by Lucy Hawkins
Alex could see how it would look on Hazel’s wedding day. White lilies, carnations, and roses would decorate the space with fairy lights wrapped around the porch banisters. Hanging lanterns from the ceiling would make the space look magical and perfect. Almost ethereal. Swans were a must, like that scene from The Notebook. There would be row boats for the guests and—
“Alex.”
He whipped his head around to see Hank standing there half naked, his white T-shirt holding in the belt loop of his faded blue jeans. Alex tried not to look at him. He did not want to look at him. But there he was, in his perfect muscled form, beads of sweat clinging to his well-defined pectorals. He’d only gotten bigger since high school, if that were possible. His biceps bulged, but he didn’t even look like he was trying. Alex wanted to hate him.
“I knocked,” he managed to say, gesturing toward the inn. It was hard to form words. All the blood from his brain was very quickly working its way south.
“Sorry, I was doing some maintenance work on the cottages.” Hank pulled his shirt out of his belt loop and wiped the gleam of sweat from his forehead.
He looked like a fucking model. He would have been right at home on the cover of GQ. Alex watched as he wiped himself down, his mouth dry. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t the kind of guy who lost his shit over a ripped body. He was attracted to smart guys who could make him laugh—two qualities Hank Morrison definitely did not have.
“Right.” He cleared his throat and tried to force his racing heart to beat at a more reasonable pace. “I wanted to go over some of the details for the wedding.”
Hank shot him a smile. “Give me five. I’m gonna tidy up, and I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”
Alex nodded, and together they walked to the inn before Hank disappeared. As he walked up the stairs, Alex watched him go, admiring way his ass filled out his jeans. He really had to get himself under control.
He took a seat on the green velvet sofa in the drawing room and looked around. A slight musty smell tinged the air, as though the room hadn’t been aired out, so he decided to open the windows. The drawing room wasn’t in that bad of shape really. Sure, the furniture was old, but it was antique. That was part of the charm of staying in an old inn like this one anyway.
A few minutes later, Hank appeared in the doorway. His dark, wet hair stuck to his forehead in places, and his shirt clung to his body in a way that said he hadn’t dried off all the way before pulling it on.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked. “Tea, coffee, water?”
“Coffee would be nice.” Alex regretted it almost as soon as he’d said it.
Living in New York City had turned him into something of a coffee snob, and he was fairly sure Hank would serve some watered-down filter stuff that had been sitting out since early morning. How he was running an inn at all was a mystery, especially The Lakeside. He’d always been a beefy, silent jock type who didn’t have much going on in his head. It didn’t make sense.
He returned a moment later carrying two mugs and placed them on the coffee table. Alex took the one that said, ‘Follow Your Daydream.’ It seemed appropriate. Thanking Hank, he sat back against the sofa, wishing he didn’t have to discuss arrangements with him. The less involved Hank was in the whole process, the better. But Alex would need his help. At least, he needed to have an idea what he would be doing so as not to get anything wrong for Hazel’s big day.
“So?” Hank asked, his expression focused, as though he were ready to take in every detail.
Alex found himself distracted by Hank’s shirt. It was a soft red and black flannel that looked as though it was worn to half its original thickness. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick forearms that he flexed as he clasped his hands together and placed them on his lap. Hank stared at him, dark eyes burrowing into his skin with their intensity.
He cleared his throat and glanced down. “We have four weeks to plan this thing, which I know isn’t a lot of time. Over the next week, I’ll be confirming the other parties involved—the caterer, florist, decorator… I was thinking one of the lake cottages would be great for the bride and groom, so I’d really like to have those as perfect as possible.”
Rather than looking up when he finished, Alex kept his eyes trained on his coffee mug. He didn’t want to look at Hank. Even though he was an adult now and completely comfortable with who he was, being around Hank made him feel like an awkward teenager again. He looked at Alex like he had in high school—like he was judging him. Like he thought Alex was nothing more than some weak gay kid who would let people walk all over him. Alex wasn’t that person in high school, and he certainly wasn’t that person now, even if he did feel a bit weak around Hank.
After a moment of silence, Alex picked up the coffee and took a sip. Rather than the Maxwell House he had been expecting, it was smooth, bold, and full. This definitely wasn’t cheap coffee. He looked up at Hank, surprised.
“What do you think of the coffee?” Hank asked. “I’m trying a new bean supplier.”
“It’s… good. Great, actually.” He took another sip. There weren’t many places in town that could do a cup of quality coffee, and he relished the full-bodied taste of something decent enough to make him want to finish it. It was certainly a step up from the doughnut shop.
Hank’s smile reached his eyes as he took a sip of his own coffee. “I can fix the lake cottage. Actually, I already started. Just needs a new coat of paint inside and out and a good clean. I started ripping up the carpet to expose the wood floors. That’s what I was doing when you got here.”
Huh. Alex raised his eyebrows. He’d been prepared to do all the work himself—or hire a team of competent designers—so he couldn’t hide his surprise that Hank was already working on fixing up the lake cottage. Maybe his mom had been right when she said people changed. Who knew? Maybe Hank wasn’t the same bullish, intimidating guy he’d been in high school.
