Nothing.
She started reading.
Respondents reported
Waa-waa-waa, said the ghost-fiddle with annoyingly precise timing.
Dammit, if she didn’t get this article read, she would never finish her PhD and then what was the point of it all? She was on this path for a reason. Just because she couldn’t remember the reason right now . . .
She opened the sliding glass door, gasping as the cold air hit her pajama’d front. But there was no time for cold. There was only time for action.
“Hey!” she said weakly. It sounded a lot more forceful in her head. Her inner monologue didn’t account for the cold.
The music stopped.
Go me, she thought. Asserting my authority. Liam was wrong; I totally am tough enough to work in a public library.
She was just turning to go back to the warmth of her room, when the mysterious fiddler started again.
“Can you stop, please?” This one was a little pathetic. But she felt a little pathetic. And desperate, on account of not finishing her articles and the world falling apart.
The music stopped again. She wasn’t going to just turn her back, not this time. Fool me once, etc. She stood her ground, shivering. “Please,” she said.
“Are you okay up there?”
She stepped to the edge of the balcony and looked over. No one was on the ground, at least no one visible in the dark of the night. And it was really dark here.
“What?” she asked the mystery man in the dark.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Who is this?”
“I heard you telling someone to stop. Are you in trouble?”
“Oh!” The mystery man in the dark was just a Good Samaritan. That felt kind of nice, knowing that someone was willing to rescue her, should she need rescuing. “I’m fine, as long as that asshole stops playing the damn fiddle.”
She looked down, trying to make out her savior’s shape in the dark, when a head appeared. From the balcony below her. It was a man. It was the hot, bearded man from the check-in desk.
“You mean this damn fiddle?” he asked, holding a fiddle aloft.
“Uh,” she said. “Yes.” It was probably that fiddle. She supposed there could be another fiddle somewhere else in the hotel. But she was too cold to argue. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Time to go inside and shut the door?”
“I did, and I could still hear Deliverance.”
“First of all, that’s a banjo. Second of all—”
“I don’t care! I’m trying to concentrate and your damn fiddling—”
“What are you concentrating on at two A.M.?”
“None of your business!”
“Because if there’s a man in your room and he’s distracted by a little mood music . . .”
“That’s hardly mood music!”
He played something low and slow and something in her gut started heating up.
“You still there?”
She peered back over the edge. He was twisting his neck, obviously trying to look up at her.
“Step to the edge of your balcony, I can’t see you.”
“Why do you need to see me?”
“I just like to see who I’m talking to.”
“No.”
“Okay, Mystery Woman.”
“I’m not a mystery woman!”
“Just a Mysterious Late-Night Concentrator.”
“I’m . . . I’m trying to read.” Well, that was embarrassing. He’d thought she was entertaining a gentleman caller, and she was reading. If that wasn’t a metaphor for her life, she didn’t know what was.
“Ah. You must be one of Kevin’s librarians.”
Oh God. Now he knew who she was. She should just go inside. She shouldn’t stand out in the cold and flirt with a handsome man who was disturbing the peace.
“Okay, Mystery Librarian. I’m getting a crick in my neck, so I’m gonna go inside.”
“Okay.”
“You should go inside, too. You sound cold.”
“Okay.”
“You want, I could come up and keep you warm.”
The grammar was atrocious, but there was something about the way he said it. Smooth like whiskey. She shivered, not entirely from cold.
“Okay, Mystery Librarian. I had to try. See you soon.” He played a few parting notes, then she heard a door slide shut, and it was quiet.
Good.
That was what she wanted.
Quiet.
She sighed, and the lungful of cold air made her cough.
She went inside, where she had no more excuses for not getting work done.
Chapter Five
Because it was way too cold for a sunrise walk, Kevin had been persuaded to adjust his schedule, or so said the note slipped under Emma’s door later that morning. This was good news, as she had slept late, and the walk would have been over and she didn’t think her friends would forgive her that much society-avoiding. Besides, she had come all this way, driven all the way from Indiana and risked harrowing mountain roads (with someone else driving), to have a reunion with her friends. She should reunite with them.
