Falling for Mr. Right: Still the One ; His Proposal, Their Forever

by Michelle Major

  Adorable.

  “So, what do you think of this view?” she asked, changing the subject. He’d let her. It was either that or kissing her. On second thought...

  He focused on the overgrowth and junkyard disorder of the Potter property.

  “I—” Ideas exploded in his head. The structure, the landscape, a dock, everything. His fingers itched for a pencil and paper so he could sketch the designs running through his mind like a slide show. A smaller inn or B and B. Not one to match the Broughton Inn, but to stand alone and complement those plans.

  Oh, hell. He looked from the lot to Bailey.

  “What?” she asked.

  Guilt coated Justin’s mouth, the taste bitter compared to Bailey’s sweet kisses. His design for the new Broughton Inn was one of his favorites, and if he added the Potter place to the mix, he had both a first and a second place for his best designs.

  Forget kissing her again. That wouldn’t be a good idea if he wanted to go after both properties.

  She smiled at him. “You had an idea. For a painting?”

  The hope in her voice stabbed Justin like a dagger.

  Damn. She had no clue what he was thinking about doing. He didn’t dare tell her. She might not understand. For all he knew, Potter’s son would say no to him. “I was thinking about the inn.”

  She pursed her lips. “It’s never far from my mind. The people who count on the inn for their livelihoods need jobs.”

  Justin picked up a stone and tossed it into the Columbia River. “You think about everyone but yourself.”

  “That’s not true. I want the Broughton Inn for a consignment gallery. There’s also the historical piece, the preservation and the beauty aspects.”

  He didn’t agree with using the word beauty to describe the inn, but he knew she didn’t see the place as he did. “You’ve mentioned that, but those things can be preserved with pictures, special displays and placards.”

  Her nose scrunched. “You mean like a museum?”

  “The Hotel del Coronado near San Diego, California, has a section that documents its history.”

  She thought for a moment. A wistful expression formed. “The inn has meaning beyond history books and architectural value for my family. My grandparents were married at the Broughton Inn. My parents went to their senior prom together there.”

  “Those memories will always remain.”

  Bailey started to say something, then stopped herself. “What about making new memories? Ones to add to the old?”

  “Does the actual building matter? If not, people can still remember their experiences there and enjoy a new inn.”

  He waited for her to respond.

  Finally she shrugged.

  “It’s clear the inn has special meaning for you and your family, but let me ask you this,” he said. “Will owning the inn hold the same kind of passion you have for painting, or will it turn into an obligation you must uphold?”

  Justin knew the question might not be easy to answer. He’d felt that way himself on occasion, wondering if there was more to life than building resorts and hotels so other people could relax. He didn’t want Bailey to experience the same frustration when creating works of art made her happy.

  “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try.” A faraway look filled her eyes. “Owning the inn is good for those around me.”

  “That’s noble. I mean that in the most sincere way, but consider what you’re taking on.”

  She raised her chin, giving him that stubborn look he’d grown to know and not mind so much now. “I worked there for years. I know what’s involved.”

  “As an employee, yes, but not as the boss signing paychecks. Details like payroll, insurance, benefits, profits and losses weigh on you, become a burden,” he explained. “You care about people. Leaving their problems when you walk out the door will be difficult. If you can leave them at all. There’s not much time to take a day off or go on vacation. Family gatherings and celebrations might have to wait.”

  “That does sound boring.”

  Taryn had said the same thing over and over again, but he thought she’d grow to understand what his job entailed and how the resorts were part of his family. But she could never understand why he needed to work so many hours and be away so much. She got angry when he brought work home. Would Bailey be the same?

  Stop. He was getting off track. What Bailey thought about his company’s business wasn’t relevant to the discussion.

  But an idea popped into his head, one that might solve both their problems. “What if McMillian Resorts offered to hire back the laid-off employees and maintain contracts with vendors?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t think we were going to discuss the inn after what Tyler said.”

  They shouldn’t. Justin understood what the lawyers meant about conflict of interest. “Hypothetically.”

  “Hypothetically, I might be open to that if you preserved the original building. I’ve had time to think about the various additions. Much of those are dated and uninspiring, lacking historical significance or architectural detail. But the original portion is worth saving. You were wrong to include that in your teardown.”

  Another surprise. Maybe she wasn’t as stubborn as everyone thought, if she could admit he was right about something and compromise. That kind of renovation didn’t fit McMillian’s business model. But he hadn’t planned on adopting a dog or kissing Bailey, either. “Anything is possible. Hypothetically.”

  His thoughts flip-flopped between Bailey and the Potter place. She was a jewel with faceted edges and a brilliance that drew his eye time and time again. The lot across the bay was a rough stone with potential. He imagined everything—weeds, plants, house—bulldozed from the lot, leaving a clean slate, a blank canvas, to create something stunning that would take advantage of the location and views.

  Would she object to that teardown, as well? The place was old and in disarray. Would she see reason? Would she ever see that new was not only easier and more comfortable, but more beautiful? Or would she be disappointed in his lack of vision and slam the door on them being friends or something more?

