by Susan Wiggs
Part Seven
Now
Each room at the inn is furnished with painstakingly-selected period pieces. The Scribe’s Chamber is a cozy room accented with restored picture trim, exposed gables, a washstand sink and private bath. Situated on the west side of the house, this chamber enjoys the last sun of the day and has a view of the willow trees along the lakeshore. The room features a tall antique rice bed covered with a time-worn quilt, and pillows in delicately embroidered covers. Designed for solitary contemplation, this room has a small writing desk and oval-back chair that once belonged to American author James Fenimore Cooper.
The Inn at Willow Lake avoids the use of commercial furniture polishes containing petroleum products and other neurotoxic solvents. A much more pleasing preparation is easily created by combining jojoba oil—available at most drugstores—with lemon oil and a squeeze of lemon juice.
Thirteen
Greg and Nina started arguing as soon as they pulled out of the parking lot in his truck. “We’re going to New Paltz,” he said. “It’s closer.”
“But there’s a warehouse store in Rhinebeck. It’s one-stop shopping.”
“Not for what I have in mind,” he said, dialing the steering wheel toward Route 28. “You just hired an assistant. Walter can get the supplies.”
“But—”
“Besides, I’m driving.” He didn’t fail to notice the way she dressed, even for a day of work-related errands. She had on a gauzy red cotton dress that showed off her cleavage, bare legs and sandals. He wondered if she dressed this way for him, or if this was just her style. Doesn’t matter, he thought. Three weeks into their partnership, he had no complaints about working with Nina, even when she argued with him, which was most of the time. She was a far cry from the humorless, pocket-protector-wearing stiffs at his firm in the city. Despite the dress and the cleavage, she was the hardest-working woman he’d ever met. She’d jumped into her job with both feet, and was totally focused on the grand reopening.
Unaware that he was checking her out, she scowled at a hand-written list of things to do. “Not only do we need to get supplies. We’re supposed to go to the quarry in Marble-town to arrange a delivery of pavers and gravel.”
“And landscaping rock,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget that.”
“We’ll never get all this done today,” she said.
“Who says we have to?”
“No one says. Heck, it’s your business. You can keep the place closed for renovations for as long as you want. I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do not,” she said.
Greg knew he could end the current argument with a brief explanation. He’d delegated most of the items on the list to Walter and Anita, their two newest hires. Meanwhile, Olivia had set up an appointment for him to see an antiques broker to select pieces in bulk at a discount. Greg decided to keep Nina in suspense a while longer. He was having way too much fun getting on her nerves.
“You do. I can tell,” he said. Having fun being in business—that was a new one on him. Before Nina, he hadn’t even realized it was possible. She had the unique ability to make him want to act dumb and immature, and he drew a curious sort of relief from that. It was safe to behave this way around her, because in all the other areas of his life, he didn’t have that liberty. With his kids especially, he felt an enormous, often crushing pressure to behave responsibly and maturely at all times. With Nina, he could tease and let the pressure off.
“You hired me to do a job,” she said, “and now you’re not letting me do it.”
“Sure, I am. We’re just not doing it your way, and that bugs the shit out of you.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She thrust up her chin defensively.
“Then why are we fighting about it?”
“You call this a fight?” She laughed. “This isn’t a fight. Believe me, you’ll know when it’s a fight.”
“I’ll look forward to that. So if you’re not fighting with me, you’re…what? Arguing?”
“I’m asserting my opinion and you’re ignoring it. Listen, you claim you want a business partner. So treat me like a partner, not some flunky. This ‘my way or the highway’ tactic just doesn’t fly with me.”
“Tell you what. You dictate your list to Walter and have him pick up everything this afternoon.” He passed her his mobile phone.
She took it, but didn’t dial. “You and I should split up. You can go do your errands in New Paltz and I’ll get everything from the price club.”
Split up. No way, he thought. “What can I say? I’m flattered that you trust me to pick out furniture for the guest rooms.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen with surprise.
“That’s why you’re going to New Paltz? To buy—”
He played his ace. “Vintage fixtures and furniture, linens…” He wracked his brain, trying to remember Olivia’s instructions. There were a half-dozen rooms left to furnish, and she’d given him strict orders to stick with an authentic period look. “Accessories and wall art,” he concluded, remembering her specific words.
“I thought you were going to the quarry to look at hard-scape supplies—gravel and rock,” she said.
“You should have asked. Then I would’ve told you I also have an appointment with a wholesale antiques broker.” He glanced over at her and saw that she’d taken the bait, and it was having the desired effect. Pure, unbridled lust shone in her eyes. It was an indisputable fact that no woman could resist wholesale antiques. “So,” he prompted. “What do you say?”
“I surrender,” she said. “We’ll both go.”
Did she speak a little too quickly? Why did he sense a whir of suspicion, barely detectable but unsettling all the same, tickling at the back of his mind? As she made the call to Walter, Greg decided not to care. In general, a woman’s heart was as mysterious as an undiscovered country. However, there was one thing he knew with complete and total certainty. When it came to decorating decisions, no woman ever born would allow a man to make them. Nina was no exception.
