Holiday Man

by Marilyn Brant

  Because, despite their different ways of spending a weekend away from home, he had only one real burning question to ask her: Had she fallen in love with him the way he had for her?

  On Halloween, he intended to find out.

  ***

  Shannon set down the receiver and tapped out a pattern on the back of the phone with her fingernails.

  Who was Bram Hartwick?

  An international business mogul? A passionate lover? An unlikely homebody? She couldn’t pin an easy label on him. She only knew he had more sides than a decahedron, and she’d never been too fond of geometry.

  She touched the delicate yet stunningly beautiful glass beads encircling her neck. This birthday token of Bram’s showcased his generosity and his terrific taste in jewelry, but a ribbon of envy wrapped itself around her throat as well, making it difficult for her to swallow.

  She, too, wanted to watch as the talented artisans crafted these hand-blown beads right in front of her eyes. Despite adoring the necklace Bram had selected for her, she, too, wanted to walk into a Venetian jewelry shop and be assailed by row upon row of choices. Then, after picking her favorite, she, too, wanted to stroll alongside the canals and over the quaint, centuries-old bridges, letting the wind ruffle her hair. And later, when her fingertips would brush against her new necklace, she would be reminded of that specific, joyful memory. A memory she’d played an active part in creating.

  Whenever she touched that necklace now, it reminded her of Bram’s thoughtfulness on this, her twenty-seventh birthday…but it also slammed home just how much of the world she had yet to see. How much she’d never experienced, despite inching ever closer to the dreaded age thirty.

  She so didn’t want to get to thirty years old having never really lived.

  Bram brought sophisticated excitement and a dash of international exoticness with him every time they were together, but waiting around for him to bring adventure to her doorstep wasn’t how she’d fantasized getting it.

  No, indeed.

  She caressed a golden bead with her index finger then tapped a lonely rhythm on the swirled glass. With a sense of determination and restless soles inside her white sneakers, she skipped downstairs to see what it would take to put some serious change into motion.

  ***

  For over two hours she’d been staring at the financial spreadsheets on the computer in her office and going over her accounts page by page before Jake swept in, a cavalier look on his face.

  “The New World is finally fit for your presence, My Queen.” He bowed deeply and twirled an imaginary mustache. Then he grinned. “Seriously, Shannon, you’ve gotta see the ballroom. Those florist guys finally finished with it, and it’s beginning to look positively Amazon-like.”

  “Well, who could resist, then?” She frowned at her computer screen and stood up. “I could use a break from these accounts anyway.”

  Jake squinted at her. “What’cha doing with them? Tax time is months away.”

  “I know but—” Could she tell Jake where her thoughts were leading? If she did, how would he react? She took a deep breath. “But I’m not sure how long I want to run Holiday Quinn,” she admitted. “I was just checking to see how marketable the inn might be.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa. Big step.”

  She nodded.

  “What would you want to do instead?” he asked, taking several strides toward her.

  “There’s the big mystery, Jake. I have no idea.” She paused and pointed at her necklace. “Did you know that Venice is known for its expert glass blowers?”

  He shook his head.

  “And that there’s a special jewelry process made famous there called mille fiori, which means ‘a thousand flowers’ in Italian, and it involves lots of tiny strands of colorful glass?”

  He shook his head again.

  “And that there are hundreds of bridges in the city, and when you ride on a gondola, you’re supposed to kiss the person you love whenever you pass underneath one?”

  He gave her a tender look. “No, I didn’t know that either. Sounds like you want to go there someday.”

  “I do.” There, and just about everywhere else. “Oh, and I read once that some of the world’s prettiest pearls are found on Majorca, an island just off the eastern coast of Spain.”

  “Are you looking for a good strand of pearls, Shannon?”

  “No, but if I were, I’d want to go to Majorca.” She puffed out some air. “And, speaking of Spain, I really think that’s the best place to learn flamenco dancing.”

  Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s on your agenda for the coming year?”

