by Misty Simon
“Please just say yes, and we can work out all the details later.”
Frank started whistling over at the stove. Jack’s ears went hot. What was he supposed to do?
“You said anything was mine.”
Now those wild eyes had started taking on a sheen he did not like. “Okay, but is your mother really going to believe that?”
“She will. I’ll make her believe it.”
“And why are we making her believe it?” He pulled at his collar because the damn thing had shrunk two sizes.
“Because I refuse to be a part of the bachelor parade.”
“Um, okay. But what about Mazzy?”
“She’s not going to be a part of the bachelor parade either.”
“I can’t pretend that I know what you’re talking about, but if this is what you need, then I guess I can be game.”
She chewed on her bottom lip. He should back out now instead of going through with this ridiculousness. Whatever a bachelor parade was, it couldn’t be good. But he couldn’t stand to see her in this kind of distress even if the only result he could see was him ending up the loser.
“Let me worry about Mazzy. I’ll think up something. I just have to make it through dinner and then it will all be good.”
“Are you sure?”
Straightening her shoulders, she looked him right in the eye. “I am positive. Now make sure you play the doting fiancé this week. I’ll make excuses for tonight’s dinner, but after that we’ll be on. My mother will never be able to keep her mouth shut.” She swiped a hand over her forehead. “We apparently fell in love over the Internet. Either that or we’ve been in love this whole time and just couldn’t admit it to ourselves. Take your pick.”
He watched her turn on her heel and stalk back through the swinging kitchen door.
Frank’s whistling stopped mid tweet. “Boss man?”
Jack raised his hand. “Apparently I’m engaged.” He rolled the word around on his tongue, and it felt both warm and foreign. What the hell had he agreed to?
“I’ll take out the gravy as soon as possible.”
“See that you do.” He aborted his idea of joining the ladies for dinner and instead went up the back stairs to his rooms on the third floor. He tried hard not to think of Frank’s snicker or the fact that his plan to stay away from Chelsea except when necessary wasn’t going to work if they were now engaged. This could be a very long week.
****
“So anyway, your father says he’s lost without me and couldn’t find the peanut butter to make his own humble dinner.” Chelsea’s mother plopped an elbow on the table and dropped her head into her hand. “I can’t believe he thinks that’s going to work with me.”
Chelsea’s cousin Abby took a sip of her water. “That’s nothing. I made a meal for Jon and he says he doesn’t know how the microwave works to heat it back up. So he decided to just go out for a bite to eat with his buddies at the firehouse. He’s full of crap, though. You should see—and taste—some of the meals they make down at the firehouse.” She rolled her eyes. “And he’s one of the chief cooks.”
“Well, Marcus is completely set,” Belinda said from Chelsea’s left. “He knows his way around a kitchen, and we went grocery shopping for plenty of supplies before I left. But he still says he can’t wait to have me with him all the time. Isn’t that wonderful?” She admired her engagement ring, preening a bit.
Chelsea kept hoping Jack would come out soon and help her, despite the fact she’d told him to stay away. Then again, perhaps if he didn’t come out she could keep the subject of her supposed engagement off the table entirely.
Jack hadn’t exactly been excited about the prospect of pretending he’d fallen in love with her after all these years, but she couldn’t fault him. It wasn’t as if she’d even given him time to think it over. Heck, she hadn’t taken the time to think it over, either. But as conversation swirled around the table, she realized what a huge mistake she had made. She’d asked her mother to keep the news to herself, saying she didn’t want to overshadow Belinda’s big day. But that, along with everything else she’d said, was a big lie. Lying made her uncomfortable, as a rule, but she hadn’t known what else to say when her mother showed up early and confirmed that she had eligible men lined up for almost every function for the coming week. She’d also crowed about how she had several eligible bachelors she’d talked Belinda into inviting to the wedding so Chelsea could have her pick.