“I was thinking about getting some white swans for the lake. Like that scene in The Notebook.” It was as though someone was lifting a veil from in front of him and the world was coming back into focus. This was his element. This was what he was good at. And it seemed his brain was finally starting to remember that.
“I’ve never seen The Notebook.” Hank chuckled. “And I don’t know about the swans…”
Of course he hadn’t. His favorite movie was probably Terminator or Jerry Maguire. Something that didn’t threaten his masculinity or make him feel too much.
“Well, you should. It’s a classic. The swans aren’t optional, though.” Alex straightened his posture and set his coffee down on the table. He crossed his arms and tried not to glare. The laugh had stung. But it was Alex’s own fault. He’d thought he could let his guard down around Hank. That he could be his nerdy, gushy self and mention romance movies and the slightly ridiculous need for swans at Hazel’s wedding. He’d do well to remember this next time he thought about opening up in front of Hank.
Hank’s face rested in a slight smirk. “If that’s the case, good luck finding them.”
Four
Hank
“Where is it?” Rhiannon demanded as she scoured the pantry.
Picking up a can of potatoes from the shelf, Hank stared intently at it. “Where’s what?” he asked, his voice neutral.
Rhiannon turned, hands on her hips, and scowled, her deep brown eyes flashing. “Do not play dumb with me, Hank.”
He laughed and walked over to the counter and lifted up a blue dishcloth to reveal a container hidden underneath. Pulling off the lid, he revealed its contents, and Rhiannon clapped her hands with glee.
“One,” he said firmly, holding out the container of double chocolate cupcakes.
“One now and one when my shift is over.” She winked and grabbed the biggest cupcake from the container.
“You know, I should just give you the recipe,” Hank said as he put the container back on the counter.
“Ugh. Please don’t.” The words came out muffled a
s Rhiannon spoke around a mouthful of cupcake. She swallowed before continuing. “I already have a hard enough time controlling myself when I’m here. If I could have a whole batch of these at home? You’d have to roll me.”
She was probably right. Hank considered himself fortunate that he didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, otherwise he would be in the same position, devouring each batch as he made them. Turning back to the pantry, he grabbed a couple of jars of preserved peaches. They still had a couple of months until their expiration date. They’d go great in a peach galette or a cobbler.
“If Norma had known you were such a good cook, she totally wouldn’t have encouraged the whole football thing.” Having finished her cupcake, Rhiannon stole a slice of bell pepper from a bowl of vegetables Hank had chopped earlier.
“Really? Bell peppers and cupcakes? Those aren’t pregnancy cravings, are they?” Hank asked, effectively changing the subject. It wasn’t as though talking about Aunt Norma was off limits, but the subject was still a sore one. She’d had good life, but Hank could have been there for her more. He could have supported her, especially in the last few years of her life. She deserved more than what he had given her.
Rhiannon shoved his shoulder. “Shut up. I’ve got to get vegetables in somehow. What are you making with these anyway?”
“Lamb ragout with roasted tomatoes and bell peppers.” Hank picked up a slice for himself and took a bite.
While cooking had always been something Hank enjoyed, it hadn’t been until the last few months that he’d spent an extended amount of time on it. But the inn needed a chef, and they didn’t have the money to hire one, so he’d taken over that role himself. Since they had guests this weekend, he was in charge of preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner in case they wanted to eat in. That only happened half the time, but Hank didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to be in the kitchen.
“God, that sounds amazing.” Rhiannon emphasized the first and last words, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “Save a bit for me, would you? I’ve gotta get going. These toilets won’t clean themselves!”
Hank laughed as she walked out of the kitchen, already pulling her frizzy blonde hair into a bun. Rhiannon had been working part-time at The Lakeside since before Aunt Norma died, and while Hank couldn’t really afford to keep her on, he had. Not only did she do a fantastic job from laundry to scrubbing toilets, but she also knew the system back to front.
She’d also become something of a confidant to Hank. No one ever would have thought the two of them would be friends. In high school, she had been captain of the debate team while he had been playing football. But she had a way of getting Hank to open up. No one else could say the same. Sure, he’d had friends in high school, and even after, but since moving back to Redwood, it seemed there’d always been an invisible barrier keeping him from getting close to anyone.
More than likely, it had something to do with the fact that Hank had been hiding the fact that he was gay for most of his life. As a teenager, he’d never tried anything of the sort. He’d always played the stereotypical football player—dating steadily, and even sleeping with a few of his girlfriends. But it had always been a lie. He’d liked guys as long as he could remember. Unfortunately, that was also the kind of thing that would get him beaten up when he was living in the children’s home. Seeing other kids who were able to be proud of who they were—kids like Alex, who were so confident in themselves—he’d been jealous.
Hours later, while Hank carefully ground the lamb shoulder for his ragout, Rhiannon slipped back into the kitchen, making her way toward the cupcakes.
“Oh hey, I forgot to tell you about the wedding we’re hosting,” Hank said. She didn’t know the inn was in any financial trouble, and for the moment, Hank wanted to keep it that way.
“The one Alex Haynes is planning?” She hopped up on the stool and pulled the paper away from the cupcake.
