. He shouldn’t have done this. Should’ve realized she could get hurt.
“Blake, talk to me.”
When he opened his eyes, her face was only inches from his, concern written in every feature. “Sorry,” He whispered.
“You scared me. You got pale and your eyes unfocused and . . .” She sat back, legs folded underneath her. “Y-you were remembering, weren’t you?”
She said the words so softly, it was as if the wind carried them away. And all he could do was nod.
Autumn looked over his shoulder, blue-eyed gaze scanning the landscape before returning to meet and hold his. “I can’t . . . I can’t imagine.”
Why couldn’t he find words? Why wasn’t he pushing past this moment like usual, defying the memory-invoked emotions before they could freeze him?
“It wasn’t your fault, Blake.”
And why couldn’t he argue like he normally would? I didn’t listen when you tried to tell me about the drugs. I took him skydiving. I watched him jump. The arguments formed in his throat but refused to come out.
Autumn reached out and rubbed his arm, then held out the wrist she’d cradled before, twisting it in front of him. “See? It’s fine.”
He blinked and finally forced words. “Well, maybe a movie wasn’t such a bad idea.”
She squeezed his arm and scooted back. “Let’s go down the hill a couple more times. And then after, let’s see if the hardware store’s still open. I’ve got some hardwood floors to varnish, and you promised to help.”
She stood. He blinked again and rose, realizing as he did, for once, he’d made it through a memory without despair claiming the rest of his day. And Autumn . . . She might be the reason why.
“So come on, tell me.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “Six fires and four bones or four fires and six bones?”
He double stepped to catch up to her. “Yeah, actually, probably neither. I’m six foot four, so those were the first numbers to come into my head.”
Her glare was as great as her smile.
7
Autumn smelled her mother before she saw her. Chanel No. 5. And tart disapproval.
“Why is there an orange rug in the entryway?” Victoria Kingsley’s voice pealed through the first floor of the inn. The click of her heels almost drowned out the groan of wood floors desperately in need of replacement, the faint buzz of the lobby’s soft lighting.
“Autumn!”
Don’t do it, Autumn. Don’t do it.
She did it. Ducked behind the desk before Mom spotted her. She’d known Mom was due to arrive home Sunday night fro
m her latest round of meetings in Detroit. Had guessed she’d probably stop by the inn for breakfast that morning. Promised herself she’d finally spill her news.
Didn’t make the idea an appealing one.
“What are you doing?” Harrison’s hiss sounded from above.
“Your shoes are shiny. Do you get them professionally polished?”
His narrow eyes shot bullets of amusement as he crouched down beside her. “You are insane.”
“No, I’m hiding.” Wasn’t proud of it, but she could admit it.
“Autumn!” The dinging of the front desk bell joined her mother’s shrill tone.
Harrison raised his eyebrows.
Well? Autumn rose.
“Autumn, what were you doing down there? Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Morning, Mom.”
Victoria’s white-blond hair—the same shade as Ava’s—was flat-ironed ramrod straight, her makeup airbrushed perfectly. Mom smoothed one hand over her crisp blue blazer. “How’s capacity?”
Mom may have deeded the inn over to Autumn, but she’d never entirely let go.
“We were at sixty percent over the weekend. Christmas week we’re almost fully booked, but we’re looking at a couple potential under-forties until then. How was your trip?”
“Meetings. More meetings. Anything interesting happen here?”
Harry snorted from where he still crouched, and she gave him a kick. “Let’s have breakfast and I’ll fill you in.”
“All right.” Mom nodded. “Might as well let Harrison come out of hiding.”
They both grinned at the gasp coming from down below. Autumn stepped from behind the desk and walked with Mom into the dining room. Though in need of an upgrade, the space was a mix of elegant and earthy—decorated in greens and blues that played nicely with the ornate crown molding. Cream-colored curtains pulled aside allowed morning sunlight to pour into the room.
If only there were more than a sprinkling of guests filling the tables. But if they could just keep holding out, surely the festival would pull the tourists in. Festival. Dominic Laurent. Festival. Dominic Laurent. Her dual-sided hope in mantra form.