It looked like the odds were ever in her favor, as Kevin’s note explained the new schedule:
Due to Mother Nature’s pernicious stubbornness, the early morning walk has been postponed.
The new schedule is: early lunch, then afternoon walk to admire the beautiful snow-kissed woods, then rehearsal for those involved, then rehearsal dinner for all. Then early to bed for those who need beauty sleep, then morning ablutions, then watch Daniel become the luckiest man in the world by marrying such an organized and attractive man. Then I don’t care what you do because I’ll be busy.
Emma smiled at the note, and marveled at Kevin’s ability to revise his schedule and get it printed and delivered so early. She wasn’t surprised—to know Kevin was to know Kevin’s ability to plan and, as Daniel said, “Pinterest the hell out of anything.” He had an unending supply of energy to devote to the details.
And monogrammed stationery.
Daniel was the first man Kevin had ever dated who was laid-back. Kevin usually went for fellow type A’s, which led to competition and bickering and lots of really uncomfortable silences when they all went out together. Daniel was different. He didn’t care about the little things, but he appreciated them. He seemed charmed by Kevin’s insanity. And when Daniel teased him for it, Kevin would smile back, not blow up. That’s how Emma knew Daniel was The One. They balanced each other out. Daniel made Kevin breathe.
She flopped back on the giant bed, still clutching Kevin’s note. She wanted a Daniel. Not Kevin’s Daniel—there were more than a few obstacles to that relationship working out. But she wanted the kind of guy who would balance her out, smooth out her frantic edges, help her realize that, yes, she was on the right path and she would be a great researcher in the field of library and information science. And if he looked something like Daniel, she wouldn’t complain.
She thought about the Fiddler on the Balcony. He was tall and broad, like Daniel. He wore more plaid and had more facial hair. He kept irregular hours. His social skills were as bad as hers, but differently bad.
Balance.
Her stomach growled. Last night’s muffins had been delicious, but she needed real food, especially if she was going to endure a “walk.” She’d gone on a “walk” with Kevin and Daniel before. Daniel’s idea of a “walk” was any other normal person’s idea of a hike that required, like, supplies and gear. Good thing Kevin was a preparer. And that she’d packed long underwear.
She hopped in the shower, and in record time she was clean and layered up for a light, probably-at-least-ten-mile walk in the West Virginia woods.
The hotel felt dark this morning, she thought as she followed her nose to the bacon awaiting her in the restaurant. She looked up at the high windows, and the sky was an ominous gray. Good band name, she thought, tucking it away to tell music-obsessed Liam
later. And good thing she’d packed long underwear, even if it did make her jeans feel a little snug.
Snug jeans and growling stomach, and here she was, faced with the fluffiest-looking biscuits she’d ever seen. Good thing her dress for the wedding was forgiving, because she planned on eating the hell out of this breakfast.
The restaurant was more crowded than when they’d checked in the day before. There were definitely more kids running around and people had pushed tables together and were sitting in massive, loud groups, laughing and slapping backs and wearing faces that said they didn’t want to be anywhere else.
And Emma didn’t know a single one of them.
This was her nightmare.
She was about to turn tail and retreat to the solace of her room, but her growling stomach wouldn’t let her go. Plus, when she turned around, she ran face-first into a Wall of Liam.
“Running away?” he asked.
“No,” she answered in a manner that was not at all cagey. “I was just going to look for you guys.”
“Huh.” He turned her around by her shoulders and pointed her in the direction of a small table in the corner where Becky and Bernie sat, enjoying coffee and full plates of food and, if the looks on their faces were any indication, Emma’s discomfort.
Hilarious.
She didn’t know if she could handle their gentle ribbing on an empty stomach. Fortunately, she didn’t have to, and she accepted a plate from an older woman in front of her in the buffet line.
