Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2)

by Melissa Tagg

  Two months on the job. Almost three in the country. The time had flown.

  The time had dragged.

  Oh, Lord, what is wrong with me? This is France. France. The adventure she’d dreamt about, prayed for, for years. She should be exploring Paris to her heart’s content, booking weekend trips to other European countries, planning a summer vacation on the Mediterranean coast.

  Instead, she walked through the same park every morning. Bought the same crepe at the same crepe stand. Worked in a hotel office not all that different from back home.

  Her gaze darted to her desk. It looked as if she’d worked there two years rather than two months. Files and notebooks, a computer screen she rarely used because she was so busy working with guests. Framed pictures of Mom and Dad, Ava. Little Oliver and his new baby sister. A photo of Betsy and Philip in front of their house. Cards from Lucy and Fletcher and others from her old reading group at Hope House.

  And that photo from Blake, note side facing out. “Have the adventure of a lifetime, Red.”

  “Autumn, did you hear me?”

  She glanced up.

  “I said, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been an amazing asset to the hotel.” Sabine perched on the corner of her metal desk now. “Consider this the review. I just need you to sign the evaluation I’m required to fill out. Also, I’m supposed to give you an opportunity to voice any concerns about the position and whether or not it suits you.”

  The position? It suited her perfectly. An office in a beautiful hotel, working with travel agencies to book rooms and coordinate tours for guests from all over the world. No more playing amateur handywoman like back at the Kingsley Inn. No leaky roof to fix or cracked siding she couldn’t afford to replace.

  No, if she had any concerns, they weren’t about the job, but about the feelings pricking her from the inside. The loss of the inn still weighed on her, even though she’d told herself it was just one more sign she was meant to leave Whisper Shore.

  But it was more than that. It was leaving Mom so soon after they’d finally found some common ground.

  It was a twinge of disappointment that her grand adventure didn’t seem to be living up to her imagination. It was annoyance that it was probably her own fault for letting silly emotions dictate her enjoyment of her new life.

  It was missing Blake.

  Oh, she could deny it all she liked, but in her most honest moments—tucked under the quilt in Sabine’s second bedroom, sitting in the pew of that little chapel on Saturday nights, staring at the Eiffel Tower alone in a crowd of tourists—she had to admit it. Even all these months later, any thought of Blake, the man who sheltered a compassionate heart and craving for purpose underneath an adventurous exterior, still dissolved her into a pool of yearning.

  And it always left her with the same question: Had she followed the wrong dream?

  But why would you give me this dream to travel, God, only to replace it when it’s finally come true?

  “I think that crepe put you in a sugar coma, Autumn.” Sabine’s voice crept in. “Your eyes are glazed.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Thinking about home again?”

  That and something else. Someone else. “I’m that obvious?”

  “You talk about that inn you own all the time.”

  Owned. Soon the bank wouldn’t own the inn anymore, either. Grady Lewis had e-mailed that a developer had shown strong interest in the property. “Sorry. Again. Guess I miss it more than I thought I would.”

  “Excuse me.” One of the English-speaking concierges poked her head in. “There’s someone here to see Ms. Kingsley.”

  Autumn acknowledged Sabine’s curious glance with a shrug. She stood. “Maybe the Tottenheimers? They had questions about a riverboat tour and—”

  A figure pushed past the concierge. “Yes, I’m at the right hotel!”

  Shock propelled Autumn forward at the sight of her sister, duffel bag over one shoulder, clothes wrinkled, and blond hair pulled into her usual ponytail. “Ava, what are you . . . Why . . .” She abandoned the questions as Ava pulled her into a hug.

  Blake wouldn’t have blamed Shawn Baylor if he slammed the door in his face.

  But instead his old friend offered only a wary “Oh, it’s you.”

  Better than a punch, at least. The bruises might have faded, but the memory of their public fight hadn’t.

