by Olivia Miles
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” she said. “The most I ever wrote was a twenty-page essay in college on the impact of birth order and personality.”
He laughed. “Psych major?”
“Gee, how’d you guess?”
“And where’d you fall in that scenario?” He couldn’t help it, he was eager to know more. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to get to know anyone. But Bridget…she was pleasant and kind and warm.
And pretty. Very, very pretty.
“First born. Classic Type-A personality.” She laughed. “How about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“A half-sister,” Jack said. “But we’re fifteen years apart and she lives in California, where my dad is. I can’t exactly say we’re close.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s remarried too. No kids, though. She’s down in Florida. I don’t visit much.”
“Well, you’re an interesting cross between an only child and a first born, then.” Bridget gave him a mischievous smile.
“And what does that make me?”
“Independent? I’d have to check my notes, though. It’s, uh, been a while.” She laughed again.
“Independent sounds about right,” he said. “I suppose that’s why I like New York. I can do my thing. Fade into the crowd.”
“Then you’d probably have a hard time in Oyster Bay,” she said, frowning a little. “In a town this small, well, let’s just say that some people know things about me before I even know.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, who my sister’s dating. Who my ex is dating…”
He grimaced. “Ouch.”
“In a way,” she said. “Sometimes it’s nice to be forewarned.”
“My ex is actually in the same city as me, too. Luckily for me, New York is a little bigger.” He froze. He wasn’t used to talking about Erin. Most days, he didn’t even like thinking about her. But talking to Bridget was easy. Natural, even.
Bridget frowned. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“Was,” he stressed. “Never again.”
Bridget nodded, and looked away, and for a reason he couldn’t justify, he wished he hadn’t come down so hard on the idea.
She set the plates into the dishwasher and adjusted the settings. For a moment, there was a flicker of silence, and Jack wondered if he’d overstayed his welcome, if Bridget was eager to get back to her daughter, or whatever else it was she did when she had the house to herself and wasn’t at the mercy of a lingering guest.
“What do you usually do? For fun?” He wasn’t sure if he was dragging out the night because he didn’t want to go back to his room to work or because he didn’t want to be alone. Or, possibly, because he wanted to be with her. He was always alone, and usually he preferred it that way. But tonight was different. Tonight he’d felt right at home, in this kitchen, with Bridget’s soft laughter and Emma’s funny comments, and the thought of going up to his room now, closing the door, and hearing nothing but silence depressed the hell out of him.
Bridget picked up the bottle of wine, and Jack could see there was still a bit left. “Top you off?”
Jack nodded. “Only if you have a bit, too.”
“There you go, encouraging me again,” Bridget teased, and then her cheeks flushed as she evenly distributed the wine into both of their glasses.
It was awkward discussing the night of the wedding, for both of them, but Jack only half-regretted that kiss. It had been an indiscretion, a mistake. Something that couldn’t be repeated.
But it had been nice.
His gaze lingered on her mouth as she brought the glass to it. He swallowed, hard. No. It couldn’t be repeated.
“I suppose I’m encouraging my own,” he admitted as he followed her into the lobby and took a seat in one of the loveseats near the window. Bridget seemed to hesitate before coming to sit next to him, not quite within reach. “I should be working right now. But…I needed a break.”
“Is that why you booked a two-week stay here?”
He barked out a laugh. “Just the opposite. I couldn’t think straight in Manhattan. Too much noise, too much…distraction.” Too many memories was more like it. Everywhere he turned, he was reminded of a time and place that wasn’t his anymore, when New York felt fresh and exciting and his career felt as full of potential as life itself. He’d fallen into a rut, a bad habit of taking long, meandering walks and then stopping for a drink or dinner at the bar, where he’d linger, and then finally go home to an empty, dark apartment, tell himself it was too late to work, and that he’d get to it tomorrow. But he’d run out of tomorrows. “My agent thought a change of scenery would do me good.”
“And you chose Harper House Inn!” Bridget’s smile was so genuine, Jack felt something in him shift. He didn’t talk to people anymore. Somewhere in the past three years, he’d become a hermit.
“Well, I’m setting this particular story in an old house,” he explained. It was true, even if the order of events were skewed. He’d started out with a blank slate, nothing more than the standard formula of boy meets girl, falls in love, lives happily ever after.
He almost snorted into his drink.
“Well, I hope you’re finding inspiration then!”
Jack studied Bridget, suddenly feeling a desire in him that he hadn’t felt in a long time, as if something was awakening. A desire to talk, to discuss. And maybe even a desire to write, to capture something in life that had gone unnoticed recently.
“I am finding inspiration,” he said, realizing just how true that was.
Chapter Six
Mornings, Bridget found, were always the most challenging part of the day. Even before she’d taken over this house and opened the inn, it had been that way. Back then it had been the endless scramble of showering, dressing, making Emma’s breakfast, cleaning up breakfast, checking over homework, and getting Emma to school before running to work at the real estate agency where she’d worked for eight years following her split from Ryan.
There was always something to cause delay: forgotten homework at the bottom of Emma’s bag; a missing field trip permission slip, misplaced library books, or missing keys.