Trying not to act too cocky, he twiddled the dial of the radio, stopping at the sound of Led Zeppelin, with its almost-sexual thumping beat and piercing vocals. He could see Nina trying not to wince. Tooling along with the windows down, the stereo blazing on a perfect blue-sky day—it was a rare break for him. Just for these fleeting moments, he didn’t let himself worry about the kids.
“You’re in a good mood,” Nina said suspiciously when he parked at the antique warehouse, which was actually a converted barn. She climbed out of the truck before he could get the door for her, thus depriving him of a view of her bare legs.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not.”
“I’m always in a good mood,” he said. “It’s kind of pointless not to be.” Greg found that if he stood close enough to her, his height allowed him a killer view of her cleavage.
She caught him staring—probably with six kinds of lust written on his face—and said, “Cut that out.”
“Cut what out?”
“You’re looking down my dress.”
“I’m looking at the clipboard.” He indicated her scribbled notes and lists.
She hugged it to her chest. “I’ve never met a guy who actually liked shopping for antiques.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why—”
“You figure it out.” He left her to wonder and went inside to introduce himself to the broker. Honestly, he didn’t exactly relish the prospect of picking out furniture. However, it had to be done. They had several rooms to finish and he was glad to have Nina along to do the choosing.
Like most women, she had a gift for it. Greg looked around and saw nothing but secondhand stuff, yet she seemed to regard the huge, barnlike warehouse as a treasure trove of furniture, vintage linens, even a hand-loomed wool rug. In one shadowy corner of the barn, she spotted an Adirondack-style bed made of birch logs, and a lamp with a hand-stitched shade. In
short order, she had picked out beds, washstands, benches and occasional tables, lamps and linens and throw pillows.
Her face was flushed with triumph. “What else? More accessories?”
Greg didn’t want to feel completely redundant, so he picked up something and handed it to her. “What about this?”
“It’s a tin bait box,” she said.
“That’s right.” It was humble and old-fashioned, a painted can with a hand crank on the side and the directions, “Half a turn, and there’s your worm.”
She beamed at him. “It’s brilliant.”
He wasn’t sure what knocked him out more—her dazzling smile, or the fact that she deemed a tin bait box “brilliant.”
“Cool,” he said, then spotted a framed picture leaning against a wall. “We should get this, too.” It was one of those iconic Maxfield Parrish prints—a portrait of a muse at sunset, staring dreamily across a glowing, otherworldly landscape.
Nina clearly didn’t like it as much as she did the bait box, though she nodded her approval. “Guests will like that.”
“But you don’t.”
“It’s a bit predictable. That’s a good thing, though. People like a touch of the familiar when they’re away from home.”
He eyed a picture of a group of cigar-smoking dogs dressed as humans, sitting around a card table.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
“Come on, Martha Stewart,” he said after settling with the broker and arranging for delivery. He drove just a few blocks, then turned into a parking lot.
“Now what?” she asked.
“What’s it look like?”
“Matt’s Mattress Ranch?”
“We’re getting all new. And you and I are picking them out.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m not leaving the decision to anyone else. If people don’t get a good night’s sleep, we’ll never see them again, so we can’t leave this to anyone else.” He dared her to disagree with him.
“Good plan,” she said, getting out of the car.
He wished she would let him do things like get car doors for her. For one thing, it gave him a chance to check out her legs. For another, he just liked it. He liked her.
His assistant had made an appointment, and Matt himself greeted them. He was a friendly sort with a comb-over and a string tie, Greg figured in keeping with the ranch theme. “Howdy, folks. Welcome to Matt’s Mattress Ranch. We’ve been expecting you.”
“Um, howdy,” Greg said.
“Opal,” Matt called to his assistant, “bring Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy something to drink.”
“Oh!” Nina’s cheeks reddened. “We’re not—”
“Mr. and Mrs.,” Greg finished for her. “This is Nina Romano. We’d like to place a wholesale order.”
Opal brought chilled bottles of water, and Matt invited them to check out the showroom, inviting them to try any of his wares.
“Hear that, Mrs. Bellamy?” Greg teased, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“Shut up,” she said, focusing on the hunt. She paused at several models, pressing her flattened palm down, dismissing each in turn.
“This is going to be the one,” she said, stepping out of her sandals.
“Are you kidding me?” he asked, eying the cushy mattress topper. “Way too much fluff.”
“Some people like fluff.” She lay down on the mattress.
For a second, he couldn’t do anything but stare at her bare feet and legs. She looked different—unbearably sexy—lying down.
“Greg,” she prodded him. “This is it. Try it.”
He lay down next to her, sinking into the mattress until they rolled together, almost touching. Then he reacted like any revved-up teenage boy and hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice. “Oh, okay,” he said. “I get it.”
“Told you so.” She started to sit up.
He held her there. He wished he could hold her there forever.
