“Fine.”
You look tan. How was your move? Blech. We were such boring people. Unfortunately, I couldn’t ask him what I wanted to know, which was what he looked like under that shirt. Things between us felt so awkward and we hadn’t even slept together. I licked my lips and wondered whether there was a chance I could change that—the awkward part, or the sleeping-together part. Enough small talk. “You want to see the place?” I nodded toward the cottage.
“Now? What about your dog?”
Oh, that’s right. The Rottweiler I didn’t own. I forced a small chuckle and fumbled for an excuse. “I had to return him to the old lady.”
“The one who trained him to attack men?” Brett’s dark eyes were playful. He didn’t believe a word I was saying.
“That’s the one. I guess Vaughan has a strict no-pets policy, and I didn’t want to alienate any of the guests, so …” I lifted my shoulders and smiled brightly. “Your lucky day.”
He chuckled at that and reached up toward the back of his neck. “I guess it is.”
I led him up the gravel path. The cottage was white with black shutters, like the inn, and the door was yellow. The flower beds and window boxes were overrun with weeds and the brown remains of autumn leaves. I frowned at them before realizing that all of this maintenance was now my responsibility. Shoot. Maybe I could live with it.
“Obviously I haven’t done much planting yet, and the interior’s a little dated,” I explained as I unlocked the cottage door and turned on the lights. “No one’s used it in years. My family used to stay here when we came to visit my grandparents.”
I watched Brett take in the laminate cabinets, vinyl flooring, and wood paneling, but I couldn’t read his assessment. “You didn’t grow up in West Portsmouth?”
“Boston. But my parents live near Providence now.”
Beau chose that moment to strut into the kitchen. When he saw Brett, his eyes widened and he froze mid-stride, one front paw in the air. “That’s my roommate’s cat,” I said. “You need food, Beau?”
Brett clicked his tongue and crouched down. “Hey there, Beau. Are you friendly?” He reached out one hand, but Beau recoiled and darted out of the room. “Huh.”
“Don’t mind him. He hates everyone.” I opened a cabinet and retrieved a can of Salmon Delight. “I’ll put some food out for him. He’ll eat when you’re gone.”
“I’ll try not to take it personally.” Brett pulled out a chair at the table and took a seat. “It’s a nice place.”
“It’s nothing special. Just somewhere to stay.” I scooped the salmon into a metal cat bowl and set it on the floor beside a dish of water. “Vaughan gave me some money earlier. I need to give it a face-lift. Maybe paint the walls and get a cover for the couch.”
I was smiling as I said it, but Brett shifted in his chair and looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “You’re working for Vaughan?”
“Sort of. Maybe. Just doing landscaping and stuff.”
“Landscaping and stuff,” Brett echoed. His forehead creased, and he took a sudden interest in the wood grain on the table. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped. I reached for the end of my braid, which I’d dyed purple a couple weeks ago, and tugged at it, desperate to win him back. “I have to learn how to mow a lawn. Do you know anything about it?”
He glanced up. “Mowing a lawn? Sure, it’s not hard.” But when our eyes met, his gaze returned to the table. “It’s a big lawn. I hope you have a riding mower.”
“Me too.”
I wouldn’t put it past Nana to cut the grass with a push mower. It would take her hours, but she didn’t trust technology. So I attempted a laugh, but nothing about the idea of spending an entire day mowing that lawn was funny, and I kicked myself for having agreed to perform a task without doing more research. Time to change the subject.
“You know,” I said as I pulled up the chair beside him at the table, “I realized after we had dinner together that I don’t actually know what you do, other than something with computers.”
“Used to work with computers,” he said, and leaned back in his seat with a small smile. “But now? I’m a people walker.”
“You’re a—” I stopped. I didn’t need him to repeat it. I’d seen those flyers all over town, the ones that made me think I’d landed in the middle of a cosmic joke. In fact, the first time I’d seen that Let’s Walk Together! flyer, my exact thought had been, What special kind of asshole … ?
I swallowed and tried to recover. So Brett was the people walker, was he? Too bad. He’d seemed so … the opposite of that. “A people walker?” My smile felt more like a smirk. “Is that a real thing?”