“You here for the weddin’?” she asked, totally dropping her g.
“Yes.” Emma nodded and lifted up the lid of the chafing dish.
“Mmm . . . sausage gravy,” the woman explained.
“Ah,” Emma said.
“You put that on your biscuits.”
“Oh, right. Biscuits and gravy. Got it.”
The woman laughed. “You must be one of the friends from out of town. Are you an architect or a librarian?”
“Librarian.”
“The last wedding I went to, I could just ask ‘bride or groom’ to figure out where people belonged.”
Emma braced herself for what she had been bracing herself for as soon as she got the invitation to a gay wedding in West Virginia.
The woman laughed. “Well, this old dog ain’t too old to learn new tricks. If it’s good enough for the Supreme Court, it’s good enough for me. And as long as that Kevin is good to my Daniel, I don’t care what kind of plumbing he’s got.”
Sound logic. Emma was glad she didn’t have to make polite conversation with a bigot. She hadn’t even had coffee yet. If she had, she would have been more ashamed of her assumptions about old ladies in West Virginia.
“I’m Sue Holstein, Daniel’s great-aunt.” Emma tucked her empty plate onto her arm and shook the outstretched hand. “Most people call me Granny Sue.”
“Okay, hi. I’m Emma.”
“Nice to meet you, Emma. So are you the one who works in the big city?”
Emma shook her head. “No, I’m in a college town, working toward my doctorate.”
Granny Sue whistled. “Lotta work.”
Emma nodded.
“Better you than me. I’m happy with my little room of books. Of course, if I could get people to bring them back on time, I’d like it even better.”
“Room of books?”
Granny Sue pointed to her gray hair swept up in a bun. “Old-school librarian, I think you kids call it. Down in Coral Bottom.”
“Daniel never mentioned . . . wait. No. Now I remember. He definitely did. Your storytimes are legendary.”
Granny Sue threw her head back and laughed. “That’s just us mountain folk. We don’t know when to shut up.”
“I think you’re being modest,” Emma said. She was also trying to decide if she had enough room on her plate for the fruit, on account of the biscuits and gravy and bacon and eggs and . . . she’d better add some fruit or she’d probably have a heart attack.
“You hang around here long enough, you’ll see how folks love to talk. And there’s nothin’ we love more than tellin’ each other stories, even if we have heard the durned things a hundred times before.”
“I’d love to talk to you about your library,” Emma said. That was really her dream—to run a small library of her own. But that wasn’t a very lofty goal, especially now that she was pursuing her doctorate.
“I’ll do you one better—stop in later, if Daniel hasn’t killed you on that hike of his.”
Emma glanced through the dining room and out the window. “Maybe it’ll be canceled.”
“You think Kevin would allow something like that?”
Emma laughed. “He might not have a choice if it starts snowing.”
“Bless his heart,” Granny Sue added with a wink. “You wanna join our table?”
Emma looked toward the table of rambunctious kids waving Granny Sue over.
“Thanks, my friends are saving me a seat.”
“That’s right, you visit with your friends. I’ll catch up with you later and we’ll talk shop.”
Emma headed to the table, but there were no free seats. Kevin stood and pushed his chair under her.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, pecking her on the cheek. “You came out in public today.”
“And I wore thermal underwear,” she added helpfully.
Kevin looked at her.
“For the hike? As much as it pains me to admit it, the hike may not be happening.” He gestured to the gray mist hanging over the woods.
“Oh.” Becky sounded actually disappointed. “I brought my camera and everything.”
“It’s supposed to stop raining this afternoon,” said a stranger who approached their table and slapped Kevin on the back.
“So Daniel keeps telling me,” he said. “Folks, this is Daniel’s favorite cousin, Abe.”
“Hi, Abe,” said the librarians.
Oh God. The hot guy from reception. Emma was stalking him without even trying.