Today, it was missing socks.
“What do you mean you have no matching socks?” Bridget added muffins to the basket of mixed pastries as quickly as her hands would allow her, even if she did only have one guest, and even if he probably wouldn’t come out his room at all today, much to her chagrin. Still, service was service, and she wasn’t about to let anything slip.
“I have a pink one and a grey one and purple one and a striped one. Oh! And one with hearts!” Emma called in delight from her bedroom.
Bridget popped the lid of a box of croissants and began arranging them in one of the baskets. The order was smaller than usual, and whatever didn’t get eaten this morning, she’d bring over to Serenity Hills when she and Emma visited Mimi after school today.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Margo. She’d have to call her back.
“There are some with polka dots!” Emma offered.
Bridget bit back her frustration. She dumped the remaining pastries in the basket, flipped over the ones that landed askew, and all but ran them into the dining room, where she’d already set up the fruit and yogurt. Even though she’d expected the dining room to be empty, she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that Jack hadn’t emerged from his room yet.
Well. No time to dwell. She had a missing sock to find and a pot of coffee to make.
“Emma,” she said, as she walked into their living quarters, through the small sitting area, and into her daughter’s pale pink bedroom. “If I open that drawer and find a matching pair of socks, I’m not going to be happy. I still have to make the coffee and we’re supposed to leave in—” She glanced at her watch. “Six minutes!”
Emma’s eyes turned comically round, and Bridget fought off a smile as she opened the top drawer of the white dresser she’d p
ilfered from Abby’s childhood bedroom. Sure enough. No matching socks.
She frowned as she rifled through them.
“I told you there weren’t any!” Emma declared, folding he arms over her chest. “I don’t lie.”
Bridget looked down at her daughter and stoked her cheek. Its softness never failed to surprise her. “Of course not, sweetheart. Sometimes mothers are just better at finding these things…”
And sometimes not. She stared into the contents of the drawer. “How is this even possible?” And what were the odds? One of each pair, but no match at all?
“Maybe the machine ate them,” Emma offered.
It seemed like a half-reasonable explanation at the moment. “Maybe,” Bridget said, shaking her head. “Well, we don’t have time to bother with this right now. You’ll just have to wear sandals today.”
The forecast had called for sunshine and blue skies and a high of seventy. Fair enough for sandals this once.
“But what about gym class? And recess!” Emma’s lower lip began to quiver.
Bridget tried not to let the impatience register on her face. “Emma. It’s just for today—”
“Hello!” a voice called from the kitchen. A female voice. In fact, if Bridget didn’t know better, she’d say that was her sister Abby’s voice.
She hurried into the kitchen, where sure enough her sister stood, laden with shopping bags.
“I’m here to make breakfast!” she announced.
Bridget blinked. She tried to think of something diplomatic to say, something that wouldn’t hurt her sister’s feelings but that would nip this whole scheme of Abby’s in the bud. “Abby, I—”
“Mommy!” Emma came bursting into the room, clutching a fistful of socks. “I don’t want to wear mismatched socks to school!”
“Why not?” Abby said cheerfully. “They still cover your feet. And it’s kind of interesting. Personally, I’d choose the one with hearts and the pink striped one.”
“Really?” Emma smiled, revealing two spaces where her grown-up teeth were yet to make an appearance. “Cool.”
Cool. Bridget felt a little pang in her chest. Her baby was saying words like “cool.” Where was the little toddler who called her backpack a “cack cack”? Next thing Bridget knew, Emma would be asking for a cell phone and wanting to color her hair.
She sighed. For now, she should just be grateful that Emma still wanted to hold her hand. That was something. Something she’d hold on to…forever, if she could.
Emma ran off to her bedroom, and Bridget turned to her sister. “Thank you.”
Abby just shrugged. “That’s what aunts are for. Especially the fun ones,” she added with a grin.
Bridget eyed the shopping bags uneasily. “Why don’t I take Emma to school and then we can finish our conversation from the weekend?” She could offer her one weekend a month, something to start with, and something she could supervise.
She glanced at the clock. They only had four minutes now. Hurrying, she went to the coffee machine and started a pot. “Emma, don’t forget your library books!”
“Too early for coffee?” a voice behind her grumbled.
Bridget felt the hair on the back of her head stand up. He’d emerged. She’d half expected not to see him at all today…even if she had made sure to swipe her lipstick on a bit earlier than usual.
“Good morning!” she said brightly, turning to face him.
Her stomach knotted at the sight. A blue rugby shirt hugged his chest in all the right places, and his hair was perfectly tousled, as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
Her lids fluttered.
“Hello…” He gave a slow smile that undid her. “I hope it’s okay that I’m in here. Or is the kitchen usually not open to guests?”
“Usually not,” she admitted. “But I’m always happy to make an exception for my favorite guest.”
Abby turned to her with wide eyes, and Bridget felt her cheeks start to burn.
Dear God, she was flirting. And she didn’t flirt. Never had. Her own mother used to elbow her ribs and tell her that she needed to try a little harder, show the guys she was interested. Instead, she’d hidden in the corner at school dances and in the cafeteria, clinging to her friends and blushing anytime a guy looked her way.