  He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this encounter. But in the four-plus months he’d been home, there hadn’t been a day he didn’t think at least once of Shawn. And after today’s meeting with the city council, with all about his life that felt up in the air and uncertain, maybe this was one thing he could resolve. Or at least attempt to.

  Shawn’s bulky frame guarded his doorway, but the fact that he still stood there offered a glimmer of hope.

  The smell of cigarette smoke mingled with a flowery air freshener in the apartment complex hallway. “So . . . can I come in?”

  Shawn shrugged, something close to curiosity hovering in his eyes. “I guess.” He moved aside to let Blake enter.

  The inside of Shawn’s apartment smelled better than the hallway, but its sparse décor and bare walls begged for attention. The only hints of hominess were the couple framed photos sitting on what looked like a hand-me-down end table. One held a photo of Shawn and his family. The other . . .

  Wait a sec . . .

  Blake brushed past Shawn to pick up the photo.

  Four faces ogled the camera—Shawn, Tim, Ryan, Blake. Goggles in place, in their skydiving gear. This had to have been taken on one of their college breaks. He glanced up at Shawn.

  His friend wore a “So what?” expression. Arms crossed, lips pressed.

  Blake replaced the photo. “Nice place.”

  “It’s a junk heap.”

  Oo-kay. “Well, I don’t see rats scurrying across the floor or anything, so that should comfort you, at least.”

  And like he’d hoped it would, the words caused the tiniest chink in Shawn’s demeanor. His friend was notoriously spooked by rodents. He, Ryan, and Tim used to mock Shawn mercilessly about it.

  “Haven’t seen one yet,” Shawn acquiesced.

  See, they could do this. Have a normal conversation. And when the moment was right, Blake would say what he’d come to say. He’d practiced the words in his head on the drive from the city offices to Shawn’s place.

  “So, what’re you here for?”

  “Not into the small-talk thing, huh.”

  Shawn’s arms dropped. “I would’ve thought you and I were past small talk.”

  “You’re right.” Blake ran his hand through his hair. “Man, I just came to say I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry about all of it. The fight. Not . . . keeping in touch all those years. Being so stuck in my own anger and hurt that I didn’t even consider how you were doing back home.”

  “Blaze—”

  “And what I said back in December—suggesting you . . . and the drugs . . .” He still couldn’t believe he’d even hinted at that. “It was low and uncalled for. Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say. I’m . . . sorry.”

  Shawn worked his jaw, indecision clear on his face. Finally, he let out a sigh. “I’m not good at this stuff. Probably why my marriage is a mess.”

  “Well, who is? I fumbled through that apology like . . . name a really bad NFL player.”

  “Man, you spent too many years out of the country.”

  Shawn’s laughter was like aloe over a sunburn. “I haven’t seen the past six Super Bowls.” Hadn’t watched this year’s because he’d been too busy sulking about Autumn leaving, wondering what to do next.

  He’d assumed he was out of the running for the city job after the festival fire fiasco and had instead settled in helping Dad out at the hotel—started learning the financial side of the biz, covered the odd shift at the front desk, discovered he got a kind of kick out of welcoming guests to their little corner of the world.

  Whisper Shore didn’t have the dazzlin
g architecture of European cities or the ancient artifacts of the Middle East. No jungles or mountains or even famous landmarks. But it had personality. Charm.

  It was home. It felt right to stay.

  If only he was as certain about the job the city had offered him a few hours earlier. Yes, the meeting with the council had taken him completely by surprise. Turned out they thought he was a good fit for the Chamber role, after all. Forget the fire, they’d said. Unfortunate mishap. He had the youth and the vision to help reverse the slide of their town’s main source of revenue.

  He’d walked away from the meeting with only one question: Did he have the desire?

  “Uh, want to sit down?” Shawn interrupted his thoughts.

  Blake plopped onto the plaid couch edged up to one wall. “Isn’t this the couch we used to sit on in your parents’ basement while we played Nintendo?”

  “Yeah. And actually, I’ve got the Nintendo too.” He hesitated for only a moment. “Want to play?”

