by Cari Quinn
“It’s the heat,” she lied weakly. “I should get out of the sun.”
Bandy’s brow was beaded with sweat and dark stains were appearing under his dark suit jacket. He nodded. “I agree. We can wait for Mr. Silva in the office.” He waved his hand and pointed to the clearly labeled door. “We’ll meet you inside.”
Sophie followed him hurriedly, trying to keep from looking at the workman. His name was Silva. He had a name. It was disconcerting. Her heart started to pound for no good reason. Maybe it was the heat.
The blast of chilled air that hit her when the attorney opened the door took her breath away. Her eyes sought out the temperature controller on the wall, safely locked inside a plexiglass box so guests didn’t fiddle with it. Seventy-four? Really? It feels like sixty. Her mind was working on what her eyes were seeing versus what her body was feeling, when the door opened behind her. The heat from outside hit her like a blast furnace, so maybe she really was having symptoms of heat stroke. She turned her head instinctively. Mr. Silva was standing there, taking up the entire doorway. He’d taken off the patterned head scarf to reveal the same damp, curly hair as in her picture. But his eyes weren’t closed now and the intensity in them made her whole body shiver. There was no denying he was staring at her, almost as though he recognized her from somewhere.
Mr. Bandy spoke, and it startled her. “Is there somewhere we can all sit down?”
All? “Is there a reason why we need to all speak?”
Silva spoke up, his voice a low tenor, nearly a baritone. It was the voice she’d imagined he had. He stepped a little closer. The breeze from the vent blew the scent of clean sweat, a grassy cologne and roofing cement toward her. She knew she was strange, but the smell of roof tar was like heaven. “Yes, I would like to know this as well. May I ask for an introduction?”
Bandy blinked, as though confused. “I’m sorry. I presumed you knew each other, since you both held the same position at Mr. Greene’s hotels and . . . well, his LastWill being what it is.”
That made Sophie look at Silva again and then at Mr. Bandy. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. I’m just here to inspect the property and look over the accounting before I take over the hotel.”
That made Silva laugh. “Before you take over the hotel? I’m afraid you’re confused, Miss. The Starlight belongs to me.”
Now Bandy looked truly nervous. “Oh, my. I wasn’t aware that Seth hadn’t discussed the terms of the Will with you both.” He looked around the room. “Are we alone here? Can we lock the front door for a moment?”
Silva made a low little growl and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. He locked the door and then strode firmly behind the desk, taking a position across from them—the wooden reception desk giving him an edge of authority. “So tell me. Will Greene made it very clear when we visited Seth Goodman’s office that he was leaving this motel to me.”
Sophie felt her back straighten. Handsome or not, this was her inheritance and she wasn’t giving it up easily. “And he told me the same thing, in the same place. We signed papers. Did you?”
Those eyes turned to her, now glittering with barely suppressed anger. “We did.” They both turned, nearly simultaneously, to the attorney. “Let me read the Will.”
Bandy’s tone was apologetic when he spoke. “I didn’t bring a copy with me. I presumed you’d already read it. But I do have with me letters for both of you, written by Mr. Greene before he passed.” He reached into the side pocket of his briefcase and pulled out two of the wide parchment envelopes she recognized well. They were definitely from the stock in his office, larger than a regular envelope. Grandpa had liked that people could always pick out his letters when he mailed them, even if he had to put extra postage on every letter.
Dearest Sophie. She ran her fingers over the ink, feeling the deep impression Grandpa’s Waterman pen always left in the paper. She heard as Silva opened his own envelope and began to read. Her note was short but left her stunned.
Sophie, please forgive me for leading you a little astray. I know I promised you the Starlight, but I promised it to Gabe too. I’d like to say it was a weak moment when I did, but it wasn’t. I truly think either of you would run it well. But you have very different visions for it and I would ask that you keep an open mind. If you haven’t read my Will, there’s a restriction against selling your half, except to Gabe, for 5 years. He is likewise restricted. So, please—work together, for my sake. You’ve managed, but never owned. Nor has he. I’ve taught you both all I can, but some things you’ll have to learn first hand. Teach him the things he couldn’t learn from me. Remember what I told you about him. Trust me. Love, Grandpa.
