The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2)

by Christine Nolfi

  Grateful, Cat sank against the trunk. “My friend from college is dealing with morning sickness. She sent a replacement.”

  “Ryan D’Angelo,” Jada supplied. “Some of the women in housekeeping saw him talking to Mr. Uchida. They said he was hot.”

  “Like he’s Photoshopped.”

  “So you get to enjoy eye candy while putting together our ad campaigns. Not much of a hardship.”

  “It is a hardship.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  Making sense of the interlude in her office proved difficult. “He put the moves on me,” Cat said. The memory blistered her cheeks. “Only he didn’t.”

  Jada shook her head, the tight curls framing her face dancing with her impatience. “Girl, you’re making no sense.”

  “You had to be there. He walked in, and the air shivered. If he’d pointed a laser, he couldn’t have turned my insides to marshmallow faster. I mean, we’ve all been hit by sudden attraction, but this was attraction squared. Attraction thrown at you from the top of a roller coaster and the tracks lead off a cliff.”

  “Is this you talking or the booze?”

  She felt miserable and exhilarated, a combustible mix that made her even more miserable. “He’s so intense. Plus he’s unleashed this primal energy between us. Like I need hot thoughts mucking up my brain the same month I’m trying to master Excel.” She glanced wistfully at the inn. “Maybe I should get drunk. Sneak back to the south wing and pretend none of this is happening.”

  Linnie came across the grass, no doubt alerted by Jada’s text. “What’s the problem?” She cradled a slice of apple pie wrapped burrito style in a napkin. Upon noticing the simmer rising off Jada, she added sweetly, “Now, don’t get peeved. You said there was an emergency. I don’t do emergencies without self-medicating first.”

  “Consider yourself invited to a five-alarm fire.” Jada broke off a chunk of the pie’s flaky crust, popped it into her mouth. “Little Miss Nitwit has a crush.”

  “I do not!”

  With relish, Linnie bit into her burrito pie. “The guy from Adworks?” She chewed thoughtfully. “Daisy in housekeeping wants to have his babies.”

  Jada grunted. “I’ll hold the baby shower.” To Cat, she said, “Put your hormones in lockdown. You aren’t having a fling for all the obvious reasons. We don’t have money to spare, and you need help with publicity. None of us has experience with ad buys or purchasing airtime.”

  “Or how to write ad copy, design the new website, or target potential customers,” Cat threw in. “I get it.”

  When she’d opened her events-planning company in her early twenties, wasn’t this exactly how she sashayed into disaster? Putting her attentions on dating in the hopes of finding the right guy, and letting her small business flounder? A repeat performance was not happening.

  This time around, the stakes were much higher. Without a series of well-targeted promotions, they’d never return the inn to full occupancy. The ad budget allocated by Linnie was generous, but if Cat squandered the money?

  The answer gave her pause. Allow the inn to slide back toward ruin, and the town of Sweet Lake would go down too.

  Linnie read her expression with misgiving. “You have a crush?”

  “Ryan told me I’m beautiful.” The confession brought a disconcerting wave of euphoria. Ignoring the emotion, Cat plunged on. “We had a stupid battle over the posters the Sirens left on my desk—it really got out of hand—then he said he couldn’t work in my office because I was too much of a distraction. He was so matter-of-fact, but the way he looked at me . . . like it was perfectly normal to tell a woman you’re bowled over by her and need alone time to screw your head on straight.”

  “Whoa.” Linnie nearly dropped the burrito pie. “He said all that?”

  “Most of it was inference, but I caught the drift.”

  Jada said, “Guess I’ll cancel Daisy’s baby shower.” She plucked at the clingy waistline of Cat’s dress. “Tone down the sexy outfits. Nothing wrong with taking pride in how you look, but for the time being dress more like Linnie. The bag-lady style will hide your more provocative attributes.”

  Linnie nearly choked on her pie. “I don’t dress like the homeless!”

