Kiss Me at Last (A Wescott Springs Novella)

by Holly Cortelyou

  "Don't tease me. I know you've forgiven me for siccing such a temperamental customer on you. This is completely different. It will be easy. I promise. This client is a cupcake, and the project is a snap."

  "And no doubt the profit margin is fat." Sean leaned back against the counter with his lips pursed. "Don't bother buttering me up. Lay it on me. What is it this time?" Nothing was ever simple with Jill Devlin, interior designer extraordinaire and close cousin.

  "It's only a small job, and it'll fit into your schedule without a problem. Only one or two men, really."

  Hmm. Jill was beating around the bush. It must be pretty bad. "Tell me straight out. Either I'll say yes or no."

  "I'm in a pickle," Jill said. "Steve broke his leg and a few ribs in a mountain biking accident yesterday. He's going to be fine, but..."

  Jill left it hanging and Sean put the pieces together. Steve Bodecker ran a one-man construction operation which meant that there was no one to do Jill's latest remodel project.

  Sean mentally ticked off all the jobs that he and his crews had going on. There really wasn't anyone to spare. They were booked solid. Maybe he could squeeze in a really tiny project.

  "You should've come to me in the first place," Sean said unhelpfully. He reached into the fridge for a cold beer and popped the cap.

  "You know I have to give Steve first dibs." Jill's voice was wheedling. "My sister would have my head if I didn't give her husband first rejection."

  "And now you're in a tight spot," Sean said sardonically.

  Jill was going to have to work for acceptance. Even though they both knew he was a softy who could never say no to a damsel in distress.

  Jill coughed, but it sounded like she'd smothered a laugh.

  Yep, no matter how terrible, he was going to agree. He was a go-to kinda guy, and she was family after all.

  "I'm redesigning a wine bar downtown, and we're ready to start tomorrow morning. It's all packed up and cleared out."

  "What kind of work? What's the timeline?"

  "Steve thought it would take four weeks, or maybe a smidge longer. It's just some floors, shelving, and um, adding a loft area. Easy as pie...for you."

  "I see," Sean said. "All the permits good to go? I'll guess I'll be Steve's subcontractor for this."

  "You'll do it?" Jill's voice ratcheted up an octave.

  "You know I will."

  "Sean, you're the bestest! Thank you! And you won't be sorry. Melinda York is nothing like Mrs. Cinderton and her nonstop nitpicking."

  Sean almost dropped the phone. Melinda York. Wine bar. Shit. He choked on his mouthful of amber ale.

  "I'll e-mail all the plans over to you tonight," Jill said over his sputtering. "Let's meet at the White Rose at seven thirty tomorrow morning, and I'll walk you through everything. Sound good?"

  "Wonderful."

  "I'll bring muffins."

  "I'm sure that will make everything dandy."

  Jill rattled on as if Sean hadn't spoken. "You can tell me all about Katrina's big day when I see you. I'm still annoyed with her for choosing St. Lucia for her wedding."

  Sean pulled the phone away from his ear and rolled his eyes. This was at least the third time he'd heard Jill complain about the subject. Why wouldn't his sister get married at the gorgeous resort where she worked? Most people only dreamed of a romantic island wedding.

  As Jill launched into a fresh lament about missing her favorite cousin's nuptials, Sean mentally rearranged his Tuesday work schedule to make room for Melinda York. Sean knocked back the rest of his beer. Jill mercifully wrapped up her complaints, and they hung up.

  Lovely. Just lovely. A month or more stuck with Melinda York.

  Of course it would be longer than four weeks. If Steve had estimated four weeks, it would be more like six, if he was lucky.

  Perhaps Melinda wouldn't be on site very much. She didn't look like the sort of woman who would have any patience for sawdust and hammering.

  Sean groaned.

  Of all the businesses in Vail, why did it have to be the White Rose? Melinda York was all sass, a sultry hint of a British accent, and gorgeous. She pretended to be sweet as apple pie to him, but he could tell she was still seething over the tongue lashing he'd handed her at that town hall meeting.