In response, Chelsea had blurted out, without a moment’s hesitation, the story about falling for Jack over the course of the last month during their email exchanges. Why, oh, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? It wasn’t like being forced to meet eligible men would have been the end of the world. But she’d popped out the lie without thinking beyond her panic to get her mom to stop matchmaking, and now she was stuck with it.
Yeah, now she was totally stuck with it, unless she wanted to admit she’d lied. Her head hurt just thinking about all the complications of that particular conversation.
Belinda laughed about something and Chelsea joined in, though she had no idea what had been said. She put more gravy on her rice because she had nothing to add to the conversation. Did Jack know how to cook? Or did he rely on Frank to do all that while he ran the inn? What all was involved in running the inn? What did he do all day? Since she’d been here, he’d taken reservations and kept things spruced up, but what else was there to do? She had never been interested in that aspect of things when she’d been growing up at the inn with Paige. It was a place to play, but to Jack it had always been the place to be unless he was running Paige and Chelsea around at the request of his parents.
She scooped more rice. There was so much she didn’t know about him. How would she convince her mother they were in love if she didn’t know basic things about him? Perhaps her mother wouldn’t really ask, and it was only for a week.
But she caught the tail end of Belinda telling the story of Marcus proposing, and the look her mother aimed at Chelsea told her there would be many questions and plans in the future. Her mother was a wonder at multitasking, and there was no doubt she would think she could start planning Chelsea’s wedding now, even while Belinda’s was also going on.
“So what do you have planned for us this week, Chelsea?” Belinda asked, bringing Chelsea back to the table and away from her worries.
She ran the listing through her head, the one that Paige had laid out on a spreadsheet with the precision of an accountant. “We’ll be at the spa, have manicures, pedicures, hair dressing.”
“But what about games? I know about all of that. I want together time. We hardly ever get to see you, and I want to hang out with you and do stuff before I turn into the bridezilla you all think I am.”
Chelsea switched to the activities list in her mind. “Bridal shower. Attendants’ tea. Bachelorette party.”
“Naughty Bachelorette party?” Abby asked, with a twinkle in her eye.
“Not that naughty,” Chelsea’s mom said. “I won’t be here, but we don’t want to rock Jack’s boat. He might not like that kind of thing going on in his house, with Chelsea here.”
Her heart stopped when everyone looked at her.
“Why not? What’s going on that he would mind you having some strippers in here?” Belinda quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward in her chair to the point where Chelsea was afraid she’d fall off.
“There’s nothing going on.” Chelsea cut a look at her mother. “I just think with Mazzy here and with the kind of establishment Jack is running we shouldn’t have a male stripper show up. It will still be fun, and I promise a bit of naughty, but not that naughty. Okay?”
Belinda resituated herself in her chair, but she kept giving Chelsea the raised eyebrow, and Chelsea could almost see the wheels spinning in her sister’s head. She’d have to be quicker on her feet and have another conversation with her mother about the absolute need for silence about this. She did not want to overshadow Belinda’s big day and most surel
y not with what was in reality a lie.
“Anyway, I have a very special project everyone is going to be involved in for you, Belinda, and I’m not going to tell you anything more about it.” That, of course, piqued Belinda’s curiosity and fortunately derailed the quirked eyebrow. Thank goodness.
Once everyone cleared their plates, she ushered them down into the speakeasy. Exposed beams alternated with white paint on the low ceiling. Two tall pub-style booths sat against one wall, and the other walls were filled with a video game from the eighties, an old upright cooler in stoplight red, and a dart board. She had loved the times when Paige’s dad would tell them stories about how the speakeasy had been a hub of activity back in the 1920s and 1930s, when people weren’t legally allowed to drink in this county. But one of Jack’s enterprising relatives hadn’t let that stop him from imbibing or letting his friends imbibe.
If she could keep the conversation off her completely, that was the best way to go about things. Even though she had told Jack about Paul and his neglect, she did not want to rehash it this week with anyone else, and she had nothing more to say about Jack that wouldn’t show her fake hand. She was giving herself a headache with all the things she couldn’t talk about.
