Kiss Me at Last (A Wescott Springs Novella)

by Holly Cortelyou

  Sean laughed. She emerged from her office and stood with her hands on her hips, a harassed expression in her eyes and her lips drooping downward in the first stages of a pout.

  "I never imagined it would be this loud or with so many unexpected crashes."

  Sean shrugged.

  "I don't mean to be a wuss," Melinda said. "I can't seem to escape it."

  "Why don't you work from home?" Sean asked as he measured and marked a two by six. "You have a laptop I assume."

  "It's no quieter there."

  "Why not?" Sean grabbed his saw and double checked the power cords.

  "My upstairs neighbors are knee-deep in a bathroom remodel," Melinda said. "They worked until midnight, and then fought over tile colors until one, and then were back at it by six this morning. They're killing me."

  A belly laugh erupted out of Sean. "And here I thought you were hungover."

  "I'm perfectly sober," Melinda said with cutting edge to her voice. "Although I'm going to start drinking, heavily, if I have to hear one more wallpaper argument. I hate stripes and flower prints now. I may need to murder them."

  "Why not get a hotel room?"

  "I can't afford a hotel room and this renovation. That stretches my budget way too thin. I'm not wealthy. I have everything tied up in this place." Melinda slumped against the doorway with a tired, vulnerable sag in her shoulders.

  Sympathy flared up in Sean. For the first time, she seemed like any other normal woman he'd met, not an opinionated, stuck-up princess.

  With her hair up in a loose bun and a few wisps straggling around her heart-shaped face, she looked approachable. Sean relented.

  "How about I take a break. I need to call my crews and see what's up. I've got six other jobs going."

  "Thank you, that would be perfect." Her expression softened.

  Sean bent to unplug the saw.

  "And Sean?"

  He turned in surprise at his first name.

  "I don't think I said it, but I appreciate that you took on my project at the last minute. This means everything to me, and any delays would have been a disaster."

  Sean stared at her, truly looked at her. There was a gentle glow of appreciation in her eyes, and the apples of her cheeks were full and round. Her gratitude was genuine.

  "You're welcome," he said.

  "I was a little surprised that you agreed since we had that row at the town hall."

  Sean snorted. A row, huh? Funny British word, he supposed. "That's the past, and besides, I wasn't likely to turn the job down. Jill's my cousin so there's no way I could leave her twisting in the wind."

  "I appreciate it, even if you dislike me."

  "Like has nothing to do with it," Sean said. "We had a difference of opinions."

  "You sure don't act as if you can stand to be around me."

  "You were pretty worked up. I think you killed me with your eyes about fifteen times."

  "We disagreed, but you were rude and obnoxious. You snorted at me." There was an edge in Melinda's voice that declared she was so not over that confrontation.

  "That was pretty bad, wasn’t it?"

  Melinda's expression lightened. "I suppose I'll take that as a start on an apology. My idea wasn't a bad one. We all depend on the tourists here."

  Sean shook his head. She sure needed to win this one, for some reason, but it grated on his nerves. "No, I'm still right," Sean said deliberately. "I wasn't opposed to the idea of a temporary tax only to the timing of it. Businesses are only now getting back on their feet after the recession and tourism is still off from the old peaks. The extra expense hurts my bottom line."

  "I still say that the nicer we make Vail, then the more tourists we'll attract and the longer they'll stay. It's only a small fee that we have to pay."

  "Look, I'm not here to debate with you again," Sean interrupted.

  "Fine."

  "Terrific." Sean checked his flaring irritation. She was so sure that only her opinion was the right one. Why couldn't she open her eyes and realize that other opinions were as valid as hers?

  Besides, he hadn't minded the actual proposed fee, just the timing of it. He wanted to wait until his summer building boom revenue was in the bank and he had some extra cushion. He'd won the council over to his viewpoint, so he supposed he could be gracious now.

  "I'll be back in twenty minutes," Sean checked his watch before looking up at her. "And be prepared for a lot of noise. I'm just getting warmed up now."

  Melinda scowled at him. No doubt his expression matched hers as he stalked out of the store through the kitchen to the back alley and his pickup and trailer.