  “Oh yeah.” Because he could think about the job later. He was here for Shawn.

  “Mario Kart?” Shawn handed him a controller.

  “Bring it on.”

  Half an hour later, Blake’s fingers remembered every button on the game controller, and they’d found their way to comfortable conversation as Shawn obliterated him at a decades-old version of the racing game. And Blake’s sinking into the caving couch, throwing out joking insults, and downing A&W felt less forgotten than familiar.

  “I don’t know what happened.” Blake dropped his control on the floor after another loss. “I used to rock that game.”

  “Well, I’m not sure keeping up my video-game skills is all that much to brag about.” Shawn went to the fridge for another soda.

  “Listen, Tim and I are shooting some hoops tonight. You in?”

  Shawn returned, nodded, an actual smile stretching his cheeks now. “Taking the boys to McDonalds, but after will work.”

  At the reminder of Shawn’s sons, Blake debated for a moment before offering the question. “About Hilary. Any chance you two . . .”

  “Might get back together?” Shawn saved him from finishing the question. Stood. Paced the room. “Hope so. I gotta get my act together.”

  “I talked to her today. And if it helps any . . .” They’d stood outside the city offices after the council meeting, marveling at the onset of an early spring and then somehow slipping into a conversation about Shawn. And how much Hilary missed him. And how, if Blake could find a new sense of healing, maybe Shawn could too. “She’s not going anywhere, Shawn. I think . . . she’ll wait.”

  His friend didn’t say anything. Just stood in the center of the room, rubbing one hand over the opposite arm, gaze distant. And then, “I think maybe we’re going to be okay.”

  Blake almost asked which “we”—Shawn and Hilary or Shawn and Blake. But maybe, probably, he meant all of them. And finally, one piece in Blake’s messy puzzle of uncertainty fell into place.

  “I missed you, man.” Even more than his earlier apology, these were the words he’d been working up to.

  “You too.”

  He stood and slung one arm around his friend—the embrace a little awkward . . . but a lot needed.

  “I should’ve never blamed you.”

  Blake wanted to argue. After all, hadn’t he spent plenty of years blaming himself? But it seemed they were all moving past blame these days, perhaps his own family most of all. How many times had he tried to apologize to Dad for ruining the Laurent investment? And every time, Dad assured him all was in the past, forgiven.

  “Means a lot, Shawn.” They exchanged nods. “Seven o’clock, high school court.”

  “I’ll be there. Do we need a fourth?”

  “Already on it. I’ve got this new friend named Fletcher. You’ll like him.” Blake turned for the door, but Shawn’s next words stopped him.

  “What about Autumn?”

  He about-faced. “What about her?”

  “The old Blaze wouldn’t have let a girl he was into take off across the ocean without going after her.”

  “Not sure I’m still ‘the old Blaze.’ And besides, how do you know—”

  “About the two of you? Dude, this is Whisper Shore. Talk spreads at light-year speed. Most of the town knew you dug her before you did.”

  Wasn’t any point in arguing. But what the town didn’t know was that their friendship went beyond a little crush. He’d gotten to know Autumn enough to realize she needed the chance to pursue her dream.

  It might make for a cute rom-com script to chase after a girl and convince her to stay. But maybe the grander gesture was letting go, finding a slice of joy at the prospect of her finally having her big adventure.

  Even while, back at home, he worked through the ache of her absence.

  Anyway, he hadn’t gone after her, and she was gone, and he needed to figure out exactly where to go from here. Ike Delaney’s words came back to him: “You don’t have to see every open door on the way to your end goal—just the one staring you in the face.”

  Was the city job the open door staring him in the face right now?

  “It’s too bad about her inn,” Shawn said now.

  “I know.” Losing it to the bank had to have been a major sting.

  “I heard a developer or two has been looking into it. Word on the street is whoever buys the property won’t want the business. Probably tear down the inn and turn it into a strip mall or something.”