  “You come close. Whatever Daniel sees in you has nothing to do with your fashion sense.” Jada wrinkled her nose. “Or lack thereof.”

  Cat put in, “You dress to hide your figure, but you shouldn’t. You have nice curves.” The familiar squabble brought a welcome sense of normalcy after the surreal events in her office. “Daniel wouldn’t like you half as much if you were skinny.”

  They both moved in toward Linnie, to offer reassurance and steal a bite of the pie. Slapping them away, she looked to Cat. “What’s the plan?”

  The pragmatic Jada added, “We totally get how you’d like to find the perfect guy. I would too. But I’d never go looking on the job.”

  “I’m not looking on the job.”

  “Face it, Cat. You never have to look too hard. And no falling for the compliments. I admire your romantic streak, the way you’re so damn hopeful about men, but you need to cultivate a healthy dose of cynicism. A guy who puts the moves on this fast is only after one thing.”

  “You’re probably right,” Cat agreed.

  “Don’t let him use you—use him. We’re getting top-notch marketing expertise at a discount. The countdown to the concert is only the beginning. You’re supposed to have the spring ad campaign nailed down soon.”

  Cat bobbed her head. “Right.” She began walking away.

  “Don’t forget the other problem,” Linnie said. “Much as I’d like to do you a solid, you’re on your own.”

  Cat’s self-confidence veered off the tracks. Norah.

  She’d hung up on the fuming Siren.

  Chapter 6

  Julia padded across the kitchen, then removed the tightly wrapped plate from the refrigerator. “You’re awfully late.” She went to the microwave.

  Ryan decided against reminding his mother about the three times he’d called to check in on her. The muscles from his neck to the base of his spine burnt with exhaustion. Strange how digging through paperwork took more endurance than sweating through a workout at the gym. After plowing through Miri’s notes in the Wayfair’s lobby, he’d spent most of the afternoon alone on the veranda mapping out ad proposals. Tomorrow he’d present his recommendations to Cat.

  “Did I forget to tell you about the commute?” he asked, finessing the situation. This morning, he’d purposely avoided mention of the drive to Sweet Lake because he despised worrying her. “I spent the day with a new client.”

  The microwave pinged, and the aroma of lasagna brought a rumble from his stomach. He’d skipped Cat’s stilted invitation to join her for lunch in the Sunshine Room. They were both uncomfortably aware of the need to limit their interactions until they got their lust under control. Tomorrow would be easier. They were both professionals. An ill-timed attraction wouldn’t disrupt their working relationship.

  “What sort of account?” Julia asked.

  “A country inn.”

  “You’re working out of town?”

  The anxiety in her voice made him drum up a reassurance. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll handle the work from the office,” he said, uncomfortable with the lie. If he explained about commuting to Sweet Lake over the next few weeks, she’d remain in a state of hypervigilance.

  “This doesn’t sound like your usual sort of account. You prefer large companies.”

  “This one’s a favor for Miri.” He peered out the sliding glass door at the backyard, ablaze in light. As was the front of the house—another bad sign in a day rife with bleak omens.

  Setting the plate before him, his mother took note of his scowl. She switched off the patio lights.

  “Don’t start.” Frowning, she cinched the belt of her bathrobe. “There’s nothing wrong with being vigilant.”

  The defiance crowding her features increased his exhaustion. The usual reass
urances were in order, starting with the state-of-the-art burglar alarm and the unlikelihood of anyone breaking in, least of all the abusive husband she’d escaped years ago. Reciting the litany required more strength than Ryan had on tap. The memory of Cat’s waterfall of hair latched on to his senses, filling him with a miserable longing.

  His mother rested her palm on his brow. “Would you like a glass of wine with your dinner?”

  “Make it a big glass.”

  “Would you like something stronger? I’ll join you.”

  “Dewar’s, and please douse the lights out front.” He never should’ve agreed to add spots on the roofline or replace the dim bulb in the lamppost with 150 watts. “You’ve got the place lit like a state penitentiary. I almost ducked down and drove past. If any of the neighbors complain, you’d better have a good excuse.”