She turned to him, pillowing her head on her arm. “Let’s place our order, then.”
“In a minute.”
Her lips twitched, and he could tell she was trying not to smile. “Some guys will try anything to get a girl in bed.”
“I’ll try anything to get you in bed. There’s a difference.”
That shut her up, but only for a moment. “I’m leaving,” she said, getting up and slipping on her sandals. “You coming?”
Not today, he thought. With pained reluctance, he extricated himself from the fantasy and got up. “Whatever you say, boss. Come on. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“We don’t have time for lunch.”
She was as contrary as she was sexy. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get something for me and you can sit there and worry about staying on schedule.”
“As if.” She brushed past him and marched outside, leading the way to the Starlight Diner, located across the street.
Nina was trying to figure out if she was having a good day or a bad day. She was having far too much fun with Greg Bellamy. Even picking out mattresses was a kind of wicked fun she hadn’t experienced in…probably ever. That was good, but it was also bad. Every time she was with him, she found it difficult to focus on business. He was just so…distracting. That was why she hadn’t wanted to stop for lunch with him. She knew she’d be distracted.
She was right. He looked boyishly handsome in cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and boating shoes. Yet with the antiques dealer, he’d been all business, negotiating fairly and getting exactly what he wanted. Delivered. She’d expected him to be some spoiled, overeducated guy from the city, but every day, he surprised her.
Concentrate, Nina reminded herself. Stick to business. Over grilled cheese sandwiches and coleslaw, they went over the plan to get everything done in time for the grand opening on Independence Day weekend. Nina sipped her cherry Coke, frowning at her notes. “I don’t see how we’ll get it all done in time.”
“We have no choice.”
“True. Every room is booked for all three nights, some of them longer. There’s one couple coming from Chicago for a whole week.”
“Every room? I thought there was one left.”
“Last confirmation came in this morning,” she said. “I had an e-mail report from the reservations service.”
He leaned back in the Naugahyde booth and clasped his hands behind his head. “Fantastic, Nina. The contest was a great idea,” he said, placing a fat manila envelope on the table. “We were flooded with entries.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d long had a grand opening planned out in her mind. In order to build a mailing list, they had offered a free stay at the inn to the winner of a random drawing. All the entries went straight to a database to use in their marketing.
He grinned at her. “You’re as good at this as I knew you’d be.”
Nina felt a flush rising in her cheeks. Something—she didn’t want to name it—pulsed between them. “Yeah?”
He cleared his throat, pulled his gaze away.
“So. I appreciate the vote of confidence.” Nina was embarrassed by herself. It was as if she was thirteen again, starry-eyed and clueless. She busied herself with the clipboard, now cluttered with even more notes.
“Listen, I know this isn’t the arrangement you were expecting,” Greg said. “You’re being a good sport about this.”
She got the feeling he’d been working up to telling her this. “Of course I am.”
“Seriously. I realize you wanted to go it alone, and now you’ve got me and my kids in the mix.”
Nina didn’t respond to that. By now, life should have taught her not to plan anything, because there always seemed to be a detour down the road. She found herself in a very strange position. Greg had what she wanted—the inn. She ought to resent him, but perversely, she felt an insane attraction to him.
She sorted through the rest of the mail they’d picked up at the post office earlier. “I’m glad the contest was a hit, but Daisy gets the credit for so many booki
ngs,” Nina stated. “Her photographs made the brochure and Web site irresistible.”
“You think?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that about her. She gives me plenty to worry about. Nice to be reminded that sometimes, she’s an amazing kid.”
His comment touched a soft spot in Nina. How well she remembered Sonnet’s ups and downs. And how she missed them. “Every kid comes with her own unique set of worries.”
He nodded. “I find new ones every day.”
The cocksure Greg Bellamy was taking a break, she observed. There was something vulnerable about him now, and he didn’t seem like a business partner or a rival or anything but a worried parent.
“Max is having problems that I never anticipated. Sometimes I’m amazed at all the anger he has bottled up. I asked myself, did I sacrifice my kid’s happiness? Should I have stuck it out with Sophie, worked harder—”
“News flash, Greg. Kids have anger and issues and problems no matter what. You can blame the divorce if you want, but you might need to rethink that. Living in a house where people are unhappy is toxic. It’s a slow poison. You can’t hide things from your kids. They see everything. And even if they’re not old enough to understand, they know unhappiness when they see it, no matter how hard you try to hide it. So I’m just saying, don’t beat yourself up over the divorce. Give him a stable, loving home and hope for the best. And if he wants to quit baseball, for god’s sake let him quit baseball. There’s no shame in letting him see that sometimes the right thing to do is cut your losses and move on.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“With eight siblings, I’ve had a front row seat at every possible family quarrel. I’m the only one in my family who never married. I didn’t even date while Sonnet was growing up. It just seemed too complicated.”
“So now that she’s away…”
“I’ve got options,” she said. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to get him to ask her out, so she changed the subject. “And that’s pretty much all I have to say about that. How’s Daisy doing?”