  Justin wasn’t ready to find out the answer.

  He needed to get her home and stop talking about the inn before he did or said something he would regret.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning, a knock sounded at Bailey’s front door. She glanced at the clock on the microwave—nine o’clock—and wiped her wet hands with a dish towel. She wasn’t expecting visitors, but that never stopped her family from dropping by. Calling wasn’t in the Cole DNA. At least she’d changed out of her pajamas. Not that her ratty green sweatpants and ripped gray hoodie were much of an improvement.

  She trudged from the kitchen. The traction on the bottom of her fuzzy socks kept her from slipping. She yawned, tired from dog-proofing the house and a sleepless night thinking about Justin. He hadn’t kissed her when he dropped her off after dinner. He’d simply walked her to the door and said he’d see her tomorrow.

  No biggie, she’d told herself. Just like the kisses. The only things she and Justin would have to discuss in the future would be Buddy and the inn. But she couldn’t help from feeling a tad...disappointed.

  Another knock.

  “I’m on my way.” She opened the door.

  Justin greeted her with a smile. “You should keep your door locked.”

  “I, um...” Seeing him left her tongue-tied. She hadn’t expected him to stop by this early. “What’s the word on Buddy?”

  “I might be able to pick him up tomorrow. Want to go dog supply shopping? I’m not sure what he needs.”

  The request was what a friend would ask, except they weren’t friends. She wasn’t sure what they were. Part of her wanted to spend more time with Justin. The other part kept thinking about what Tyler had said. She could wri
te him a list of supplies, but that didn’t feel right, either.

  Bailey touched her hair, realizing she’d twisted the strands into a messy bun held in place by a paintbrush. She remembered what she was wearing. “I’m not dressed to go out.”

  “You look fine.”

  So said the man in the khaki pants and cornflower-blue polo shirt that did amazing things to his eyes and funny things to her insides. The guy looked good no matter what he wore. Unlike her.

  But she supposed clean sweats were a step up from smelly, dirty coveralls. This was how she dressed when cleaning or doing yard work, and that was what she planned to do today, so why was she worrying about her clothes? Shopping at a pet store wasn’t a date. “Okay. Let me grab my purse and a pair of shoes.”

  “Fuzzy ones?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You like to wear fuzzy things on your feet. Socks, slippers, shoes.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Bailey was surprised he had. She thought about her choice of footwear. Interesting. He was correct. “But why wear boring socks and shoes when you can wear fun on your feet?”

  His grin gave her chills, the good kind. “Until coming to Haley’s Bay I’ve had a fun deficit. I’ve been sketching some landscapes. Being here is good for me.”

  “Buddy will give you the perfect reason to have more fun.” She opened the door wider. “Come in. I won’t be long.”

  She retreated to her bedroom, rubbing her hands over her arms. Chills were not a good response to having fun with Justin. Maybe she should start a list for herself—no throbbing lips, no chills, no kisses.

  Even though kisses weren’t on the agenda, she brushed her teeth—for general hygiene’s sake—put on shoes, the nonfuzzy kind, and grabbed her purse. “I’m ready.”

  He stood in the empty dining room. “What happened to the drop cloths and your painting?”

  The guy was more observant than she realized. “I put them away.”

  “Your foot is healing. You’ll be able to stand and paint in no time.”

  “True, but I didn’t want to take any chances with Buddy here.”

  Brow furrowed, he studied the empty dining room. His lips parted. “You put away the painting and supplies because of my dog.”

  She nodded, noticing a cloudy area that had been covered by the tarp. Something must have soaked through to the floor. She would have to see if denatured alcohol would repair the damage.

  After Buddy left with Justin. Whenever that might be.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Paints and brush cleaners are toxic. Didn’t want to take a chance of Buddy getting into something he shouldn’t,” she explained. “I have so many other projects I can do while he’s here, things that won’t hurt him if he’s the curious type.”

  “Thank you.”

  The sincerity in the two words made breathing difficult. The connection she’d felt when he held her hand at the vet clinic returned. Her every nerve ending went on high alert. Her lips tingled in anticipation. She forced the words “you’re welcome” from her tight throat.

  He reached for her.

  Bailey wanted him to touch her, to kiss her, more than anything, but she knew that wasn’t smart. She backed away, adjusted the strap on her purse. “There are two pet stores in the area. One in Astoria, the other in Long Beach.”

  “No rush.” He held up his hand. “We have time.”

  “I know, but remember what Tyler said.”

  A sheepish expression flashed across Justin’s face. “We’re seeing each other because of Buddy.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to...”

  He gave her a look.

  Was he going to make her say the word? She waited. He kept staring at her. Fine. She would say it if he wouldn’t. “Kiss.”

  Justin grinned. “I like kissing you.”

  At least she wasn’t the only one, but she didn’t feel better. “I like kissing you, but more kisses might complicate us resolving the ownership of the Broughton Inn.”