She looked up and Silva, now Gabe, was just finishing his own letter. He was frowning, so it probably said the same thing. A flash of lightning through the window was followed by a boom of thunder. Gabe held it out to her, his jaw set so tight she was surprised he could get words out. “Would you like to read mine?” She could see the turmoil in his face. He was sad, happy, angry and wounded. Mostly, he was stunned, like her.
She shook her head. “Grandpa’s message should be only to you.” She didn’t know what to think, what to feel, but she really didn’t want him reading her letter. She folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope. Her pockets weren’t big enough to hold the envelope, so she just held it, feeling a little silly.
She fought to get past the photo in her head to see the man in front of her—someone she was about to be forced to deal with on a daily basis, apparently. She held out her hand because she couldn’t think what else to do. “So. Hi, I guess. I’m Sophie Greene and I guess we’re partners.”
He squared his shoulders and let out a slow breath as rain began to pound a staccato beat overhead. Finally, he nodded and took her hand. But then he turned it and raised it lightly, touching his lips to her skin. A shock of electricity having nothing to do with the storm made her see white flashes of light from the delicate contact. “And I am Gabriel Silva. Your esteemed grandfather called me Gabe, and you may as well.”
Mr. Bandy let out a relieved breath, as though he was expecting the meeting to go downhill badly. “Well, that’s done. I presume you’d like to talk about how the process will work. But I noticed that the driver just put your bags just outside the door. We should get them inside before they get wet and then we can sit down to talk.”
Settled . . . in. Oh, holy crap! That’s right!
Gabe’s brows dropped into a slight frown line. “Settled in? I don’t understand.”
She leaned forward slightly and rested herself against the reception desk, suddenly defeated and tired of the whole business. What she really wanted to do was bang her forehead into the wood. “I’d planned on moving in and taking over . . . before I got this.” She held up the tan linen envelope. “Grandpa told me there was a manager’s quarters, and since I’ve been essentially kicked out of the hotel I was running in Texas that my darling cousin got as his bequest, I’m sort of homeless. Other than a few hotels he gave to the grandkids, everything Grandpa had was left to my parents, aunts and uncles. But it’s okay, I’ll find a hotel. I probably have that much cash left until I can find a job and get an apartment.” A job. She’d been managing Grandpa Will’s properties since she got out of college. What was she qualified to do? She couldn’t beg Mom and Dad for help. Not after last time.
Gabe seemed unsure what to say, and how could she blame him? She would basically be kicking him out of his home if she stayed.
Mr. Bandy cleared his throat. “There will be a small bequest to each of you in cash, around ten thousand each if I remember correctly, but it won’t happen immediately. There is a great deal of paperwork to do. Mr. Greene’s holdings were quite extensive and we have to complete the estate paperwork before the distributions are made. Still, I’m sure the executor would be willing to advance you a few thousand dollars to help you get by.”
Gabe shook his head strongly. “No. I will not hear of it. Mr. Will was family here. I always kep
t one room vacant so he could stay when he visited.” He dipped his head, a charming gesture. “You will have his room. For as long as you need.” He pulled the keys from his pocket and came around the desk. He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, sending a shock of sensation through her. “Come. We will get you . . . settled in.” He turned his attention to the attorney, settling his posture until it was nearly a mirror of the stance Grandpa had when talking business. There was a power there, a confidence Silva . . . Gabe, hadn’t seemed to possess moments ago. “Please go back and prepare whatever papers are required. We will speak again once Miss Greene is rested from her trip.”
Taken slightly aback, Mr. Bandy nodded. “Of course. Call the office in the morning. I’m sure we can provide you with whatever you need.”
He gave a short, curt nod and walked past Bandy. “His . . . your room is this way. Unit seven. On the second floor.”
Lucky seven. Grandpa did everything in sevens, from seven cars, to seven hotels, and even seven places at the table when he had meetings. Even if he needed eight, or six, people to discuss a problem. It was always seven.