  “Stop complaining. It’s just past nine o’clock.”

  He pushed a chunk of lasagna across the plate, his appetite receding. “On a school night.”

  “I’ll turn out the lights.” She marched into the living room.

  On the way back she made a detour to the wet bar, the pleasant tinkling of glass reaching his ears. He gladly accepted the glass of scotch neat. She’d poured herself the same and thoughtfully brought along the bottle.

  “I can’t recall ever seeing you drink on a weeknight.” She regarded him with concern. “My diligent son. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired.”

  “You look like someone knocked you off your pedestal. What happened?”

  “I met a woman.” A sappy opener, but nothing better came to mind.

  “You meet women all the time.”

  “Not like this one.”

  He nearly added, She’s beautiful. During the long drive home, the holes in this rudimentary explanation had become glaringly obvious. He knew any number of attractive women. They didn’t punch through his composure—not ever. Something more elemental drew him to Cat. The inability to ferret out the reason bothered him more than the attraction itself.

  “Will you ask her out?”

  He took a long pull on his drink. “She’s the client.” He yanked off his tie.

  “Awful when love hits like a thunderbolt.”

  The conclusion was ludicrous. “That’s it. I’m cancelling Netflix.” She looked genuinely upset. “We’ve got to wean you off the romance flicks.”

  “Make light of this if you must. I’m not fooled. You look utterly thrown.”

  Having made the assessment, she rested her chin on the steep hills of her knuckles. An old woman’s hand, knotted with arthritis, and yet his chest constricted when he met her gaze. Her interest put a girlish sparkle in her eyes. She was keen on gaining his trust, waiting patiently while he sifted through his thoughts.

  An opening, and he walked through. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “No one ever does.” They clinked glasses and she said, “Tell me about her.”

  “She’s earthy, warm—and funny. I’d swear I saw one of those Magic 8 Balls under the crap on her desk. Who checks their fortune in a kid’s toy?”

  “And she likes you?”

  He took a long pull on his drink.

  “I take it from the moody silence you’d rather not share.”

  “She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met.” He searched his mother’s face for judgment, experiencing relief when he found none. “Listen, I don’t buy into the concept of soul mates or finding the woman of your dreams. There’s no love at first sight to guarantee you’ll make it five years, let alone longer. Bullshit in a bottle.” He looked up quickly. “Sorry.” He drained his glass.

  His mother laughed. “Some relationships do more than survive.”

  “Name one.”

  “The Brownes next door. Happy as campers with their three boys.”

  “Jim Browne works more hours than I do, and Jenny has a wandering eye. They spend most of their time avoiding each other. It won’t surprise me if they call a divorce attorney before the boys reach junior high.”

  “What about Miri?”

  “Too early to tell. Second marriage for them both. Not the best track record.”

  “Ryan, your pessimism is showing.” Sobering, Julia looked at a point past his shoulder. Her voice thinning, she added, “I nearly didn’t survive George, but I did feel as you do. Struck by a thunderbolt from the very first moment. Nothing was the same afterward.”

  The revelation put a buzzing in Ryan’s ears. He set his glass down, unsure if he’d heard right. The moments when she found the stamina to discuss the past were more rare than tanzanite. He tried to recall the last time he’d broached the subject. During the rebellious years of his early twenties, he guessed. Now she was divulging the deepest mysteries of her life without prodding.

  On autopilot, he reached for the Dewar’s and refilled their glasses.

  After she’d taken a sip, he asked, “You met at Lux Jewels, right?”

  “George came in to have his watch fixed. Working for a Mercedes dealership at the time, making good money as a mechanic. He was younger than you are today, and just as handsome. It was flattering to have a man so much younger take an interest. Disconcerting too.”

  “Why did you marry so quickly?”

  “Will you think I’m foolish if I admit I was swept off my feet? I had a full life, with many friends in the art community—I’d stopped hoping for marriage. I was paid generously to manage the store, and the owner had become a close friend. Plus I’d done well enough designing jewelry on the side, which Lux Jewels carried exclusively.”