  “Maybe. I might love it or I might hate it, but I won’t have any idea until I try it. And the closest I’ve ever come to it is watching some special on PBS a few years ago.”

  “Hmm,” he said. “That’s not the same.”

  “No.”

  He shot a speculative glance her way. “You know, I’ve always wanted to watch a live bull fight. I took two years of high-school Spanish and all I can say now is Yo sera el matador, ‘I am a matador.’”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Useful.”

  “Very. So, I was thinking of maybe doing a European tour sometime and hitting the highlights of the continent, including Spain, of course. You know, that way I could pick up other important Spanish phrases like ‘Where is Barcelona’s best dry cleaners?’ or ‘I have no idea how to read this menu, can you help me track down and strangle my freshman-year language teacher?’ Stuff like that.”

  She laughed aloud this time, and he grinned at her.

  “Wanderlust hitting you pretty hard?”

  She nodded. “This place is really wonderful...but I don’t think I can handle being here forever.”

  “Me either, babe,” he agreed.

  “Being up in Door County?” a third voice asked.

  Both Shannon and Jake swiveled toward to door to see Margaret Ashland’s smiling face.

  “Hi, Margaret. What’s going on?” Shannon said, hoping to change the subject.

  “Oh, I’m just dropping off a few extra pastries for my favorite competition.”

  All of them laughed. It was clear to everyone in the small Wisconsin peninsula that, however popular Holiday Quinn might be, it was no competition for the multimillion-dollar enterprise that was The Ashland Hotel chain.

  “Thanks for thinking of us, Margaret,” Jake said. “Until the guests start arriving this weekend, I’m living on tuna sandwiches and nachos.” He glanced at Shannon. “Which reminds me, I should probably spend some time in Paris learning how to cook while I’m at it.”

  Margaret walked further into the room. “While you’re at what, Jake? From the sound of your conversation when I arrived, I got the impression you two were planning on doing some traveling. Am I right?”

  “I hope so. Actually, I’ve been kind of saving up for some backpacking through Europe, but I didn’t know until today that Shannon was chomping at the bit as much as me.” He smiled one of his sauciest grins. “Hey, what do you know about the art of flamenco dancing, Margaret?”

  Shannon elbowed Jake and rolled her eyes. “What he means is that we were fantasizing about all the fun things we could try if we ever traveled to Europe.” She glanced down at her wool sweater, white sneakers and faded jeans. Her attire had a long, long way to go before it would be appropriate for any kind of highly specialized Spanish dancing. “But all of that is still in the idea stage.”

  The older woman smiled. “Yeah, I could see Shannon with a pair of castanets, couldn’t you, Jake?”

  “Absolutely. And in one of those ruffled pink and black outfits with the tights and the pointy shoes.” He crossed his arms and scanned her from head to toe. “And don’t the dancers wear feathers in their hair or something?”

  Shannon had put up with enough teasing. “Out of here,” she commanded to Jake. “Go inspect the New World, the boat miniatures and the pastries, will you?”

  “Do I have to do it in t
hat order?” Jake said, sliding just far enough outside of her grasp that she couldn’t swat him.

  “Out!”

  “I’m out, I’m out. Bye, Margaret,” he yelled from a safe distance in the hall.

  “Bye, Jake,” Margaret called back, then she turned to Shannon. “He’s a good friend of yours, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, why not go to Europe with him?”

  “With Jake?!” She laughed. “Well, for starters, it’s because he’ll have mademoiselles and frauleins and senoritas trailing him everywhere, and I’d be so busy wading through his admirers that I wouldn’t get in any sightseeing.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know about that. I think that boy really likes you.”

  Shannon shrugged this off. “I don’t. Besides, it’s a moot point. I’m with Bram now, and Jake can go to Europe, Africa, Antarctica or wherever he chooses. I can’t go anywhere until I figure out what to do with the inn.”

  “Sell it,” Margaret said. “Sell it to someone who can handle it skillfully or, better yet, sell it to me.”