“How could you possibly know that?”
Rhiannon sucked a bit of frosting off her thumb. “I’m friends with Taylor. His sister.”
“Right. Well, yeah, that’s going to be happening…” He tried and failed to sound enthusiastic.
“You don’t sound all that excited. It’s got to be good for business, though. This place could do with free advertising. I’m sure you’ll be getting a hell of a lot more guests once word gets out this is where Aaron and Hazel Reagan had their big fancy wedding.”
Hopefully Rhiannon was right, though that prospect was equally as terrifying. Hank had only just gotten used to managing the few guests The Lakeside got on weekends. How would he possibly cope if they started getting booked up every day?
“It’s a lot to take in,” Hank admitted. “I haven’t seen Alex since high school, and we weren’t exactly friends. It’s just strange to be working together with him.”
“That’s the part you’re worried about?”
Hank shrugged. “It’s just going to be weird. I mean, you remember how he could be.”
“You mean how he could be a real piece of work?” She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the guy. He’s like a little brother to me. He was always putting on fashion shows when I’d go over to their house. But it’s hardly a secret he can be high maintenance.”
From her expression, that was more than likely an understatement. In the short time they’d spent together, Hank had learned very quickly the guy was a militant perfectionist and a workaholic. Since their last meeting two days earlier, Alex had sent thirteen emails containing everything from thrice revised seating arrangements to a dozen checklists, to the names and contact information of every person remotely involved in the wedding.
“He wants swans,” Hank said.
“Swans?”
“Yeah. Like in The Notebook.”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes. “You’ve seen The Notebook?”
“No.”
She laughed. “Didn’t think so. It’s a classic. That scene with the swans? So romantic. You should really watch it.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Hank scoffed. The only classic movies he cared about were ones like The Godfather or Die Hard.
“Where are you going to get swans, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Don’t you think it’s a little extravagant?”
“It’s a wedding. Weddings are extravagant. It’s the one day you get to blow a shit ton of money on things you don’t need but that look good.”
“Uh-huh.” The only wedding Hank had ever been to was his nineteen-year-old cousin’s. Granted, she’d been seven months pregnant, and the wedding had taken place in the trailer park he’d grown up in before moving to Redwood, so he didn’t have the most wonderful experience. That wedding certainly hadn’t been extravagant. If anything, it had just been sad.
With the weekend guests all upstairs in their rooms, Hank loaded the last of the dishes into the industrial size dishwasher and sighed. All eight guests had chosen to dine in, leaving him to juggle everything in the kitchen. Fortunately, Rhiannon had stayed late to help. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to pull it off.
The praise he’d received was well worth it, though. There was something satisfying about making people happy with his cooking. He didn’t have much to offer as a conversationalist, but people didn’t seem to mind as long as they had a plate of food in front of them. Besides, it gave him a perfect excuse to spend all his time in the kitchen with Rhiannon doing the serving.
“I guess I’m out for the night,” Rhiannon said, drying her hands on a checkered towel. “Do you want me back in the morning?”
“No, it’s okay. You spend time with your kids. I’ll manage here.” It was already bad enough that he’d taken her away from her Friday night family time.
Walking over, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know I don’t mind helping out. I want to see this place thrive as much as you do. Having that wedding here will be great for it.”
Rhiannon had brought up the wedding several times since he’d initially told her about it. Not
that Hank hadn’t been thinking about it as well. They still had a lot of work to do to get ready, and Alex hadn’t held back, sending three more emails throughout the course of the day.
“I hope so,” Hank said, slumping over the kitchen counter. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and willed himself to stay awake. “Or the guests will think the place is a total dive and tell everyone not to come here.”
Shaking her head, Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. The guests love it here. You should have heard them tonight, raving about the food and how quaint and cozy the place is. Sure, there’s still some work to be done, but we’ll get there.”
She picked up her coat and purse and smiled gently, and Hank could feel some of the tension ease from his shoulders. She certainly had a way of reassuring him.
“Night, Rhi.”
“Goodnight, Hank.”
After making himself a mug of hot chocolate, Hank took a seat in one of the wicker chairs on the porch. His shoulders drooped along with his eyelids, but his thoughts were racing. There was so much to do before the wedding, on top of worrying about how he was going to come up with the rest of the eighty grand in six months.
Crickets chirped on the lawn and a bull frog hummed near the lake. It was just as he’d remembered as a kid. Back then, he’d loved the quiet. The stillness and serenity. Now, it was different. Quiet left him with too much space for his thoughts. There were the usual ones like Aunt Norma and the trouble he’d had in Florida. But lately, there was a new thought that took up most of his mind—Alex. Even thinking his name made Hank’s stomach squirm. Each email he sent seemed to solidify the thought that Hank had no idea what the hell he was doing here, trying to run an inn as though he could do his aunt’s legacy any justice.
Beside him, his phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked down to check the number. Paul. He should have expected the call sooner or later. It had been a few months since he’d passed through the area. A regional manager for a drug store franchise, Paul always called if he was passing through the area to check on stores. He’d always spend a night at the inn, always in Hank’s bed instead of a guest room. The arrangement wasn’t serious, but at least it was mutually beneficial.