  Sean punched a speed dial for his number one job foreman, slid into his pickup, and slammed the door behind him. The truck vibrated, and Sean grinned as some of his pent-up frustrations dispersed.

  What had he gotten himself into? This was going to be one long month if he couldn't figure out how to bite his tongue and ignore the ever-so-bossy-and-opinionated Melinda York.

  She was a fine-looking woman, even if she was impossible. His irritation ebbed, and all that remained was the memory of an enticing flash of her deep, brown eyes.

  * * * *

  "Goodbye, Ella," Melinda said. "I'll drop by next week."

  "You're so thoughtful to have stopped by to visit me in this dreadful place," Ella Winters said. "Nursing homes are not to my taste."

  "It's not terribly jolly, is it?" Melinda said with a laugh as she stared at the pale green walls and generic white laminate cupboards and nightstand. It was fresh and new, but far from inspiring.

  "You've cheered me greatly, and so have these truffles," the older woman said. "You know they're my favorite. Thank you, dear."

  Melinda bent and kissed her on the cheek, and then waved farewell once again.

  As she strode down the long corridor, her boots made an echo-y, authoritative click-clack on the hard linoleum. The sounds of a myriad of television channels poured through the open doors of the recuperating patients, and Melinda sent up a small prayer of thanks that Ella was improving and only had to spend another two weeks here. The woman didn't have anyone at home to help her, so she had to stay in the rehab center.

  Melinda hit the end of the hallway and hovered indecisively. Which direction was out? Had she made a wrong turn? She glanced back the way she'd come and realized she had no idea where the lobby was.

  Oh well. A little extra walking wouldn't hurt, so she pushed on, took a left turn and then another left through double doors.

  This was clearly not the route she'd taken. Far down the hall, she spotted a person with a small bouquet of daisies in one hand, and a pink round box in his other hand.

  The bright blush color caught her attention. It was one of her French truffle boxes. What was it doing here? She'd only sold one of those recently. She checked the man for a beard. Indeed. It was Sean.

  Her cheeks flamed to scarlet, and her first instinct was to scamper back around the corner. The last thing she wanted was idle chitchat with McGrumpy.

  But, curiosity rooted her feet to the cold tile floor. Was this where he brought the chocolates? Not to some girlfriend of the month? Sean disappeared into one of the rooms.

  She stepped forward but paused midstep. If she wasn't careful, she was going to run into Sean. But the truffles. He was here with the blasted box of truffles. She had to know who was in that room with him.

  She shortened her stride and practically tiptoed to keep her heels from tapping on hard floors. Two doors away. One door away. Sean's deep tones resonated and drifted out to the hallway as he spoke to the mystery patient.

  Melinda froze. Should she press herself up next to the doorjamb and eavesdrop despite everyone and their brother being able to witness her foolishness? Should she glide on past and shoot a penetrating side-eye at the room?

  A nursing assistant approached. Melinda almost did a one-eighty and sprinted back the way she'd come. But with a quick nod, the nursing assistant passed Melinda and then turned into
the room.

  "Hello, Mrs. McMallory, it's time for your vitals," she said in a clear voice.

  Uh-oh. Did Sean have a wife? Melinda slouched against the wall near the door, rummaged a nail file out of her purse, and became deeply absorbed with her manicure.

  "And look, you have company today," the nurse continued in a sing-song voice. "Your son is so sweet. He brought your favorite treat again."

  Melinda’s hand trembled, and her nails were forgotten. Son? It was Sean’s mother?

  "Like clockwork, every other week," Sean said and his voice held an almost self-deprecating chuckle.

  "She nibbles on them all week long," she said. "It may not seem like she notices that you're here, but she always hums all evening long on the days that you come to visit."

  "She seems lost in her own world whenever I'm here." Sean's voice sounded sad to Melinda's ears. "But I always get a hand squeeze after I kiss her cheek. Maybe she's still in there somewhere."

  Melinda sucked in a gulp of air and looked around. She could see several patients sitting in beds or in wheelchairs, staring vacantly out a window or at the corner of their room.

  Melancholy whispered through Melinda's chest. This must be the dementia and stroke ward. Poor Sean. Poor Mrs. McMallory.