“Glasses of wine for everyone, even you, Chelsea,” Belinda said, once they arrived in the pub-style basement.
“I’ll drink to that.” Abby said. “You need to loosen up, Chelsea. Everything will go off without a hitch, and that adorable daughter of yours is going to be a beauty at the wedding. If you need any help, though, you just let me know. I didn’t take the week off work, since I work part-time, but I am available if you need me.”
More offers of help. While Chelsea appreciated them from the bottom of her heart, it brought her situation back at home into stark focus. She did not need that right now.
She smiled and thanked Abby, then broke out the wine from behind the bar where Jack had showed her it rested. With glasses arranged between her fingers like a real hostess, she brought it all to the table, where she poured with a flourish and then raised her glass with everyone else. “To Belinda—if Marcus lived through your flaws from your teenage years, this marriage thing is going to be a breeze!”
****
The sounds of a half dozen women laughing drifted up the stairs to the first floor where Jack was in the process of dimming the lights for the evening. It was good to have more youthful sounds ringing through the house again. His parents had made the inn a destination for the older crowd and he enjoyed them, but new blood in the place was excellent for business.
Turning the dimming switch in the library to a low point, he listened with a smile as a loud burst of mirth rose through the floor. It was a good thing Mazzy was on the second floor or she might have been awakened.
Adele had gone down into the speakeasy about thirty minutes ago to make sure the ladies had all the wine they needed. And then he’d sent her up to the rooms she used on the third floor, knowing they were going to be doing a lot of work over the next week and both needed rest. He’d assigned her the morning hours and had taken the evening himself. This week they were more than a bed and breakfast, since they would be providing all meals for Chelsea and Mazzy and a few for the rest of her family. Instead of having the majority of the day free, he and Adele would be working almost twenty-four hours a day.
And now he was also going to have to pull off being an engaged man. God, he didn’t know what cork had come loose in his head to make him say yes to her request. But something about her eyes shining with her heartfelt request had made it seem easy enough. He couldn’t think of anyone else he would have said yes to, and that made him nervous on a level he wasn’t willing to contemplate.
But the ramifications… He couldn’t think about that now. He had to go downstairs and at least show his face. This was his inn, after all.
So far the group had seemed very nice and undemanding. He’d known them all since he was a boy, but you never knew what you were going to get when someone was at your place of business. People changed when you were at their beck and call, but not the Moores. Adele had told him they’d enjoyed dinner and made a special point of thanking Frank for his hard work.
Jack wasn’t necessarily counting on things remaining so nice. Some brides could turn into absolute beasts when the day got closer. He’d known Belinda as long as he’d known Chelsea, but not as well. From what he did know, he wouldn’t put it past her. She’d been a hellion when they were younger. Chelsea had talked endlessly about her behavior, primarily with Paige, and with him by extension.
Worry about that could wait until, if and when, it came time. For right now he should go down and do his host duties, make sure they had everything they needed, then head for bed himself. Hopefully all while avoiding questions about how he’d proposed to Chelsea and when they were going to set a wedding date.
Straightening one last pillow, he left the library and headed for the staircase leading into the basement. But this was not a basement like most people had. Back in the days of Prohibition it had been a working speakeasy catering in secret to the dry county. His parents had restored it to its former glory with pub-style booths and a mahogany bar they’d imported from Ireland.
Jack had made the decision to not change a single thing when he became owner. He’d even added some things he’d collected from the two trips he’d taken to Ireland when he was younger, visiting his grandparents before they passed away. He’d also inherited some of their effects and incorporated them into the décor.
Descending the stairs, he was greeted by another burst of laughter. This was either a very merry bunch or a very drunk bunch. He’d bet a little of both.
Taking the last steps more quietly, he observed the group of beauties. There was the bride. He’d met her when she’d had no hair, a squalling infant long ago. Beside her, squeezed onto the two-person bench, were two other very pretty women who looked enough like her to know they were related. He knew them from high school.
