by Susan Wiggs
She grabbed his arm, feeling tension hardening his muscles. “Would you please explain to me what you think is happening here? What you want to happen?”
He took a deep breath, and anger glinted in his eyes. “Look, if we do this—if the evening goes the way I wish like hell it would go—it’s going to change things between us. Everything will be different. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a change.”
His candor and intensity nearly undid her. She was still on fire from his kiss. Yet he was offering her a chance to choose. She could keep things as they were, or change everything—right here, right now. He’d opened the door for her to declare that yes, she wanted this, too. Although he didn’t know it, she had wanted this practically from the first moment they’d met, years ago. A moment he probably didn’t even remember.
The temptation was almost more than she could bear. A daring little voice inside her whispered, why not try it with him, see where it went?
Because the stakes were too high with Greg. He wasn’t some guy taking her bowling or to the movies. He was the guy she worked for. The guy she knew she wouldn’t be able to survive losing—so it was safer to simply back away.
She had to wrestle to find her willpower, and finally forced herself to brush past him. “Good night, Greg. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Jenny studied Nina’s face. They were in Zuzu’s Petals, shopping for a dress for Nina to wear on opening day at the inn. “He propositioned you?”
“He was pretty explicit, assuming ravish means what I think it means,” Nina admitted.
“He said ravish? Do people even say ravish anymore?”
“People said ravish last night.”
Jenny gave a pleased little shiver. “And here I thought it was something that only happened in old-fashioned Gothic novels. So how was it?”
Nina laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You think I went for it?”
Jenny’s eyes widened. “You mean, you didn’t?”
“I’m not getting involved with Greg Bellamy. Not even if I get to discover the meaning of ravish with him. He’s the enemy,” she reminded Jenny.
“Because he bought the Inn at Willow Lake.”
“Exactly.” She took an apple-green dress from the rack and held it under her chin.
Jenny took the dress and put it back. “I think it’s good he did that. He’s taking on all the risk. It’s no picnic, owning a business.”
Jenny would know, reflected Nina. She’d been co-owner and then sole owner of the Sky River Bakery ever since she was a teenager. She endured hard times and uncertainty, knowing she had no safety net.
“I realize that,” Nina said. “But he took away my chance to succeed, along with my risk of failure.”
“You know what I think? I think the ownership of the inn has nothing to do with it. I think what you’re really worried about is falling for Greg.”
“Falling for—” Nina gave a little bark of disbelief. “And why should I worry about that? He’s the last person I want to fall for. For that matter, why should I fall for anyone? I’ve been going on dates, having the adolescence I missed out on.”
“And how’s that working for you?”
“Very funny, Doctor Phil.”
Jenny handed her a form-fitting dress in peach jersey. “Believe me—and you know this better than I do—adolescence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” She grabbed a few more dresses and marched Nina into the dressing room.
“Greg’s got kids,” Nina said, changing into one of the dresses. “And a grandbaby soon.”
“Do you have anything against kids and grandkids?”
“No. But I’m done with that.”
Jenny lifted one eyebrow. “You did a fabulous job with Sonnet. You could easily do it again.”
“Easily? Yeah, right. Half the time, I was scared to death I was doing something wrong. It was like being on a tightrope over a swamp full of alligators. Why would I sign on for more?”
“Because you’re good with alligators.”
“This is a big leap from talking about dating him to talking about forever,” Nina said. She stepped out and posed in front of the mirror. She had to admit, Jenny had a good eye. The dress was a winner, businesslike without being boring.
“Could you date him with no commitment?”
“I work with him, end of story.”
“Sounds as if you’ve made up your mind, then.”
Nina ended up buying the peach dress with a three-quarter-sleeve sweater. Jenny beamed at her. “You’ll be dazzling.”
“It’s the inn that needs to dazzle.”
“You seem nervous to me,” Jenny observed. “You always twirl your hair around your finger when you’re nervous.”
Nina lowered her hand. “Do I? I suppose I am nervous. When you think about it, a grand opening is all about being accepted or rejected. And I’ve never been good with rejection.”
“Is that why you never go on second dates? Is that why you don’t want to consider dating Greg?”
Nina started to twirl her hair again, but caught herself. “Cut it out. All this shopping made me hungry.”
They walked down the block to the bakery. It was mid-afternoon, and the place wasn’t busy. As they were helping themselves to kolaches, Laura Tuttle came backward through the swinging doors, wheeling a cart with a lofty wedding cake on it. “Another day, another cake,” she said.
“That one is stunning,” Nina said. When she and Jenny were little, they used to watch, mesmerized, as Laura created fondant icing, sugar-dough flowers and leaves, turning humble ingredients into magnificent confections of culinary architecture. Naturally in planning their fantasy weddings, Nina and Jenny had debated long and hard about the cake, arguing tradition versus innovation. As adults, neither had had a cake after all, what with Jenny stealing off to St. Croix in the middle of winter to get married, and Nina not marrying at all.
“Thanks,” Laura said. “The old broad’s learning some new tricks.”
“Don’t be calling yourself an old broad,” Jenny said. She turned to Nina. “She’s dating my father, you know. She’s dating Philip Bellamy.”