  Sean grinned. He'd snorted out loud at her naive suggestion and then had doubled down on her irritation by out-arguing the lovely Melinda. As he remembered it, he'd been pecked and picked on all day long by Jill's horrendous client, Mrs. Cinderton, and he'd been in no mood to hear some silly, feel-good proposal that might bring in two new tourists for the downtown area. A sneaking feeling of guilt hit him. Now that he thought about it, he'd been in a shitty mood, too, since his ex-girlfriend, Colette, had moved out only a few days earlier. Yes, he'd been ready to pounce on anyone ready to cross him or his ideas.

  Oddly enough, Melinda had maintained her cool while he'd been hacking her idea to bits, but her eyes had been shooting sparks and laser beams of death at him the whole time. Her controlled passion and fury had triggered a response in his body.

  With her smooth, dark hair, long, shapely legs and generous C-cups, it was an easy step to imagine her hot, bothered, and twisted up in his sheets. Sean rubbed the short hair at the back of his head and tried to shake off the image.

  He'd had the hots for her for the last five months, but she had bad news written all over her. She was obviously high-maintenance, and he'd had enough of that with his last girlfriend and her hours in front of the mirror. Melinda flirted with all her customers. It sounded like she hit all of the fancy cocktail parties and soirees in town. She was high society, and he was definitely not.

  He was just an honest country boy and contractor. He drank beer, and she loved champagne. She went to all the parties, and he stayed home. And so he kept his libido in check.

  Sean cursed. When he put it that way it sounded pathetic. It wasn't like he didn't go out most Friday or Saturday nights. He hung out with friends. He dated. Maybe not in the last few months. Damn. Had he even been on more than one date with anyone since Colette had moved out of their house and off to her new job at a resort in Park City? Okay. So, he was in a cold stretch.

  Melinda looked like she had a steady stream of eligible boyfriends, with her perfect clothes, spiky heels, and femme fatale eyelashes. Hell, she always seemed to have a twitch of her eyebrow for him whenever he showed up for those damn truffles. No, she hadn't gotten over the butt chewing he'd dished to her at the council meeting.

  She wasn't going to be happy when he showed up at her wine bar first thing tomorrow morning. Damn Steve and his broken bones.

  He was swamped with projects. They were spread too thin right now with two new custom house builds and four massive renovations on tap over the next few weeks. He was the only one of his crew who wasn't fully booked.

  There was no one else to send. Vacation over. No more margaritas on the golden beaches. Back to work.

  He'd simply have to put up with the delectable, and off-limits, Melinda York. He was done with vain, complicated women. With her delicate cheekbones, flaring eyebrows, and soft, tawny skin, Melinda was all things sophisticated and glamorous. Hadn't he heard that she'd lived on a yacht in the Caribbean with her husband until he'd died a few years back? She made Colette look like a country bumpkin in comparison.

  He'd keep her at arm's length. He'd managed to do it so far, despite strolling into the wine bar for those damned truffles. Besides, she was about to be his client, and he sure didn't mix business and pleasure.

  Sean tossed his empty beer bottle into the recycle bin, and started stowing the groceries into the pantry, but visions of Melinda's long legs in a short, snug skirt bounced around his brain.

  It was going to be a long three, four, or six weeks. Thank you, Jill.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MELINDA HUNG THE "pardon our remodel" sign on the front door and turned to examine the depressingly empty shelves and bare floors, devoid of all the normal wine bottles, tables,
and chairs.

  A month was going to seem like an incredibly long time to work around the fuss, muss, and noise of the renovation, but it was totally going to be worth it. She let her imagination repaint her store with the designer's vision, and she clapped her hands in anticipation.

  The front door bell jangled, and she turned, fully expecting to see Jill's cheerful smile.

  It was Sean. At seven in the morning? His expression was tight and practically combative.

  "It's a little early for more chocolate." Melinda put her hand on her hip and angled her head. "Have you already demolished yesterday's box?"

  "Jill's not here yet?" He studied her face and then swept his gaze around the shop before landing on her again.

  "You know Jill Devlin?" Something was up.