  Shannon looked into her mentor’s warm eyes for a hint of some ulterior motive. As usual, she couldn’t detect a single one, and she felt a flush of embarrassment for even thinking she might.

  “Thanks, Margaret. You’re so kind to offer, but I know you don’t need to take on another venture when you’ve got so many huge hotels to run.”

  “Look, sweetie, I know you think I’m just a cute old lady with a fondness for rich foods.” She patted her substantial belly. “That happens to be true, but I’m also an astute business woman. Holiday Quinn is a darling place, but I’ve grown rather attached to its owner.” She beamed a warm look at Shannon. “I’ll do what I need to do to entice you into higher management at my hotel chain. Good help is hard to find,” she winked, “and you’ll find me a benevolent and always delightful dictator.”

  Shannon laughed. “I have no doubt of that. And, again, thanks. I’ll keep thinking about your offer.” Although she couldn’t forget how big-business-minded Margaret was and how the woman could turn a sleeper lodge into a bustling tourist spot almost overnight.

  If Shannon did find a buyer for Holiday Quinn, she’d have to seek out someone who’d preserve the integrity of the inn the way her family had envisioned it. Someplace small. Someplace quaint. Someplace only open on holidays.

  “You do that, honeybunch. What’s holding you back, though?”

  “Questions, I guess. I don’t know where I’m going or what I should do next. But I’m sure the right set of circumstances will align soon, and then I’ll have a better idea of the direction I need to head.”

  The older woman gave her a considering look. “This Bram that you keep mentioning—should I meet him? Is this becoming a serious thing?”

  Shannon felt her face heat up. “I—I’m not actually sure. He’s one of my big questions. We’re from two different worlds, Bram and I. I’m me…and he’s very sophisticated and experienced and—”

  “Oooh, I see.” The grin on Margaret’s face broadened. “He’s the body lotion guy, right? The one that lives in the Twin Cities?”

  Shannon nodded.

  “There’s an Ashland Hotel in Minneapolis, you know,” Margaret hinted. “Something you should, perhaps, consider, in light of the circumstances.”

  “The circumstances?”

  “Your impending engagement. Surely, the man will come to his senses soon, stop jetting around the world and propose to you like he should.”

  Shannon gulped. “Well, I don’t know if that’s where he’s—” She scored her fingers through her tangled mass of hair, trying to come up with a way to explain to her friend the real state of her relationship with Bram when she wasn’t even sure of it herself. “I mean, I’m not sure he even wants to—”

  But Margaret’s imagination had gotten caught up in the fairy tale she’d spun like cotton candy in her mind, and she didn’t seem interested in being given a reality check.

  “You could hold the reception in The Ashland’s Grand Ballroom,” Margaret suggested, “or even here at Holiday Quinn, if you’d like. Regardless, Ricardo will prepare a sumptuous feast of filet mignon, fit for a Celtic princess such as yourself, and you’ll dance the night away in a gown of flowing white satin, your man by your side. Oh, you parents would be so proud.” She dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye.

  She wasn’t done yet. “Then, after your month-long honeymoon to all the romantic hotspots in Europe and Asia, you’ll both return to the Twin Cities where you’ll take over management of my hotel up there. Perfect!”

  “Hmm,” Shannon said.

  “What? You don’t like the filet idea, darling? Never mind. Ricardo’s grilled salmon is excellent or, if you’d rather go the poultry route, you know he makes a phenomenal chicken marsala.”

  “I’m not worried about the dinner menu, Margaret. It’s all the stuff that precedes the wedding and reception that has me wondering. Like whether or not Bram actually wants me to be the bride.”

  “Nonsense, of course he does!”

  Shannon laughed. “You’ve never met the guy. How would you know?”

  “Because I’ve met the girl,” Margaret said simply. “How could he resist you?”