“Nonsense,” Laura scolded. “We’re just two friends catching up on old times.”
“Yeah,” Jenny said with a wink. “Sure.”
“Aren’t happily married people annoying?” Nina said to Laura.
“Tell me about it.” Laura rolled her eyes.
Yet Nina didn’t fail to notice the blush that lit Laura’s cheeks. She didn’t pry, though. Especially not in front of Jenny. Philip Bellamy and Jenny were not your typical father and daughter. The two of them were still finding their way toward one another.
“I wish you’d let yourself go for it,” Jenny said to Laura. “You and Philip have known each other since you were teenagers. Is it possible to know someone that long and still not be sure?”
Oh, yes, Nina conceded. Definitely. It was possible to live a whole alternative life.
Jenny gazed in admiration at the wedding cake. “I knew I was meant to be with Rourke the minute I saw him, and we were just kids. It’s just crazy that it took us so long to wake up and figure it out.”
“Some people are lucky enough to find what they’re looking for the first time around,” Laura said. “Others…”
Her voice trailed off, but Nina recalled something Greg had said to her. “Life gives you lots of chances to screw up.”
“Which means you have just as many chances to get it right,” Jenny reminded her.
Seventeen
“You’re nervous.” Greg’s statement was decidedly accusatory.
“Don’t be silly,” Nina assured him. “I’m not the least bit nervous.”
He stared pointedly at her finger, twirling a curl of hair at the nape of her neck. Good lord. Was she that obvious?
“Right,” he said. “Not nervous. Got it.”
“So I’m nervous. Whatever. So sue me.”
On the official opening day at the inn, everything was finally ready—painted, freshened, furnished, buffed and polished. Flower arrangements from a local grower graced the tables and fireplace mantels. Becky Murray, a local musician, was playing the harp like a seraphim. The muted notes shimmered through the salon, creating an air of elegance and luxury. The staff was discreetly going about their duties. Bone-china trays of treats from the Sky River Bakery had been set out on an antique table, along with a silver samovar of iced tea. Nina and Greg were ready at the registration desk while the housekeeping and support staff were nearly invisible in the background. Everyone was awaiting the arrival of the first guests. Some waited with more nervousness than others.
Part of the reason for her nerves was standing next to her in a gorgeously tailored sport coat—not too formal, but dressy enough to show this day meant something to him. He smelled of some delicious cologne and seemed so at ease in the luxurious setting, while Nina was having second thoughts about her new sundress. She was having second thoughts about everything. Ever since he’d kissed her, she felt as though aliens had possessed her body. She was no longer in control. All Greg had to do was walk into the room and her panties fell off. She fantasized about him constantly. Once, to her horror, she’d caught herself unconsciously doodling his name on hotel stationery.
To his credit, he was a gentleman about the encounter. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t pushed the issue. Nina tried to put it behind her. She kept telling herself it was no big deal. He’d kissed her, and she’d brushed him off—not because she didn’t like him but because she liked him too much. He’d claimed he wanted their relationship to change, but he hadn’t said what he expected it to change into. Nina figured they were better off leaving that stone unturned.
Greg seemed mercifully oblivious to her thoughts. “Everything is going to be fine. Better than fine. Today’s going to be a kick in the ass.”
“I know that’s what I look for when I go on vacation,” she murmured. Yet when he smiled at her, she felt that now-familiar melting sensation, and knew he was right—everything would be fine. His supreme self-confidence was infectious. People were going to walk through that door, take one look at this tall, smiling, incredibly handsome man and know they’d chosen the right spot for their holiday. How could they not?
“Welcome to Fantasy Island,” she murmured in a fake Spanish accent.
“What’s that?”
“Um, nothing.” Nina had initially expected this whole process to be hard for him. She’d expected him to wave a white flag of surrender, declaring that he’d made a terrible mistake, that he didn’t want the inn after all. Now she conceded that he’d done a fantastic job with the place. He had a natural air of calm and the respect of everyone who worked for him—including her. Somehow, he had orchestrated the opening of the Inn at Willow Lake with amazing precision.
This was problematic. He was supposed to fail and go away.
There was still a lot of summer left, she reminded herself. Plenty of opportunities for Greg to learn he didn’t belong here, that he was better off designing golf courses or mall layouts. The arriving guests could very well change everything. People were fickle, unreasonable, hard to please. They’d wear him down by summer’s end. She could afford to be pleased for him—for them all—today.
She glanced at the card Sonnet had sent her—Good luck, Mom—that Nina had propped on the desk under the reception counter, and her nervousness slipped away. The card depicted a romanticized drawing of Casteau, the little town of cobblestone streets and ancient churches where Sonnet now lived with her father and his family.
“I guess you miss her a lot,” Greg said.
She nodded, startled by his scrutiny. “It feels a little funny that she’s not here for this. She’s been present for every big moment of my life, even my high school graduation. Then there was college graduation, my swearing-in as mayor, everything.” Nina sighed and touched the card.
“So this is a big moment for you,” he said.
“Absolutely.” Why pretend otherwise?
For some reason that made him smile. “Me, too.”