  "It would be better if Jill told you." Sean crossed his arms, and his expression was like granite. "But since she's not here, I guess it'll have to be me. There's been a change in plans."

  "What's going on?" A wave of nausea sloshed around in her belly. She had a lot of money invested in this remodel, all her savings, to be honest. One false move could demolish everything.

  "Your remodel guy broke his leg, and I'm here to sub for him."

  "How did you get the job? Jill approved this?" Panic flooded her brain. How was she supposed to handle seeing Sean every day?

  "I owe Jill a favor." Sean's tone was sharp, irritated. "My work crews are fully booked, so I'm stuck doing it myself."

  "I don't want to inconvenience you." Arctic frost cracked in her voice.

  The front door popped open with a wild ding ding of the bells, and Jill flew through the entrance with her shoulder bag banging on the doorjamb.

  "Rats! I wanted to get here first!" Jill skidded to a stop inches from Sean.

  "I already told her." Sean stared at Melinda with a maddening, superior glint.

  "Are you sure the regular contractor can't do the job?" Melinda spread her fingers toward Jill, and she prayed she didn't sound too desperate. "He already knows exactly what we want."

  "Don't worry." Jill patted Melinda's arm as she dumped her purse on the counter and pulled out a bakery box with a crumpled corner. "Sean is every bit as good as Steve, if not better." Jill winked at Sean. "We’re so lucky that he's agreed to do our project. Normally he doesn't work on small ones like this."

  Melinda absorbed Sean's unhelpful scowl and then Jill's eager expression. She wasn’t reassured.

  "Sean owes me a favor," Jill continued, "so he's agreed to step in and make this happen. He's truly one of the best in the whole state, and he's highly sought after. This will be great."

  No doubt, Melinda thought sourly. He was a big time construction dude. No wonder he had girlfriends galore for all those fancy truffles.

  "What about our timeline?" Melinda asked. "You know I want to keep the store open almost the whole time, and we need to be done before the snow starts flying and the mountain opens for the season. I have a lot riding on this."

  "That won't work at all." Sean shook his head and planted his stare on Jill. "You never said that customers would be in and out all day long. We'll never get any work done. It will take forever."

  Jill plopped a long tube on the wide wine bar counter and pulled out the site plans. Melinda put a hand on her stomach and wished she hadn't left the house this morning.

  "Let's review this and all get on the same page," Jill said. "I'm sure Steve allotted enough time for all of this. Today and tomorrow are for demolition and the first set of materials will arrive late tomorrow."

  Melinda moved to the far side of the counter as Sean bent his head to the plans. She bit back a flurry of questions and complaints as Jill and Sean studied the floor plans.

  Patience. She needed to let this unfold. Worry chomped at the edges of her confidence. She was taking a huge risk with this business in the first place.

  How had she ever believed that she could manage on her own? Was Diego right, that she was nothing without him? It had only been his life insurance money that had allowed her to dream big, move to the States from the Caribbean and buy a wine bar.

  Melinda cleared her throat and tried to shake off the old feelings of inferiority. Her late husband, Diego, had been a master manipulator and controlling creep. He was long gone and had no power left to grind her down.

  With a small twitch of her shoulder, Melinda straightened her back and stood tall. Yes, she could handle this. It was simply another business decision.

  Jill had sung the praises of their original contractor and made it sound like only he could produce the work of art that she was after. Now, there was a replacement. Why did it have to be Sean? The one man in town who didn't like her and acted like she had the plague.

  Did she have a choice? Probably not. At least Jill had a substitute, and the number one goal was to get the remodel completed without killing her business, upsetting her customers, or bankrupting her.

  It was bad enough that she was going to be stuck with wine tasting at the bar only. She shuddered to think of all the lost revenue. Self-doubt weaseled into her thoughts. Perhaps she shouldn't go through with this. Why hadn't she stayed in bed with the covers pulled over her head?

  "This is pretty straightforward," Sean said with surprise in his voice. "But doing it in sections will take extra time. Besides, you'll have to shut down anyway when the floors get refinished."

  "Steve's plan was to keep one section of the space in good enough condition so that Melinda can stay open for business."