“It seems that way,” Brett said easily, without the defensiveness I expected. “I meet a lot of interesting people and get a lot of exercise.”
“And people pay you to walk with them.” I needed him to clarify, because I couldn’t possibly imagine this happening in real life.
“You’d be surprised. I get calls all the time. People don’t like to walk alone.”
He leaned one arm against the table, opening his body. His legs splayed casually and it was downright sexy, the way he looked at me as he explained why it was legitimate for him to have left an actual career in software development to walk around with people. I rested my elbows on the table. “So they call you and you … what?”
He shrugged. “We go for a walk. First I find out about them, what they’re looking for. An easy stroll or something more aerobic. We meet and walk. I tell them about the area. They pay me by the mile.”
“I see.”
There was something adorable in his face. Maybe it was the sincerity of his expression or the complete lack of pretense. Brett was a people walker, and that was that. But I didn’t know. I’d always been drawn to men with ambition: lawyers, doctors, Wall Street types. Chase was in sales, and the guy had serious drive. How many times had we celebrated after he closed a new account? Over the years, Chase had used his natural charm to climb that ladder, and—
I stopped myself. I didn’t want to think about Chase, and no one was asking me to date Brett. He was just a guy I’d met and happened to find attractive. He might be a fun fling, potentially a rebound. I could overlook his people-walking career for a couple months. This wasn’t the kind of thing I had to overthink and analyze. Clearly he couldn’t compare to Chase, but no one was talking about forever.
I stole a glance at his large, strong hands, and my skin prickled thinking about what they’d feel like on my bare skin. Yes, Brett was a good time and a nice guy, and it had been a long time since I’d tumbled into bed with that combination. I’d overlook his lack of ambition.
I reached out to lightly stroke the back of his hand. “Maybe you should take me for a walk sometime. I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.”
Our eyes met, but he looked uneasy again. “Sure. Anytime.”
Was he actually shy? That would be kind of sweet. I had a soft spot for shy guys, and they could be dynamite in bed. There was something about a man who held back—the strong, silent type. The type who was more action than talk. I got a chill just thinking about unwrapping this Brett package, seeing what was inside.
“Good thing I have your number. Otherwise I’d have to hunt down one of those flyers.”
As I said it, I leaned back, inching my dress up my bare leg. When I was sure I had his attention, I reached one hand lower to rub at a spot on the outside of my thigh. His gaze followed my fingers. “I think I must have bumped my leg while moving boxes,” I said softly, hitching the hemline higher. “Do you see anything?”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Are you sure?” I raised the dress still higher and made a show of stroking my skin. “It feels warm.” I pressed his hand against my thigh. “Do you feel it?”
Brett pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “I should get going.”
“What? Why?” I dropped the dress and stood up to follow after him. “You don’t have to. I can get
you a drink—”
“Thanks, but no. I have to meet a client. I was on my way.” He stood with one hand on the doorknob and looked back at me over his shoulder. “If you need help mowing the lawn, I can stop by. If it’s an old mower, those can be tricky to start.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, pouting. I knew how to mow a lawn. My questions had just been a ploy to flatter him and force intimacy. I didn’t actually need his help with anything. Nana had managed, for God’s sake! “I’ll let you know,” I muttered.
Brett looked as if he was about to say something. When he didn’t, I said, “If you’re free later, I’m going to a happy hour at the inn. You’re welcome to join me.”
He kept his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. Maybe I will.” He opened the door. “Take care.” Then he slipped outside and shut the door behind him. It was literally an anticlimactic end to our conversation.
I sulked around the cottage for a while and wondered what cursed monkey’s paw I’d ever rubbed. Beau eyed me warily from his perch on the arm of the couch. “Am I that bad, Beau? Wait, never mind.” Of course Beau thought I was trash. Well, I didn’t need Beau. Or Brett. Or Chase. Or anyone else, really.
I flung myself onto my bed and stared at a water spot on the ceiling. My roommate Sorelle believed in bad energy. She would have been horrified that I hadn’t sage-smudged the cottage before I moved in, and maybe she was right. Maybe there was bad energy in the space that I should drive out, and this had caused Brett to not fool around with me. I mean, who knew?