  Justin raised an eyebrow and grinned wryly. “So I’m a complication, huh?”

  Yes, and a big distraction. But there was no need to answer. He knew that.

  “Probably a good idea, then. No kissing,” he added.

  “Thank you.” Except Bailey wished he hadn’t agreed with her so easily. Wait. She should be relieved he had. When Justin McMillian was involved, she had no idea what was going on inside her head. “Astoria is the safest choice for dog shopping. Less chance of being seen.”

  “All set, but don’t get your heart set on doggy designer wear. I will not be dressing Buddy in clothing.”

  “Come on,” she teased. “No rain slicker for those wet days?”

  “I’m a true Oregonian. I don’t carry an umbrella. Buddy and I will both get wet.”

  She opened the door. “What about bunny ears come Easter time, or reindeer antlers for Christmas?”

  “No way.” Justin stepped outside. “A bandanna might be okay. Depends on the pattern.”

  “Picky.”

  “I must protect Buddy’s dignity.”

  “At least until you decide to use a picture of him for your Christmas card and wrap him in garlands with a Santa hat on his head.”

  “Never.”

  “It’s only July. Time will tell.” But she would never know. Her heart panged with regret. She shook off the feeling, stepped out of the house and locked the door. “So, how do you feel about doggy booties?”

  * * *

  After having fun shopping with Bailey and spending more money then he’d ever imagined spending on a dog, Justin climbed the steps of the Astoria Column, a 125-foot-tall tower built in the 1920s and one of the most popular tourist attractions in the area. Of the 164 steps, they were about halfway to the top.

  He glanced back at Bailey. “How’s your foot holding up?”

  “I’ll let you know if it hurts.”

  She continued upward, a smile on her face and her breasts jiggling with each step. Too bad he couldn’t walk backward.

  “The view is worth the climb,” she added.

  The stop at the tower had been her idea when she found out he’d never seen the view from the top.

  “I can’t believe I’m the Oregonian, but someone from Washington brought me here.”

  “Then we’re even because I’ve never been to the top of the Space Needle in Seattle.”

  “Spend time on the Oregon coast?”

  “Some. Mainly Cannon Beach. It has such a strong artistic community, more so than on my side of the Columbia, which has been underserved by coastal galleries.”

  “Until you.”

  “That’s right.” Pride filled her voice. “The co-op gallery will be back one of these days.”

  “Do some tourists enjoy local art?”

  “More than some,” she said. “From my experience with the inn’s gallery, people want to take home more than a souvenir magnet to stick on their fridge. A piece of art that captures their vacation destination is a memento to treasure.”

  “You’re not like other artists I’ve met,” he said.

  “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  “Yes, you should. You’ve done your research.”

  “Art is as much a business as a passion. After the Broughton Inn co-op gallery opened, art sales tripled. There’s also been an increased interest in classes and art-centered events from both tourists and locals. That’s huge, given the current economy.”

  He moved to the side to let a couple pass by on their way down.

  “You’re almost there,” the man in a Mariners cap said.

  “Hear that, Bailey? We’re almost at the top.” Two minutes later, Justin reached the final step and walked out onto the viewing platform. He looked past rooftops toward the bridge that connected Oregon to Washing
ton. The water of the Columbia River shimmered, a contrast to the green shrubs and trees both nearby and in the distance. He saw the coastal ranch. “Incredible view.”

  “See Young’s Bay?” She wore her sunglasses on her head. “Then there’s the Pacific Ocean. It’s quite a sight to see all the boats and ships sailing under the bridge.”

  He could imagine. The part of the bridge closest to Oregon was elevated. The Washington side seemed to float on the water.

  “Breathtaking.” Like the view of Bailey, her eyes bright and her smile wide. Beautiful. He couldn’t stop staring at her. “Do you ever come up here to work?”

  “Not enough room.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face upward. The sun kissed her cheeks, making him wish he could have a turn. “Too many tourists, too.”

  “That’s what we are today.” Though she didn’t look touristy at all. Someone looking at her would guess she was an artist or a cook, or maybe a writer.

  She opened her eyes, then gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

  Did he? Justin liked how she treated him like an artist, assuming he understood, when all he’d done was complete one painting. Still, he appreciated the way she included him. “I’m figuring it out.”

  “Have you done any more painting?”

  “I knew you would ask that.”

  “So, what’s your answer?” The dog-won’t-let-go-of-the-bone tone had returned.

  The wind blew off the water, stronger up there than on the ground. A large ship sailed under the bridge.

  “I’ve sketched a few things,” he said finally. She didn’t need to know that he loved every minute, lost himself in the work and found himself refreshed when he returned to working on blueprints and resort designs. “I don’t have the supplies to paint.”

  “Borrow some of mine. I’m not using any right now.”

  “Because of my dog.”

  “I want to see more of what you can do.”

  “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Maybe.” The wind tousled the ends of her hair. She moved out of the way so a young family could pass. “I’m excited whenever I find someone with natural talent.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So you’re only interested in my painting ability?”