by Melissa Tagg
No return tease lit his eyes. Only a widening gap between them as he let her bag of books drop to the porch floor with a thump and stepped back, rubbing his hands together—maybe for warmth. Maybe to fill the quiet her lack of words produced.
But what more was there to say?
In a month, she’d be gone. And he needed to know.
Or maybe she needed him to know. Before he kissed her. Before he inched past the last of her reserve.
More like pole-vaulted.
The wind chugged again, the rhythm of the tree branch picking up speed as it hit against the house. “I’ve been wanting to go for years. Planned to study there in high school even, but then Dad . . .”
He met her eyes once more, slivers of compassion joining the stormy mix of who-knew-what in his dark gaze. “You’re just picking up and moving? What about the inn?”
“That’s why I’m trying so hard to get everything into place. You know, fix it up, Dominic Laurent—the guy you met yesterday—he’s my secret plan. I even had this crazy idea to ask my sister to take over management.” She shifted her weight. “I don’t want to leave a mess behind me.”
“Clearly.”
How could one word feel so sharp? “Blake—”
He shook his head. “No, you’re being smart, Autumn. Like always. Responsible, checking things off the list. If you’re going to walk away from your life here, at least you’re doing it the right way.”
Then why did his tone suggest the opposite? “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
He sighed, raking his hand through his hair, backing down the porch steps.
She marched after him. “Please don’t make me feel bad for this. I’m just trying to follow my dream before . . . it’s too late.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable now that he’d moved from the light of the porch. “Well, congratulations on the job.” A forced half smile, the feel of his hand lightly squeezing her arm, neither stopped his words from falling flat.
12
The snow-globe effect glittered the town square. Blake pulled up the collar of his navy blue coat, trapping whatever heat he could. Once the snow they’d hoped for had started falling, it hadn’t stopped. It dusted from the sky now and, in addition to the twinkle lights, wreaths and tinseled ornaments dangled from the gazebo and streetlamps.
It was exactly as Blake had pictured it when he and Autumn had started planning for the festival. So why couldn’t he shake the melancholy that twisted around him like a scratchy scarf?
“We’ll have to be careful not to blow a circuit, but it’s doable,” Frankie said, gloved hands closed around his Thermos.
He’d arranged for Frankie and Benj, two guys from the city crew, to meet him at the square today to talk about the Christmas tree lighting.
“It’s going to be a good display, the perfect kickoff for the festival.” He took a sip of the cocoa he’d picked up at the bakery.
“First time we’ve ever done something like that.” Benj’s hair poked out from underneath his fur-lined cap. “Reminds me of the tree lighting down in Silver Dollar City.”
Maybe wouldn’t be quite that spectacular, but still, excitement for the festival had begun to spread through town. Despite the failure of their committee meeting a couple weeks back, folks seemed to be getting on board.
They still had a good week to spruce up the rest of the downtown before festivalgoers descended on the town. And this morning, Dad had approved spending the festival budget—including booth sponsorship dollars—however Blake and Autumn chose.
“When you were appointed the festival coordinator, son, you were given control of the budget. So if you don’t want to hire Lillith Dunwoody, don’t do it.”
They’d had the discussion over breakfast at the kitchen table. “Even if the committee members quit?”
Mom had refilled his glass of orange juice. “If they quit over something like that, they weren’t ever committed in the first place, if you want my opinion.”
He’d chuckled then, looking between his parents. Mom, spritely and energetic as ever. Dad, grinning. And yet, it wasn’t enough to hide the exhaustion circling his eyes. The town economy must be taking a toll on Dad. Serving as mayor while running his own business would be enough to wear anyone out. That and the thought of another election coming down the pike.
But the logic of it didn’t erase the worry that thumped through Blake at Dad’s appearance. Maybe he should’ve insisted on working at the hotel, taking on some of Dad’s load, instead of doing the festival.
“Do what you think is right as far as the festival budget,” Dad had said after swallowing a bite of toast.
Whatever he thought was right.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it. How was he supposed to trust himself to know what was right, considering his past? Considering how many times he’d chosen wrong? Considering the years he’d wasted living in the shadow of those mistakes?
And it wasn’t the decision on how to spend the festival budget whirling up his worries anyway, was it? Autumn’s face flashed in his mind. She’s leaving.
“So are we good to go here, Blaze?”
He twitched to attention. “Oh, yeah, Frankie. Thanks for all the help.”
“Just remember, on the night of the tree lighting, the important thing is that you plug into the right outlet. We’re running everything through surge protectors, but even so, if you plug into the extension with the rest of the lights—that’s this one here—you could cause a blackout.”
“Or worse, a fire,” Benj cut in.
“Got it.”
He pitched his now-empty Styrofoam cup into the trash bin beside the gazebo and thanked Frankie and Benj again. Another item checked off his and Autumn’s list. Wonder how far she was getting on her to-dos. He could text her. Even better, call.
But after last night . . .
“I’m moving, Blake.”
His steps dragged. It bothered him that it bothered him. It bothered him that it had kept him awake half the night. He should’ve fallen into a worn-out sleep after the day of traveling.