Gabe picked up her bags before she could grab them and lifted even the large heavy bag, filled with books and shoes, with ease. As Mr. Bandy walked back toward the limo, she took a deep breath and let it out slow. So, this is it. I’m actually going to live here. She followed him to the stairway, which was clean and in good repair, and the handrails sturdy and painted with anti-slip coating. The room was at the end of the row of only a few doors. The rooms must be huge! When he opened the door, he said. “Room Seven was Mr. Will’s. It is yours now.”
He stepped out of the way, letting her past him. She walked past slowly, barely noticing him. She stared in shock at all of the furniture she used to have in her room when she visited Grandpa—back when Grandma was still alive. “It is mine.” She reached out and put her hand around the slender tall poster that rose from the footboard of the double bed, and ran it lovingly along the polished mahogany wood, tracing her finger around the carved Chippendale-style swirls like she used to as a child. She’d always loved this bedroom set and she realized it was her true inheritance. Her siblings and parents would just see furniture. She saw craftsmanship and love. It was when she was looking at the rest of the bedroom set that she spotted the cozy breakfast nook with the table that had been in their kitchen—old oak with ladderback chairs, and the nearly full sized kitchen, including a refrigerator. Why was all his furniture here?
It was then that she noticed Gabe was standing behind her, so close that she could feel the heat from his chest radiate through her. His breath moved her hair slightly. “You touch the wood with the same reverence Mr. Will did. As though the wood speaks to you.”
She nodded. “It sort of does. This wood holds a lot of good memories for me. This was my bedroom set. I thought it was lost when Grandpa sold his house after Grandma died.”
He let out another breath against her skin that made her shiver before stepping back abruptly. She could see him shake his head, as though clearing it, in the reflection of the picture over the bed. Wait. Not a picture. It was a photo . . . of her.
She shared at the image for a long moment and then touched the hat on her head, the same as in the photo. In fact, her outfit was nearly the same. “I don’t remember him taking this.”
“It was his favorite,” Gabe said, an odd inflection his voice. “It was the rare photo he never took down, never replaced.” He paused for a moment, as though not sure what to say.
“The mattress is only a year old, and has only had Mr. Will sleep on it. The appliances in the kitchen all work, and this room has a larger tub than the others.”
She smiled then. “Grandpa did always like a good bath. He made me promise not to tell people where he worked that he liked to soak in bubbles.”
He laughed, a joyful sound that made her smile grow wider. “Many times when I would visit, he would call out that he would be out after his soak. He was a very clean man.”
“He was.” She nodded and then looked around the room again, nearly expecting he was going to walk out of the bathroom. The room smelled of his cologne, his pipe tobacco. His pressed suit pants still hung over the back of a chair. She realized she wasn’t smiling anymore. Her eyes burned, and she felt like she wanted a good cry. “I miss him.” Maybe her voice sounded harsh. It was a lot to take in, standing here, thinking about him. To think she’d never hear his voice again—
Gabe cleared his throat with a soft cough and then offered hesitantly, as though he could sense her pain, “There is another room if you—”
She shook her head, and lifted her eyes to look at the photo again. “No, it’s fine. I’d like to stay here.” He turned to leave. Just as he was shutting the door, he paused. She saw him staring at her in the reflection and she couldn’t help but add. “Thank you for keeping the room the same.”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a sad smile, but there was a tension there, like he wanted to do something, say something, but he didn’t know what. She didn’t know either, except that she really wanted a hug. But there was no way to ask that from a total stranger—photo or no.
“Dinner is at six. I will come back and show you the way.”
She sort of heard it, from a distance, as she stared at the picture. She heard the door close with a oiled click as she remembered that day on the beach, walking around the boardwalk with Grandpa; was it six years ago now? She’d just bought the hat while visiting and Grandpa had told her she looked fetching. It was a quaint word, and it made her happy when he said it. And it was a good look on her. She’d gotten compliments on the outfit from strangers on the street, and even the rare favorable comment from her mother. She looked so happy in the photo, content and peaceful. When was the last time she’d felt like that? Years. That was the day he’d asked her to take over the Texas hotel, and everything had changed.