The shy girl thing had worked with Ryan. He liked the chase. But if an eight-year dry spell said anything, it didn’t work in general.
Oh, Mom, she thought, feeling that ache in her chest. What she wouldn’t give for just one more conversation. One more family meal. There had been so many times over the years she still wished she could pick up the phone…especially all those long, lonely nights when Emma was a baby, and she was so overwhelmed and didn’t know who to turn to for help.
“Favorite guest, or only guest?” Jack shot back, cocking an eyebrow devilishly.
“Only guest,” Bridget admitted with a laugh. “Though another couple is arriving today. We’ll be full up by Friday for the Flower Fest this weekend.”
It was one of her favorite festivals that Oyster Bay offered, and Emma was especially looking forward to entering the hat decorating contest, even if she would be attending the event with her father this year.
“Flower Fest?” Jack didn’t look sold on the idea.
Bridget started the coffee and explained, “It’s an annual event to celebrate spring, really. There are flowers, of course, but…other festivities, too.”
“Maybe I’ll check it out,” Jack said to her surprise.
She hoped the expression on her face didn’t reveal how pleased she was.
“The coffee will be ready in two minutes,” she said. “And while you wait, there are some pastries and fruit in the dining room.”
“Same as yesterday?” he said good-naturedly.
Bridget frowned. She wasn’t used to having guests stay for more than a night, two at most. “Well, yes—”
“Unless, you’d prefer an omelet?” Abby cut in, refusing to meet Bridget’s eye.
Jack looked pleased. “An omelet sounds great, actually.”
“Great. Spinach and goat cheese is today’s special.”
“Wow, that sounds delicious,” Jack said, grinning, as he wandered into the dining room.
Indeed it did, Bridget thought, her lips thinning. It wasn’t until he was out of ear shot that she turned to her sister, hissing, “Abby, I told you—”
“You’re going to be late to school,” Abby said pleasantly. “And like you said, we can talk about all this when you get back.”
Oh, they would, Bridget thought, grabbing a light jacket and her car keys. They most certainly would.
***
When Jack returned to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, he had the uneasy sensation that the auburn-haired woman was giving him the once-over. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave her a grin, hoping it passed for friendly and not suggestive.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, thrusting out a hand. “I’m Abby Harper, Bridget’s younger sister.”
Ah, so this was Abby. His grin came a little easier now. He almost felt like he had an advantage in this situation. “Bridget mentioned you.”
“Oh?” Abby looked decidedly interested, and she showed no signs of making his omelet until he continued.
“We were talking about this house last night at dinner,” he said. “She mentioned Room Four technically used to be your childhood bedroom.”
“Did you say dinner?” Abby frowned. “I didn’t realize Bridget was serving her guests dinner.” She stepped back, seeming flustered.
Immediately, Jack realized he had stepped into something he didn’t want to be a part of—a family matter that was none of his business. Abby’s brow was pinched and her eyes were darting over the room. “Oh, no. It was…Well, I was hungry. And she was making a lasagna, so…” He shrugged. No use in explaining further. It was dinner. Nothing more.
Then why did it feel like something he needed to hide?
“I see.” Ab
by’s face relaxed just in time for her the corners of her mouth to curl. “Yes, I see.”
Oh, brother. Now she was really getting the wrong impression. Jack held up a hand. “It’s not what you think. I’m…”
“Married?” Her brow lifted.
He almost laughed out loud at her audacity, but he couldn’t help but like her for it. Her green eyes held his, clearly waiting for an answer.
“No,” he replied.
“Engaged?”
“No. Happily single. And…very busy.” He gave her a pointed look, then made a show of looking at the carton of eggs. His stomach rumbled and, much as he was enjoying Abby’s company, the familiar sensation of anxiety was starting to take over, just like it did every time he thought of his looming deadline.
“Of course! The omelet. Coming right up, sir.”
“I’ll wait in the lobby,” he said, thinking how formal and uncomfortable it would be to sit at the long dining table all by himself and be served by this woman. “Is the inn usually this quiet?”
Not that he minded. In fact, he preferred it to the drunken cheers of celebration he’d suffered through during the weekend. Still, he couldn’t use it as an excuse for his lack of productivity, much as he wished.
“It always fills up by the weekends. Especially this weekend,” Abby said chattily.
Jack hovered in the doorway, realizing by posing the question he wasn’t going to get out of the room anytime soon.
“Flower Fest is one of the best festivals in Oyster Bay. Everyone comes out to the town green, and they fill the stands with food and flowers, and there’s a live band. Crafts for the kids. Of course, when the weather is bad, they have to cancel, and just hold a giant flower sale instead at the town hall,” she chattered as she finally fetched a bowl and cracked an egg into it. “But everyone comes out for it. You should go!” She looked up at him, grinning.
“I have a lot of work to do,” he said, the anxiety really burning now.
“Suit yourself, but it’s a lot of fun. Anyway, the inn will be full up. Couples, no doubt, in search of a romantic weekend excursion.” She gave him a lingering look as he backed out of the room, finding relief in the empty shadows of the front parlor.