Instead he’d tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning, wishing he’d never let himself notice her. Wishing he’d stayed focused on the task at hand, the reasons he’d come home.
Wishing she’d stay.
Wishing he was enough to make her want to stay.
Just as he stopped at his father’s hotel, a man stepped from the revolving doors, righted the cap on his head, and turned toward Blake. Wait . . . wasn’t that the Laurent dude Autumn had introduced him to at the snowball fight?
The man stopped. “Ah, the younger Hunziker, I believe. We met the other night.”
Yes, right before his humiliating fight with Shawn, the evidence of which still ringed his right eye. Though the bruise had already lightened to a brownish yellow.
“Nice to see you again,” he said, jutting out his hand. But why was Laurent at the hotel instead of the inn?
The man must’ve caught the question in Blake’s eyes. “Nice hotel. Surprising for this small of a town, really.”
“Well, only about ten thousand of us live here, but on a good summer weekend, we swell to close to twenty-five thou.”
“So I hear.” Laurent tossed his scarf over his shoulder. “I must be going.”
Blake swallowed the slew of inquiries tussling his thoughts as he watched the man walk away. A minute later, he approached the hotel’s check-in desk. “Hey, Clark,” he greeted the concierge who had manned the desk since Blake could remember. “The dude who just left, Dominic Laurent, is he checked in here?”
Clark straightened the rack of brochures at the corner of the desk. “If he was, I couldn’t tell you. Guest privacy and all that. But since he isn’t, I can tell you he just came from a meeting with your dad.”
“A meeting. With my dad.”
“That’s what I said.”
Blake tapped the desk with his palm. “Thanks, Clark.”
<
br /> Dominic Laurent had a meeting with his father. Uh-oh, had he started comparing investment opportunities? Decided Autumn’s lakeside inn didn’t measure up to the upscale hotel in the middle of town?
Autumn would be crushed. She’d talked about how important the potential investment was to the future of her inn. And though she didn’t say it in so many words, he had a feeling it wasn’t just important, but critical. That loan extension might have been enough to get her through a couple months, but the bank couldn’t hold out forever.
He angled through the lobby and headed toward Dad’s office. He found his father already on his way down the hallway, a grin accompanying his hurried steps. “Hi, son. Banner morning, this. Just got word that two members of the state tourism board will be attending the Christmas festival. Take that, Victoria Kingsley. We’ll get our grant yet. But what can I do for you?”
He fell in step with Dad. “The man you just met with . . . Laurent.”
“Good guy. Younger than I expected. Knows the biz.”
“What was he here for, Dad?”
“Only something I’ve been working on for months. More than a year, actually. I’ve been strategically reaching out to LLI ever since I noticed the downtick in tourist numbers summer before last. Finally tempted them to town.”
Blake skidded to a halt. “What?”
“There’ll be a little give and take if we join their family of hotels, but the bulk of the give would be on their side. In the form of a financial commitment. And it’ll blow our marketing out of the water.”
“You got Laurent to town?” Autumn had talked like the man’s presence was some kind of divine intervention. She didn’t know why Dominic Laurent had come to their little tourist town, but she was just sure it was an answer to prayer. Her prayer.
Instead, if he understood his father correctly, it was an answer to corporate strategy. From the hotel that had eaten away at her inn’s business for years.
Dad finally paused. “Yeah, I got him here. But get this, his family has this crazy superstition. They never actually stay at hotels they own or invest in. So he’s booked out at the Kingsley Inn. Is that rich or what?”
Dad started walking again.
Rich . . . or something.
How was he supposed to tell Red?
If only Autumn had coordinated her outfit as well as she’d organized the party downstairs.
“You should’ve let me run to your Mom’s house and pick up your own shoes instead of bringing a pair of mine.” Ellie stood in the center of the guest room with her hands on her hips.
Autumn placed one tentative foot in front of the other. How did a person walk in spikes like these? It’s what she got for leaving in such a frenzy this morning. She’d grabbed her garment bag with her dress for tonight—and mismatching shoes.
She hadn’t realized the mistake until just thirty minutes ago, when she’d finally hurried upstairs to change as guests started arriving. No time to run to Mom’s place. Thus, the harried phone call to Elle, who hadn’t yet left her house. “Thank goodness, we’ve got the same size feet. Can you bring a pair for me to borrow when you come?” Too bad she hadn’t emphasized flats instead of heels.
Maybe it would’ve made more sense to call Mom or Ava, but neither had been particularly talkative when she’d arrived home from the Illinois road trip. She’d tried—again—to talk to her sister. But Ava had closed down the second Autumn admitted where she’d spent her day—or more accurately, who with.
She hadn’t seen either Mom or Ava all day today. Had thought maybe one or both of them would offer to come over to the inn, help with final party preparations. Now she wondered if they’d even show up tonight. But how could they not? In all the changes that had rocked their family since Dad died, their annual Christmas party was the one holding tradition. They wouldn’t skip it, would they?
“It would’ve been out of your way to stop at Mom’s house,” she argued with Ellie now. “Besides, your red shoes look way better with the dress anyway, right?” She tilted to the side. “Even if I can’t walk in them.”