  Wow. McGrumpy brought his mother truffles every single time he visited. Her heart cracked, and a rivulet of tears threatened to spill out of her unruly eyes.

  Suddenly, Sean didn't seem like such an ogre anymore. She'd never imagined that he was suffering through such a miserable family drama. She was the one who'd been a beast to him. Mocking him behind his back to Esme, and ruthlessly trying to get a rise out of him each time he'd come to the shop.

  A chair scraped against the floor in Mrs. McMallory's room, and Melinda flinched as she pressed her palm to her chest. She could not let Sean discover her lurking in the doorway.

  Melinda fled back the way she'd come.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SEAN KNEW THE very moment Melinda walked into the wine bar. It wasn't that he'd heard the silly jingle bells on the front door since his saw was buzzing through a six-by-six post. It wasn't that he'd caught a glimpse of the flirty flip of her short lavender dress as she walked past the storefront since his back was to the windows.

  No. It was more like the temperature had cranked up in the wine bar. Her energy and presence swirled around him and woke him up from the half-trance of his work groove. She was all electricity and sparks. It was almost as if the air crackled and popped with excitement when she sailed into a space.

  Sean scowled and finished his cut. This was a stupid line of thought. She was a pushy, wrongheaded woman, and he had zero interest in her. He was merely here to do a job.

  "Sean?"

  His head snapped around, and he almost dropped his saw. There she stood in the middle of a pile of sawdust with low-heeled strappy sandals, long, luscious legs and a wispy sundress with a short white denim jacket as protection against the faint chill in the morning air.

  She carried a cardboard tray with two steaming cups of java from his favorite coffee stand, and in her other hand, she held a white paper bag with the name of the wine bar emblazoned on it. He waited.

  "I brought a coffee for you." She shifted from one foot to the other and looked uncertain. "I asked the barista what you like best, so, well, I hope it's right."

  Was this a peace offering of some sort? Was the ice queen melting? Sean took the offered cup, and he was tinglingly aware of her soft, graceful hands and the delicate bend of her wrist as she held the coffee for him.

  "Thank you." He sipped it gingerly to avoid scalding his tongue. "Yup, it's my usual." Sean studied her over the rim of the lid. "What's going on? You buttering me up for something? Are you firing me?"

  Melinda bit her lip, looked at her feet with matching violet nail polish and then carefully met his gaze.

  "I think I may owe you an apology."

  "You? What for?"

  She set her coffee and the tray on a stack of boxes and opened the white bag. She pulled out a small, pink circular box, and cradled it in her palm. It was his usual box of truffles.

  She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry that I've been so chilly and unfriendly for so long."

  "I barely noticed," Sean replied with liberal sarcasm. "Why now? Have I dazzled you with my brilliant craftsmanship?"

  "No," she said flatly. "I mean, yes, your work is beautiful, but that's not it." She fiddled with the container in her hands.

  Sean suppressed a grin at her discomfort. She really was squirming.

  She popped the round box back into the bag and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed and a whisper of a flame danced between them. Melinda sucked in her breath, as if she too felt the extra heat.

  He looked in the bag and saw three identical sets of truffles in their cute, rosy packages. He shot her a piercing look.

  "They're for your mother." The words tumbled out of Melinda in a rush.

  "I don't need any sympathy from you." Sean thrust the bag back at Melinda, and heat flushed up the back of his neck.

  "No, no, no. I don't feel sorry for you." Melinda backed up a step and waved him off with a fierce scowl. "I feel stupid. I've been mad at you for the last five months. I've been imagining that you buy these chocolates for some new girlfriend of the week or because you had a secret, sad truffle fetish."

  "You thought I had a new girlfriend? Every week?" Sean felt a funny sense of male pride.

  "Not every week. Every other week," Melinda said. "I guessed you were a player or something."

  A belly laugh ripped through Sean, and Melinda looked at him as if he'd grown another head.

  "What I'm trying to say," Melinda said through gritted teeth as he continued to chuckle, "is that I'm sorry I wasn't nicer when all you were doing is being a good son. So there. Why are you still laughing?"