“Abe here’s a big fancy Nashville musician.”
“I don’t know about that,” Hot Abe protested.
“What do you play? Anything we would know?” asked Liam.
“Not unless you’re really into old-timey fiddle music.”
A piece of Emma’s biscuit lodged itself firmly in her throat.
“Slow down, there,” Bernie said, slapping her back. Emma looked up, watery-eyed, and gave a thumbs-up. Abe was looking at her funny.
Oh God, she thought as she took the glass of water Becky handed her. He knows. He knows I’m the one who yelled at him and likes reading more than sex.
“Well, it was nice meeting you folks. I’m sure we’ll see plenty more of each other.”
“On the hike,” Becky said brightly.
Abe smiled and turned toward the buffet, but not before he definitely winked at Emma.
She hoped the warm feeling sweeping over her entire body was her coming down with the flu, and not a full-body blush.
“Damn, it just got hot in here,” Bernie said. “Becky, did it just get hot in here?”
“It got somethin’,” she said, fanning herself with her napkin. “Liam, do you feel that?”
Liam looked up from his plate of biscuits and gravy, a forkful halfway to his mouth. “Uh . . . what?”
“He doesn’t feel it,” Bernie told her. “I wonder if Emma feels it. Emma, does it feel hot in here?”
“Okay, ha-ha-ha, I’m blushing, I get it.”
“The question is, why are you blushing?” Bernie asked smugly, as if she knew that Emma had already made an anonymous ass of herself in front of the most attractive man in West Virginia.
“Yeah, why are you blushing?” Liam asked. His question seemed a little more sincere.
“Shut up,” Emma said, and suddenly her biscuits and gravy were the most interesting thing she had seen all weekend.
“Are you okay?” Bernie asked. “You look a little red.”
“I’m fine,” Emma said. “Ju
st, ah, too much biscuits and gravy.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Liam said, shoveling more biscuits and gravy into his mouth.
Kevin looked toward the door. “Uh-huh,” he said.
“Uh-huh what?” Becky asked.
“Uh-huh my hot future cousin-in-law just walked in and Emma is blushing like the house is on fire.”
“I am not,” Emma insisted, even though she could feel herself getting hotter by the second. “It’s just . . . I’m wearing thermal underwear, that’s all.”
“Yeah, Kevin,” Bernie said. “It’s just a problem with her underwear.”
“I would throw part of this biscuit at you but I don’t want to waste biscuit,” Emma said, giving Bernie her best menacing glare.
Bernie held her hands up in surrender.
“And yet,” Kevin said, pulling a chair from the next table and sitting down. Right next to Emma. “And yet, I still wonder why the sight of my hot future cousin-in-law makes you blush.”
“He is pretty hot,” Becky admitted.
“What are you guys talking about?” Liam asked.
“Eat your biscuits,” Kevin said. “Girl talk.”
Liam rolled his eyes.
“Hot guys always make Emma blush,” Becky said.
Liam turned around, then quickly back to the table. “The guy with the beard? Not bad. Carry on.”
“You might as well tell us what’s making you blush,” Bernie said. “Because right now I’m imagining that you made a late-night trip to the ice machine and he came swaggering up, bearded and shirtless, and asked to carry your ice back to your room and oh my God if that’s what really happened I’m going to kill you.”
“What? No!”
“Good. Remind me not to fill my ice bucket before I go to bed.”
“Why was he shirtless?” Liam asked.
“Because it’s my fantasy, and men don’t wear shirts in my fantasy,” Bernie explained.
“Do I wear shirts in your fantasy?”
“I don’t fantasize about you. You’re Liam.”
“Uh . . . thanks?”
And then Abe was back, his plate almost as full as Emma’s had been before she started choking on it. He shifted his plate to one hand and grabbed an empty chair with the other. He twirled it around and plonked it at their table. Right across from Emma.
The Most Wonderful Time Page 20