So I got up and found the box where I’d packed the abalone shell, sage-smudge sticks, and lighter. Within seconds I had a cleansing smoke burning. I took it around the cottage and made sure to get the smoke into the corners. When I found Beau, I spent a little extra time sage-smudging his aura, thinking that it might dispel whatever demon had possessed him. Then I grabbed a box of salt and sprinkled it around the floor. The salt would soak up any remaining bad energy and from there, I could start anew. Maybe it was all in my head, but I started to breathe easier.
That was about the moment I realized that maybe Brett hadn’t freaked out about bad energy at all. Maybe Nana wasn’t the only one who thought Vaughan Prescott was a madam—perhaps Brett did, too. And if Brett thought Vaughan was a madam, then he probably thought I was a prostitute. This could be why he’d fled the room like it was on fire when I’d come on to him.
I felt the blood drain from my face. Brett thinks I’m a prostitute. And then I started laughing until my sides ached.
CHAPTER 6
MINDY
I REMEMBERED THE Bayberry Inn, every corner of the space. The spot where Nana and I took tea with Mom in the afternoon, or the laundry room where I’d sit and talk with Grandpa while we folded guest towels. At Christmastime when the inn was empty, Michael and I would chase each other up and down its two staircases, finding places to hide in the guest rooms. When I went to Vaughan’s wine-and-cheese party, I felt warm just being in that space again.
The reception room at the inn was crowded with guests in sleeveless dresses and polo shirts—a look I thought of as beach elegant. The room was large and bright, with many generously sized windows that offered a tranquil view of Long Island Sound and the lighthouse. Vaughan opened a back door so guests could mingle outside on the patio, but the sun was still bright and hot. Most of the guests were packed inside, and I maneuvered through the crowd by turning sideways and threading through the bodies to reach the bar. I needed some wine, stat. “A glass of pinot grigio, please,” I said to the bartender, and stuffed a couple dollars into the tip jar.
“Hey, Mindy! Nice to see you.”
A woman who worked for Vaughan approached, not looking like a prostitute at all in a sweet yellow sundress and sandals. Her name was Joss, and she reminded me of a milkmaid with her bright blond hair, green eyes, and sunny smile. “Hi, Joss.” I leaned over to give her an air kiss beside her cheek. “Nice to see you, too. What a great event.” I lifted my glass of wine from the bar top. “Do you do this often?”
“It’s something new Vaughan is trying for the summer.” Joss’s slightly plump shoulders were glittery, and she smelled like peaches. “It’s fun. I hope she does it again.”
“And all of these people—” I gestured around the room. “Are most of them guests here?”
“No, some are guests at other inns. People show up for the free booze.”
I took a sip of the chilled white wine. The turnout confirmed what I already believed to be true. “Vaughan is good at marketing.”
In the hours since Brett had left the cottage, I’d concluded that any rumors about the Bayberry Inn were absurd. Vaughan was a successful businesswoman, and jealous people were looking to cut her down and explain away that success. Standing there in the reception room, my anger grew. Were there semen stains on the couch or bead curtains on the doorways? Were the walls papered with velvet fleurs-de-lis, or whatever it was people put up in brothels? Were ample-chested, nubile women walking around in bustiers and stilettos? Of course not. And therefore the Bayberry Inn wasn’t a brothel, period.
I clutched my glass of Pinot as I brimmed with righteous anger, because how dare they? Obviously Vaughan was running a legitimate business. The inn wasn’t tawdry in the least, unless cream-colored candles in hurricane vases and elegant chandeliers were considered smutty these days. And how about crisp blue throw pillows—were those found in establishments of ill repute? Or, for that matter, were wine-and-cheese parties? Did madams routinely throw open their doors and invite the community inside? Absurd. Everything at the Bayberry Inn was on the up-and-up.
Joss plucked a few squares of cheese from a platter and set them on a cocktail napkin. “We’ve been super busy. But college textbooks are expensive, so …” She popped a piece of cheese into her mouth. “I’m putting myself through nursing school.”