Lately, the weight of the job had worn her down. She loved managing the hotel, but it was hard. Constant work, constant worry. Am I fooling myself that owning it will change the job?
And owning it with Gabe Silva . . . she didn’t know what to think. She was sad, weary, happy, excited and nervous. Having the photo come to life while she was trying to deal with Grandpa’s death had her mind swirling, and her body constantly tense, waiting for . . . What exactly?
CHAPTER TWO
Gabe took a deep breath, now safely outside Mr. Will’s room. Except it wasn’t his room anymore and his brain couldn’t seem to process it. It felt odd to let anyone other than the old man inside, even though it was what Mr. Will wanted. Support her. Teach her what you taught me, Gabe, the letter had told him. But he wasn’t sure what he had taught his patron. It was the older man who had taught him. How to speak English, how to learn accents, how to dress for business, how to manage a hotel. Mr. Will had sent him to classes, too, until he earned his diploma. He’d even sponsored Gabe for a work visa. All he had come to the country with was construction skills, learned as a child working for his uncle in Brazil.
Brazil. So many memories of sights and smells.
Especially the flowers. Lady of the Night orchids! That was what the scent was. She’d passed by him into the room and he’d caught the scent of her perfume, or maybe it was her shampoo. It was the scent of wild flowers, fresh from the jungle, just like in the marketplace when he was a boy. He’d wanted to nuzzle his nose in the hair of his goddess.
No, no. She has a name. She is not simply an enchanting picture anymore. Sophie, probably Sophia, and she is young, vibrant, and so very—
Sexy. Very sexy.
He shook his head again and took a second deep breath, trying to focus. She was Mr. Will’s granddaughter. To touch her, take her, would be . . .
Wonderful. Electric.
No. Wrong. It would be wrong.
Rain poured off the edge of the walkway, the cool wind off the Gulf briefly pushing away the sticky heat. Gabe walked down the cement path to the other corner un
it and then knocked. The door opened and Marie Cormier answered. Her white hair was covered with a striped bicycle helmet and her bright red tee-shirt and tight black shorts were soaked with rain. She smiled broadly, showing strong white teeth.“Gabriel! How are you today?”
He took a deep breath. “May I come in?”
Her eyes widened just a bit but she stepped back, and waved him inside, moving far more nimbly than her years should allow. “It’s been a long time since you asked to come in. What’s wrong?” Picking up the ten-speed bike and moving it to rest against the counter allowed him to get to the couch, where he sat down. She opened a bottle of water and took a long drink before sitting down herself. “Can I offer you something to drink?”
Normally, he would accept the invitation, because she always had some unique beers that he’d never seen in any store. But now he shook his head. “No, thank you. I need your advice. I would like to do something, but it’s on very short notice and would burden most everyone here. Should I do it?”
She didn’t ask what he was planning. She never did. Instead, she took off the helmet and shook her head until her hair became a fluffy cloud. “Tell me what I can do to help.”
He went the long way back to his apartment, via every door in the community. He told them all what he wanted to do. Part of him was surprised everyone agreed so readily, but he didn’t really expect anything else. Now, it was just up to him to get everything else ready.
It took nearly the entire three hours, until just before six o’clock to turn the pool area into a Mardi Gras celebration. While it was months late . . . or months yearly, he supposed, the Mardi Gras party had been Mr. Will’s favorite. And it was nice that the storm had passed but left the cool behind. It felt close to Mardi Gras weather. Gabe raised his hand to knock on Sophie’s door again, but turned one last time to look over the railing to his handiwork. He smiled as he watched all the motel residents racing around, bringing their best food to put on tables covered with metallic gold cloths. The strings of green and purple twinkle lights would look wonderful after dark, and he’d even dove down into the pool to put purple and green filters over the lights at the bottom. He had on his jester king crown. The tribute to Mr. Will, and the welcome banquet for Sophie, was ready. Mrs. Hernandez looked up from her favorite bench next to the fountain and waved.