  "The idea of me being a player," he said. "I don't think I've been on a date in almost three months." He needed to shut up. He sounded pitiful. A dateless man who regularly visited his mother in the nursing home. Perfect. He was never having sex again, was he?

  "Esme told me you were a nice guy, but I was stuck on how mean you'd been to me," Melinda said.

  "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings at the meeting." Sean cleared his throat. "I'd had a bad day and was probably grumpier than shit. I have better manners than that." Sean bit his tongue and refused to add that she'd been shortsighted and wrong in her opinion.

  "Well, I will accept your apology if you accept mine for being so rude to you every time you came in to buy those truffles for your mom."

  Sean held up his hand as if to keep her from saying anything else. "How did you figure out about the truffles?"

  "I followed you," Melinda blurted out.

  "From here?"

  "No, no, it wasn't like that. I was at the nursing home, visiting a friend who's recovering from knee surgery. I took a wrong turn or two, and I saw you enter one of the rooms." Melinda gulped her coffee and searched for a napkin to catch a dribble down the side of the cup. "Actually, I noticed the box first. It's so distinctive. And then I realized it was you, and I had to know, finally, who was getting your gifts."

  "Curiosity killed the cat, huh?" Sean said.

  Melinda smoothed her skirt and avoided his gaze.

  "I overheard a little from the nursing assistant who came in to see your mom," Melinda said. "I'm really sorry about your mother."

  Sean stifled his sigh.

  "Thanks. It stinks that she's in such bad shape," he said. "She had a stroke and then it just seemed to spiral downward so fast into dementia, and none of the medicines slowed it down. It's been a terrible year." That was an understatement. From a stroke to confusion and then to a nursing home. It had overwhelmed him, and it had scared off Colette who hadn't been ready to deal with his aging parent and the prospect of a lifetime of dependency.

  Melinda stretched her hand out sympathetically.

  "I'm the only kid in town, so it's all up t
o me," Sean said. "My dad used to give her these truffles on their anniversary, so I've kind of continued the tradition now that he's gone. It makes her smile."

  "You're a good son," Melinda said.

  "I don't need any thanks," Sean said with a half grunt. "A visit every other week is hardly praiseworthy."

  "Don't beat yourself up," Melinda said. "You have a business to run and a life to live, and she's lost in her own world. I think it's beautiful that you bring her a gift every time."

  "No need to get all mushy on me. I think I prefer it when you're scowling and sarcastic."

  Melinda blinked and then a soft smile caressed her mouth as if she saw through his tough talk. "When we moved from Yorkshire to the British Virgin Islands, we moved in with my mother's brother. He was much older and was slipping into dementia before our very eyes. We were lucky that it was a slow march. He used to walk with me every day to school just to keep me company and to scare off the iguanas. I hated the iguanas."

  "A little lizard?"

  "Some are small, but of course, I tripped over a five-foot long behemoth on my first day of school and ran screaming home. The moors of northern England are quite devoid of reptilian monsters."

  Sean chuckled.

  "I was only eight, and I was vastly relieved when Uncle Bart escorted me back to class." Melinda looked down, and her long eyelashes masked the hint of a tear. "By the time I was in secondary school, he was housebound, and he drifted away in his sleep when I was only sixteen. His mind was gone. He was only a shell."

  With a cough to clear the thickness in his throat, Sean kept his gaze steady on Melinda. The honesty and sincerity in her voice held him captive.

  "It's been tough especially since my sisters and brothers don't live close by." Sean stared at his espresso and tried to marshal his wits. "I'm it for my mom. They support all my decisions, but at the end of the day, I'm the one making the call."

  "It's exhausting." Melinda sipped on her coffee while her gaze remained steady. "My parents had their moments. Uncle Bart had a tendency to wander off in the middle of the night."

  "Always an adventure, huh?" Sean tried to laugh. "I found my mother and her electric wheelchair a half mile down the highway from her house one time when I'd come to check on her. I have no idea how she managed to get past the long gravel driveway." He grimaced. "I stayed with her that night and the next day started making arrangements for a nursing home. She needed full-time care, and her place was too far out to easily get caregivers."