A sound drifted through the open window—the thud of car doors slamming, and voices approaching. Greg squared his shoulders as the first guests came through the door. “Welcome to the Inn at Willow Lake,” he said.
They were the Morgans, a couple from the city, an effusive woman named Sadie and her husband Nate, who was quiet and indulgent. Nina checked them in and Walter showed them to their room. Within the next couple of hours, they welcomed a variety of guests—a dating pair from Buffalo who had won the Web-based promotional contest for a free stay. There was a young woman named Kimberly Van Dorn, traveling alone, who was so stunningly gorgeous that Nina stopped what she was doing to stare. Not that Kimberly Van Dorn noticed, of course. She saved all her attention for Greg, managing to slip certain key facts into the conversation—she had attended Camp Kioga as a girl, and she was newly divorced.
Greg took it in stride, assuring Ms. Van Dorn that her stay would be relaxing, a chance to escape the everyday demands of life.
She barely looked old enough to have been married for any amount of time. She was tall as an Amazon, with Katharine Hepburn cheekbones and a swimsuit-model figure, cascades of red hair, and—probably most attractive of all to the men present—she drove a fancy sports car and had brought along a set of golf clubs. Amazing. Here was every man’s fantasy all in one shiny, revved-up package.
Yet Greg treated her the same as any other guest as he handed her a room key and sent her and her designer luggage off with Walter.
“Welcome to the Inn at Willow Lake,” he said to the next party of guests.
“Gayle, hi.” Nina was happy to see a familiar face. Gayle had been her assistant when she was mayor. She turned to Greg. “This is Gayle Wright, and her husband Adam.”
“We own the Windy Ridge Flower Farm.” Gayle surveyed the salon. “The flowers look fantastic in here.”
Nina had ordered weekly service from Gayle and Adam. Gayle was a genius at arrangements. Instead of the usual jungle of flowers in a giant urn, she’d created single-variety arrangements in clear vases, grouping them on pedestals of varying heights around the salon. “You get the credit for that,” Nina assured her.
Gayle beamed. “I wish the kids—”
“No, you don’t,” Adam interrupted, then addressed Nina. “This is the first time we’ll both be away from them overnight.”
“All three of them are at my mother’s,” Gayle said.
“And they’re fine,” Adam assured her.
Nina observed them, feeling a peculiar warmth build inside her heart. She’d gone all through school with Gayle, a quiet, heavyset girl with lanky brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. As an adult, Gayle had changed very little, yet when she was with her husband, she glowed from within. Being in love really did make a person beautiful. It was a magical phenomenon in that way. When you looked at a couple like Gayle and Adam, you saw something that was invisible, yet as tangible and real as the earth itself. That was the way love was supposed to be. That was what Nina wanted for Sonnet one day. Okay, it was what she wanted for herself. Maybe she was crazy for still believing it was possible.
It was the inn, she thought, and this romantic atmosphere they had worked so hard to achieve. Good lord, it was working, even on her.
“Is this a special occasion for you guys?” she asked.
A light flickered and dimmed in Gayle’s eyes. She pressed her lips together, nodded. Her hand found her husband’s. “Adam’s National Guard unit is being deployed.” Her voice wavered over the announcement. “He’s leaving next week.”
Nina felt a chill touch her spine, but she kept her smile in place. “We’ll make this weekend extra special for you,” she promised. The chill lingered as she watched them go, and it occurred to Nina that even true love had its down side—the hurt that came from separation, the fear of danger.
As the Wrights made their way t
o their room, Greg was already speaking with the next couple—Jack Daly and Sarah Moon, from Chicago. They were young and prosperous-looking, perhaps a little subdued.
“Any special occasion for you?” Greg asked.
The couple exchanged a smile, tinged with irony. Jack was slender and attractive, with close-cropped hair and the spare, athletic look reminiscent of Lance Armstrong. “Yeah, actually, it is,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate; he scooped the keys off the desk and headed for the stairs.
His wife, Sarah Moon, finished signing the registry book with a flourish. She had a quiet beauty that radiated from her smile, which she used to deflect her husband’s brusqueness. “I’m glad we’re staying a whole week,” she said. “We need the time.”
Nina and Greg exchanged a glance as the couple headed for their lakeview suite. “I wonder what that was all about,” she murmured.
“None of our business,” he reminded her.
She sniffed. “You’re no fun.”
He laughed softly. “I’m tons of fun. You just haven’t given me a chance yet.”
“A chance at what?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” The phone rang, and he answered it, never taking his eyes off her.
Saved by the bell. She pretended to forget their conversation as she busied herself with other things, and stayed busy the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. She enjoyed every minute of it, as she’d known she would. She liked orchestrating the guests, making sure they had not just everything they needed, but things they didn’t know they wanted—like a crisp linen mat on the floor by the bed at turndown time, accompanied by a soft pair of spa scuffs.
By the time they had everyone checked in and finished up for the night, it was nearly 10:00 p.m.
“Wow,” said Greg, looking around the salon. “That was amazing.”
“Good amazing or bad amazing?” she asked.
“Just…amazing.”
She grabbed her bag from a cabinet under the counter. “And just think, you get to do it all over again tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait.”