  “Where’d you hear . . . ” He broke off at Shawn’s rolling eyes, and they said together, “It’s Whisper Shore.”

  The thought of it—Autumn’s inn stripped and torn down—pummeled him. All his work helping her fix it up for naught. That inn wasn’t just a business. It was a legacy. One he’d come to feel part of during his weeks spent there. And it was interesting how many times in the past few months he’d found himself attempting to incorporate some of the inn’s friendly touches at his father’s hotel.

  If only Autumn’s financial advisor had been able to find someone interested in preserving the Kingsley Inn’s heritage. A buyer who could see past what it lacked to what it could be. With a little TLC and the right renovations . . .

  He froze in Shawn’s doorway.

  “I don’t think I need a few days after all.”

  Shawn’s brow wrinkled. “Huh?”

  “To consider the city job. I know what my answer is.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  Blake rubbed his hands together, anticipation blending with his whirling thoughts. “I think there might be a different open door staring me in the face.” And with that, he turned and started down the hallway.

  “Still no clue what you’re talking about,” Shawn called after him.

  He only lifted his hand in a backward wave . . . and picked up his pace.

  The view from the Eiffel Tower’s second landing was enough to steal Autumn’s breath. Unending city lights and the Seine wiggling through them. Stars already peeking through the dusty pinks and oranges of dusk. She could feel her senses gulping it all in.

  “Totally worth the seven hundred and nineteen steps, right?” Ava snapped a photo with her iPhone. “Somehow it’s even prettier now than it was when I came here sophomore year of college. So. Beautiful.”

  Beautiful, yes. “Do you have any idea how jealous of you I was when you went on that trip?”

  “Probably about as jealous as I’ve been of you these last few months. You live here now, sis. You’re like Sabrina Fairchild.”

  “Which one? Hepburn or . . . ? I don’t even remember what actress played her in the Harrison Ford version.”

  “Then Hepburn it is.”

  But in the movie, Sabrina eventually went home. “I still can’t believe you’re actually here. It feels surreal.”

  Ava had explained earlier about her Tuesday-Thursday teaching schedule this semester. She’d caught an overnight flight Thursday after class, planned to fly back Monday
afternoon.

  But Autumn had decided not to let herself think further ahead than the next seventy-two hours. She meant to enjoy every moment of her sister’s surprise visit. It had started with a repeat visit to Freddy’s crepe stand, an early dinner at a sidewalk café, and now—finally—the Eiffel Tower.

  “What made you decide to come all of a sudden?” she asked now, a cool evening breeze ruffling through her hair. “Thought we’d talked about you maybe visiting for a week or two over summer break?”

  “You kept talking about crepes in your e-mails, and I couldn’t stand it any longer.” Ava shifted, one elbow leaning on the railing as she faced Autumn, expression softening. “And in between all the crepe talk, you sounded lonely.”

  And here she thought she’d masked it in her chatty e-mails. “So you hopped on a plane.”

  “I hopped on a plane.” Ava turned back to the railing, threading her arm through Autumn’s. “Figured it was time I start taking my big sister role a little more seriously. Not that you needed it. I mean you’ve got Betsy and Ellie and—”

  “I needed it.”

  She didn’t have to look over at her sister to feel her smile. The blink and twinkle of lights and stars mixed in the distance.

  “Man, I can’t get over the view,” Ava said after moments of quiet. “It’s magical up here, yeah?”

  “Yes.” But also . . .

  Ava slid her a glance. “Don’t tell me you’re let down.”

  “I’m not, really, it’s just . . .” She didn’t even know what.

  Maybe it was the metal bars boxing them in. The press of bodies around her. The smell of cigar smoke from a group of college students a few feet away. Giggles from the girls as the inexperienced guys in the group tried to figure out how to light their cigars.

  “I’m just moody. Tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “You’re tired? I’m the jet-lagged one who’s been up since yesterday.” When Autumn didn’t answer, Ava elbowed her for a second time. “What is it, little sister?”