  Oh, so very easily, Shannon wanted to reply, but she didn’t. Her strong, capable mentor wouldn’t understand the kinds of fears she had to battle. Like, despite their fireworks in bed, how would a guy like Bram keep himself from getting bored with her?

  Would he want to show her all the places and things in the world she longed to see, even though he must have seen them all a dozen times before?

  Would he be willing to share the ins and outs of his business empire with her, or would he act as if she couldn’t be trusted to understand the details?

  And, after the initial honeymoon period wore off, would he stop working so much overtime so he could spend most of his evenings and weekends with her, or would she soon become just another one of his business acquisitions?

  “We’re not even close to that stage yet,” Shannon said to Margaret instead. “Besides, I have a lot of exploring yet to do. If I do sell the inn, I want to see some of the world, but Bram’s plans could well be very different from mine.” She sighed, remembering their frustrating weekend in Madison and their inability to do anything outside of the B&B together without tension.

  “Fair enough, my young friend. As I’ve advised before, just keep your options open. And never forget that you have a job waiting for you in any city where you can find an Ashland Hotel, okay?”

  “Okay.” She hugged the wonderful lady who’d been her support, her guidance, her family, and she wished she could pledge employee loyalty to Margaret for life. But the truth was starting to dawn on her that, no matter how attached she was to her longtime friend, and despite her growing feelings toward Bram, doing the same things she’d always done but in a new city might not be the adventure she’d been seeking.

  What would be?

  Before she and Margaret made the trek to the ballroom to take a look at its transformation into “The New World,” the older lady posed one more question. “Do you know what you’d find about a four-hour train ride south of Madrid?”

  Shannon shook her head.

  “Seville. A city known for its flamenco dancing.” Margaret winked at her. “With Jake or with Bram—or without either—you ought to go there, sweetie. Take a chance...and dance a little.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Halloween

  Shannon rose up another step on the ladder, her hands filled with the creepy remains of her old pal “Skeleton Sam.” Where to hang him up this year?

  She considered the window in front of her. To the left? To the right? She stepped a bit higher on the ladder and held him from his bony, plastic arms in a number of unflattering positions.

  Hmmm. No.

  From the ceiling, maybe?

  She looped her index finger through the thin rope at the top of Sam’s skull and let him dangle pre
cariously, his emaciated body swaying as if in eternal limbo.

  Yeah, she knew how he felt. If she didn’t get somewhere outside of these four walls soon and take a few serious strides in a new direction, she’d probably lose all her skin, muscle and sense of initiative, too. Frustration could do that to a person.

  She reached into her pocket for the screw-in hook, attached Sam to the ceiling and felt an irrational pang of guilt for committing him to a weekend of suspended misery.

  “Was he misbehaving?” an all-too-familiar voice asked.

  She swiveled around on the ladder step, nearly losing her balance. “Bram! I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  “Too busy entertaining another man, I see.” He grinned and strode toward her. “If he weren’t in such bad shape, I’d have to fight him for you. But, apparently, you’ve already punished the poor guy for his misdeeds.”

  God, she’d missed her hotshot businessman. She jumped off the ladder and, a second later, he caught her in his arms, encircling her with tenderness. He was all warm skin, taut muscle, hot breath—nothing bony about him.

  Well, okay. That wasn’t strictly true. Something decidedly solid and unyielding pressed hard against her, alerting her to Bram’s intentions, not that she was unwilling to comply. The delectable kiss that followed was a happy premonition of the erotic evening to come.

  And amen to that. It’d been far too long since the last time. If only everything about their relationship were as simple, as straightforward and as satisfying as their sexual life.

  She eyed his designer garment bag draped over his monogrammed duffle near the doorway. “So, what costume did you bring for the Masquerade Ball tomorrow night?”

  He lifted a corner of his lips. “Not telling, sweetheart. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “What? No hints?”

  “Nope. Just deal with the mystery.” He paused as the mini grin morphed into one far more devious. “But don’t worry. You’ll end up in the right bed after the party. I guarantee it.”