The sleeves of her black dress reached to her elbows and the top half fit her figure perfectly. The skirt gathered at her waist, then swished out in layers to her knees. The red heels were the perfect accent. Made her feel like Audrey Hepburn ready to take to the lamp-lit streets of Paris.
But it’d be a miracle if she made it through the evening without toppling down the staircase and breaking her nose. Not exactly the kind of impression she wanted to make on the party attendees downstairs—community members, the inn staff and their families, the guests currently filling ten of the inn’s rooms. Most of all, Dominic Laurent.
“Are you sure you should even be here, Ellie? Your doctor did order bed rest, right?”
“Mild bed rest. I’ve already had this argument with Tim. In fact, he called my clinic this morning specifically to get the okay for me to come tonight. I’m surprised he didn’t ask for a doctor’s permission slip. Made me promise never to stand more than five minutes at a time. Speaking of . . .” She lowered onto the guest bed.
Autumn reached the window, ankles finally beginning to hold up. The perfect winter evening—glimmering stars peeking through feathery clouds, a quarter moon smiling—seemed like Mother Nature’s kiss of approval.
She should be dancing inside with the thrill of this evening—a chance to wear a pretty dress, play host to friends, show off her inn looking better than it had in years. Thanks to Blake.
And that would be the reason for the emotional undertow keeping her from floating joyfully on the surface of the night’s fun.
“Ell . . .” She turned from the window. “Do you think I’m going to like France?”
Ellie pulled out her ruby earrings. “Like it? Honey, you’ve been talking my ear off about it ever since Sabine e-mailed you the job description. I’m still a little ticked at her for pulling you away from me. And yet, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t want you to chase your dream? You’re not rethinking the move, are you?”
“Oh no, it’s just . . .” With each day she checked off on the calendar, subtle concern joined the swirls of excitement about her upcoming move. There were things she’d miss. People. The pillowy comfort of familiarity. The way temperamental Lake Michigan greeted her every morning. “Just reality setting in.”
“You’ll probably have a little homesickness when you get there. You might have moments of wondering what you got yourself into. But then you’ll go up the Eiffel Tower. You’ll take a bus out to Versailles. You’ll catch a train some weekend to Spain. And the doubt will fade away.
“’Course, all the rest of us back at home will miss you like crazy.” Ellie reached for Autumn’s hand and dropped in her earrings. “Here, these will pull your whole outfit together.”
“But they’re yours.”
“Believe me, I won’t miss them.” She slipped off her matching bracelet. “This too. There, perfect. You are going to be the belle of the ball.”
Autumn smoothed her angled bangs over her forehead. “You do realize I’m technically working tonight, right?”
Ellie stepped back, surveying Autumn’s ensemble. “Just out of curiosity, which of the guys do you most want to impress? The foreign one with the cute accent and the investment dollars or the handsome hometown prodigal?”
Autumn stepped out of one shoe and rubbed her foot. “Ellie Jakes, Dominic Laurent is a guest. I never fraternize with guests. Especially not ones I hope to form a business relationship with.” Although, it was odd that after several days, Dominic still hadn’t said a word about the inn. He’d simply greeted her before heading out each day. Complimented Betsy’s meals and the view from his suite.
But nothing of a professional nature. Oh well, maybe he preferred to experience their amenities extensively before talking business.
“I just thought perhaps you’d noticed that he’s got that suave and mysterious thing going for him.” Ellie sat on the bed. “Blake, of course, is
about as mysterious as an apple, but still—”
“Ellie.” She didn’t even know if Blake still planned to come tonight. Not after the way he’d looked at her when she told him about France.
“There’s something different about Blake these days, though.” Ellie continued, apparently oblivious to Autumn’s pinched reaction. “He’s focused and determined—still a little quirky, yes, but with a good heart. And when he’s not working on the festival or beating my husband at basketball—or whisking you away to Illinois, for that matter—he’s here at the inn. Almost as if he’s getting a little . . . attached?”
Autumn squeezed back into her shoe. “He does like this place. He keeps giving me ideas for improvements. Yesterday on our drive he was telling me about this reservation software the hotel uses.”
“I wasn’t talking about the inn, and you know it.”
So maybe she did. So maybe she knew exactly what Ellie hinted at.
But what Ellie obviously overlooked was the teensy little existence of the ocean that would soon separate Autumn from Blake.
They’d connected, sure. Found a surprising friendship while working, yes. But as soon as she’d dropped that bombshell last night about her upcoming move, everything had changed.
And that . . . was that. No need to dwell on it.
“Come on, Tzeitel, let’s go join the party.”
Ellie stood. “Reference?”
“Fiddler on the Roof. Let’s go before I start singing ‘Matchmaker, Matchmaker.’”
When they emerged from the room, Autumn balanced herself with a hand on Ellie’s shoulder. Even from the second floor, the smell of the chocolate fondue bar wafted, sweet and enticing. The brassy jazz of Benny Goodman’s “Santa Claus Came in the Spring” provided the backdrop for chatter below.
Autumn leaned close to Ellie. “If I fall down these steps and break my neck, promise me you’ll name your baby after me.”