“Good for you.”
“Thanks. I mean, it’s just what I have to do, you know? People shouldn’t judge.” She lowered her voice. “It’s just a job. Like any other.”
“Of course.” I smiled warmly. “Making beds is hard work.”
Joss paused mid-chew. “What?”
“Making beds. You know. All those corners to tuck in.” I hesitated when I saw the confusion in her eyes. “You make beds here, right? I thought you did—”
She blinked twice. “Right.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I misunderstood. Yeah, I make beds.” She glanced away, and I worried I’d said something wrong. “I should get going. I have, uh, somewhere to be in an hour.”
My stomach had knotted uncomfortably during the exchange. “No problem. See you later.”
Joss turned and left me standing alone in the crowded room, feeling stunned. Joss made beds, didn’t she? I pulled at the cascading silver loops on my earrings, trying to recall. What if she didn’t make beds—was what I’d said offensive? Was there some sensitivity about which housekeeping jobs a person performed at an inn? I took a big gulp of my wine, then followed it with another. I missed Lettie and Sorelle. There were things to be said for familiar relationships and established ground rules.
I pulled out my phone and texted Sorelle. Miss u. U coming home soon?
It took a few minutes, but then my phone registered a text. Pretty soon I think? Dunno. Miss u 2.
I searched through the sea of party attendees for a friendly face, but I didn’t recognize anyone except Vaughan’s other girls. Joss had left, but Mira was standing off by one of the windows. She had thick, curly hair that she wore loose and wild. Her throaty laugh carried across the room. Mira was chatting with an older gentleman. Well, not chatting, exactly. More like giggling and stroking his forearm, and that was a little bit weird for her to do to a guest. Maybe he wasn’t a guest? He could be her dad, maybe. I frowned. Hopefully not.
I glanced toward the back patio, where Bree seemed to be engaged with something a different man was saying. Elegant, beautiful Bree, who had pulled her Afro back from h
er face with a thick red wrap. She was all bare neck and shoulders as she nodded at something the man had said, laughed, and then leaned over to whisper something in his ear. The man’s face changed and he pulled back to look at Bree questioningly. When Bree gave him a sly smile, he looked around. Then he set down his drink and followed her out of my line of vision. Well now, this was odd.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The sound of Vaughan’s silky voice in my ear made me jump, and some of my wine splashed onto my hand. “Shoot.” I flicked the droplets off my wrist.
Vaughan was wearing a sleeveless white silk crepe top and matching pants. Her makeup—brown eyeliner, smoky eye shadow, and light blush—was flawless. “Here, use my napkin.” Vaughan gave me a wry, tight-lipped smile as I dried my arm. “That’s alcohol abuse, you know.”
“Ha.”
I crumpled the damp napkin in my hand and grasped for something natural to say—something that wasn’t, What gives, Vaughan? Are you pimping out your girls? But then Vaughan spoke first. “I’m so pleased with this turnout. We’ve had some trouble with our community relations lately, and I’m hoping to mend that.”
“What kind of trouble?”
The innkeeper reached up to wrap a finger through her strand of pearls. “Jealousy, mostly. A hotel chain came in a couple years ago and some of the inns went out of business.”
“But not yours. So tell me, what’s your secret, Vaughan?”
She lifted her chin and crept closer to my side so she could whisper in my ear. “One thing you need to know about me, sweetheart: when everyone else is quitting, I’m just getting started.”
Vaughan righted herself again and paused to take a sip of her beverage. Water.
“I’m sorry about the community trouble,” I said. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”
I was trying to be supportive, but Vaughan didn’t need it. She smiled widely, showcasing her rows of straight, pearly white teeth, and said, “Honey, they never will. Don’t you worry about me. But I confess, I have ulterior motives in approaching you.” She glanced at the gold watch on her wrist. “I’ve got to get to a planning and zoning meeting in a few minutes. There’s an application for a big-box store and the girls are busy tonight. Can you be a doll and sit at the front desk for a bit? I’m on the list to speak first, so it should be less than an hour—”
Losing Mr. Right Page 7