  "That'll mean the demo will have to be in two or three parts. That's extra time and expenses."

  "We wanted to start up in the loft area and all down the left side of the space, and leave the whole right side untouched for the first two weeks."

  "How will you divide the spaces and keep the dust and noise down?" Melinda asked. "I do wish you could build a temporary wall."

  "Don't worry," said Jill. "Everyone will understand that you're under construction. No one will expect perfection. Your customers will be fine, and it’ll be a great conversation starter."

  "This would go a whole lot quicker," Sean said, "if we just shut it down and let me tackle it all at once."

  "No. I have to stay open. There's no way my bank account could handle zero revenue for a month or more."

  "Let's stick with the timeline, Sean," Jill said. "Steve had it all worked out, and Melinda is comfortable with it."

  "Resigned is more like it," Melinda said.

  "We can do this more efficiently my way," Sean said.

  Jill shot Sean a warning look, and Melinda waited.

  "What if I could get my part of the project completed in three weeks?" Sean asked. "Just let me have access to the entire space at once, and I can power it out."

  "Everything?" Jill asked.

  "From top to bottom," he said. "Barring anything unexpected."

  "What do you think, Melinda?" Jill said. "Three weeks of construction and a few days to decorate. That would be a lot less stress and strain on you."

  "True." Melinda twisted her coffee cup in her hand several times before she self-consciously stopped her fidget. "Six weeks with a trickle of income and a huge mess, or three weeks of no income, but back up and running in under a month."

  Melinda tried to take Sean's measure. Was he being truthful or feeding her a line of complete and utter rubbish? He gave her a quick, hard stare and returned his attention to the plans. Jill waited patiently.

  Her brain churned with options, and her emotions were a tangle. Almost a month of no income, all the normal operating expenses, and she'd have to find something for Esme to do or else give her unpaid time off. At least her other three employees had already planned to vacation during the remodel. She held her breath.

  And then there was the whole thing with having McGrumpy around nonstop. He was a thorn in her side, and he had no sense of humor. Ugh. This had turned from an exciting new adventure into the opening scenes of a horror flick.

  "Fine, three weeks,
" Melinda said with a muffled groan. "We'd better not run into any hiccups."

  "We won't!" Jill said. "It'll go smoothly, you'll see."

  Sean shrugged and his mouth was pressed into a thin, stoic line. He didn’t show a shred of emotion. Melinda's heart sank to her knees.

  Had she made the worst decision of her life?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WITH A SMILE lurking at the corners of his mouth, Sean had been waiting for an eruption for the last ten minutes.

  It was day three of construction, and Melinda had looked far from chipper as she'd schlepped into the wine bar at eight in a slouchy gray sweater, faded jeans, and nondescript running shoes. Her eyes were bleary, and she cradled her coffee concoction like it was the crown jewel in the queen's tiara. She'd winced every time his hammer drove home a nail.

  Sean grinned. Hangover, he supposed, and he pounded a few extra nails for good measure as she scuttled into her office. That ought to fix her little red wagon, Miss High and Mighty and her sexy British accent. Not that he'd noticed.

  He glanced toward her office door, and there was Melinda, staring at him with a stony gaze through half-slitted eyes.

  "Good morning, Ms. York," Sean said in his perkiest voice. "Sun's shining, and it's beautiful out." He fiddled with the chuck on the drill and idly revved it a few times for some bonus noise.

  "Is there anything quiet you can do for a while?" Melinda said, her tone was pained.

  "Not feeling well?"

  "I'm fine. I have some phone calls to make to wine distributors and a little peace and quiet would be divine."

  "Go back to your coffee shop for those calls. Unless you want me to take a break already? That will slow me down."

  Melinda glared. "I'm trying to get some work done, too."

  "Well, ma'am. This is a construction zone, so there's going to be noise. We're not slapping on some paint and hanging a few light fixtures. We're adding beams, ripping out floors. What exactly were you expecting? Should I bring a bowl of potpourri or something?"

  "That might help." Her tone was drenched in syrup. "Or do you have a silencer for that drill?"