He couldn’t see Chelsea, her aunt, or her mother on the other side of the booth because of how tall the back was, but he had a clear picture in his mind of each of them. The aunt was nice when he saw her around town, but he only knew her well enough to say hello in passing. Mrs. Moore, however, had always been friendly to him, and when he was young she’d given him a place to hang out if the inn was overrun with guests. She had been a staunch supporter of his taking over the inn and had even sent several people his way. He didn’t know her all that well as an adult, since they hadn’t done much more than wave in passing before Belinda decided to have her wedding here, but he still had very fond memories of her chocolate chip cookies and the way she made a house a home. Something he’d been striving to do here at the inn. His parents had made it a destination and Jack wanted to take it back down to a home away from home. Neither way was wrong, but he wanted intimate and returning guests, not fly-byers. And he was going to have to lie to Leigh Moore’s face when she asked about their engagement.
Curiosity more than anything propelled him to walk farther into the room to where he could catch a glimpse of Chelsea. He’d seen her in the kitchen, but her question had made him blind to anything but her pleading eyes. How would she look dressed up like everyone else—not in a formal gown and not in her jeans? He stopped at the bar and brought another bottle of wine with him, just in case they were in need of one. No use denying it was also a prop to hide the fact he should have left when he realized they were fine on their own.
He almost bobbled the bottle when he got a good look at the woman sandwiched between the aunt of the bride and Grammy.
Suddenly he was seventeen years old at a camp in upstate New York for the summer as a counselor to kids who were there for eight weeks. Paige and Chelsea, at fifteen, had signed up for it together, and his mom had encouraged him to go, too, since they might need looking after. It would look good on his resume and college applications, she’d said, but he had a feeling she just didn’t want to let her little Paige out o
f her sight without someone to take over the watching. Chelsea and Paige had been inseparable in those days. What one did, so did the other. And as often was the case, he got volunteered to keep an eye on them. Not that he’d minded in the least that summer, since something about Chelsea had changed and flipped the switch from his little sister’s best friend to a budding beauty.
The counselors had signed on for the eight weeks with campers plus one before and one after to open and close down the camp. On the last night, there had been a dance for the staff, and he had finally stolen a kiss from the girl he had followed around like a puppy dog for those ten weeks. Chelsea Moore had filled his dreams that summer.
He shook his head once to dispel the image. Chelsea Moore was no longer that same girl. Many years and many events separated them into the friendly strangers they were now. She had an incredibly adorable four-year-old daughter and a home and a life three hours from here. Not to mention a promotion coming her way. And she was still his sister’s best friend, which made any interest on his part a huge no-no in Paige’s book.
How did she plan on explaining their break-up when it came time for her return to her normal life, where she wasn’t fakely engaged to him? Had she told Paige? Was she going to have a fit, or play along knowing it wasn’t real?
Ignoring his own uneasiness, he waited for the laughter to die down before he said, “So, ladies, how is everyone? I hope you’re settling in comfortably. The Barton Inn and the staff are here for your convenience.”
Everyone smiled and thanked him. Chelsea’s hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and she looked more like that fifteen-year-old girl than ever. Especially when she winked at him and mouthed thanks.
She sent his heart into a gallop with that one look. Red danger flags zoomed up in his head. His heart couldn’t take this kind of blow. She was a sucker punch waiting to happen.
****
There was something in Jack’s eyes when she mouthed thanks and winked at him that made Chelsea fluttery inside. She shoved the feeling down deep with all the other inappropriate things she had been feeling the last two days. She was still on the mend from a bad relationship, she told herself. Paul hadn’t broken her heart because he didn’t love her anymore—that had gone out the window six months after Mazzy was born—but he had broken her heart for her little girl. Chelsea was still on the healing part of the mend. It had been over two years since he’d left, but she was not ready to change anything more in her life.