  She’d forsaken jewelry design to lead a life of anonymity. After arriving in Cincinnati, she’d managed the art department at Saint Justin’s, one of the finest private high schools in Cincinnati, until her retirement. With a start, Ryan stumbled across the connection: the wire butterfly hanging in Cat’s office had reminded him of the whimsical designs crusted with gems his mother had once wrought in platinum and gold.

  They’d reached the nexus of her secrets. “After you finally left your marriage, why didn’t you reunite with your family?” Dispatching George Hunt to the past never brought any qualms. Ryan felt differently about the relatives she’d seen fit to expunge from his life. “I guess I assumed you’d reconnect at some point.”

  Plainly the more difficult question. Considering, she allowed memories he couldn’t guess at to flood her deep-set eyes. “We ended on such bad terms.” Her shoulders curved inward. “Your aunt came to visit the summer you were three. I shouldn’t have let her come. You don’t remember, but we used to take you to see my family once a year. That year, she insisted on visiting us in San Francisco quite unexpectedly.”

  Ryan knew not to ask for his aunt’s name, or for identifying details about the extended family he didn’t remember. His mother had always guarded the details of the past as if they posed a danger to his well-being. It was yet another example of the damage George Hunt continued to exert on her psyche.

  He asked, “Why didn’t you want your sister to visit us in San Francisco?”

  “George never treated me badly when we flew back East. Never when we spent time with my family.”

  Back East. Ryan filed away the nugget of information. Lots of geography hidden behind the cryptic words. She could’ve grown up in Bangor, Maine, or New York City.

  “George treated you badly only when no one was around to stop him?” Anger followed the question.

  “He behaved appropriately when we were with others.ˮ

  “But your sister wasn’t fooled?ˮ

  “Not for a minute. She had a terrible argument with George. Naturally he denied everything. He swore I got the bruises from a fall down the steps.”

  “Why didn’t you leave with her?” Ryan wanted to follow up with the more gut-wrenching question: Why had she readily forgiven, time and again, the man who’d abused her repeatedly?

  “Sweetheart, you can’t understand. I know that sounds like an excuse. It�
�s not.”

  The lasagna had grown cold. He dug a forkful from the plate.

  He finished half of the meal before asking, “Why can’t I understand?”

  “You’ve never been in love.”

  “Debatable.”

  “Oh, Ryan. You’ve never felt anything near the irrational, all-consuming love I felt for your father. The emotion can lift you up. It can also blind you. I wanted to believe your father would change. I needed to believe.”

  “It’s all right,” he murmured.

  “I never meant to put you in danger.”

  “What happened after his argument with your sister?”

  “George left for work, and she called our parents. Afterward, she relayed their ultimatum—leave my husband, or they’d disown me.” Julia laughed, a tinny sound bitter with regret. “A bluff, really. They would’ve braved fire or worse to keep their daughters happy and safe. I’m sure they assumed I’d come to my senses if they made clear how frightened they were for my welfare—and yours.”

  Putting together the rest was painfully easy. “The following year, you left George for the first time, moved us to a new apartment in San Francisco. After the camping trip, when he . . .” Ryan found himself unable to fill in the rest. The memory of a forest’s draping shade, and a jagged bottle slicing across his face. The sheer, shocking pain ripping through the placid surface of his life. Trying again, he added, “You did leave.”

  “I only left your father for six months when we moved to the new apartment in San Francisco.” She hesitated. “Then I forgave George, and brought you back to a life I knew was dangerous for us both.”

  “Yeah, but you finally wised up, moved us to Salt Lake.”

  “And reconciled again.”

  Not for long, that last time, and the memory put acid in Ryan’s stomach. How his father showed up one day at the apartment in Salt Lake and moved right in. How George waited a full week before punishing Ryan’s mother for disappearing from San Francisco five years earlier.