Kayaks and Kisses: A Romance Renovation Novel (Vintage Romance)

by Maria Hoagland

  Chapter 9

  Excited to put her creative marketing skills to work, Brynn could hardly sleep the evening after sending the business plan to Mr. Konewko. Even if she had to wait to meet him, there was plenty to do to prep for a grand reopening less than a month away. They still didn’t have the website up and running. It was one of the first things she’d noticed when she first sought out information on purchasing the store—the business had absolutely no online presence. No website, no Facebook page, nothing. She’d happily begun crafting the needed sites. While Brynn knew many smaller shops were going to freebie sites on Facebook, she felt a real website—one where out-of-towners could schedule ski lessons and fishing tours—would look more professional.

  As part of her college courses, Brynn had created websites, so tinkering around some HTML code would be a welcome comfort amid the daunting challenges of a new business. She maneuvered to a host site she knew well, and started building pages, playing with the navigation until she had something that made sense—to her, at least. On the About page, she dropped in the images and interview she’d had with Mrs. Bradshaw. She had a ski tab and another for fishing, but something was missing …

  “Help!” Brynn pleaded when she knew she and Espe were alone in Basque in d’Light the next afternoon. “I’m building a website for the shop, but I need images to make the page pop. I was thinking landscapes—you know, use the beauty of Ruidoso to sell the activities. It is, after all, why tourists are coming, right?”

  Espe handed Brynn a steaming mug of light brown liquid and guided her by the elbow to the kitchen without interrupting Brynn’s explanation.

  Brynn leaned against the counter, watching Espe at her stove. In front of her friend sat a couple of huge stock pots full of what had to be simmering, swirling hot chocolate. Brynn lifted the mug to her nose, allowing the steam to warm her lips. With all the smells floating through the air, she wasn’t sure what her mug held. “What flavor?”

  “Just trust me and try it.”

  Brynn didn’t have to be invited twice. Careful not to burn her mouth, she blew across the surface and sipped, the warmth of the velvety goodness trailed down her throat and through her chest. “Caramel and …?” She tasted again. “Salt?”

  “Chocolate, caramel, and sea salt.” Espe’s face cracked wide, showing her pride of the concoction. She’d earned it.

  “It’s so good.” Brynn took another sip to prove it. “Great. Another sweet item I won’t be able to resist at your store.” Brynn would seriously add on the pounds if she kept coming in here without being back out on the slopes. “What other flavors are you working on?” The vats of hot chocolate each had a different hue.

  “Pumpkin spice.” Espe pointed. “Peppermint.” She pointed to the last one. “And raspberry.” No wonder the scents were all so confusing. Espe swept the steam over one pot toward her nose. Could she tell what each hot chocolate still needed just by smell? “So how can I help?”

  Brynn set her mug on the counter and threw her hands up in the air. “I’m working on a website for the store, but I can’t find the right photos.” She paused. “What I really want are images of Ruidoso landscapes throughout the year—showing the beauty of each season. But where would I get something like that? Even if I was capable of taking quality photos myself, I don’t have a year to take them.” The task seemed insurmountable.

  “The obvious starting point would be Irving Wells—owner of the photo gallery.” Espe sprinkled another dash of cinnamon into the pot of spiced pumpkin. “Have you met him yet?”

  Brynn scoffed. “Are you kidding? I can’t afford to pay a professional for the images. I mean, I wish. I’m sure they’d be better quality than anything else I’ll find on my budget.”

  Espe set her mixing spoon down. “No, that’s not what I mean. Irving is great. You should tell him what you’re looking for. I bet he’d have some ideas of where you could look.” She pulled out yet another clean spoon to taste the pumpkin spice. “Just be honest with him up front about your circumstances. We’re all small-business owners—we know what it’s like.”

  Taking Espe’s advice, not fifteen minutes later found Brynn under the awning of Irving’s gallery. She was trying to formulate her request before approaching him when Irving himself came out. Easy to talk to, Irving had her sucked into his gallery and quickly had her settled into a soft leather chair with a bottle of water and high hopes.

  “I hear you’re going to be one of the new owners of Owen’s.”

  Brynn nodded.

  “I’ve known Nora and Owen for close to ten years now. Great people, but it’s always exciting to have new blood in the area. Keeps the place vibrant.” He gave her a wink. Probably ten years older than she was, Irving was good-looking in an artsy kind of way—an eclectic dresser with a loud print button-up shirt, black jeans, and a shaved head—which looked nice and professional but had never really been her type. “What can I do for you? Espe called and mentioned something about images for your new website.”

  Leave it to Espe to swoop in and smooth the way. Brynn relaxed. “I’m envisioning a slide-show banner at the top of the website that flips through several panoramic photos of the Ruidoso area—landscapes, shops, sports—in all seasons. But with a Thanksgiving opening, I don’t have time to take the photos, and unfortunately, I don’t have the money to buy them.” Brynn picked at the paper label on her water bottle.

  “I’d be happy to donate a photo or two for your website, if you don’t mind a little copyright with my shop name on the bottom.”

  “Of course.” Brynn nodded. That made sense. It would then benefit both of them.

  “Another thought—you could open up a contest for other shop owners and residents to offer their photos with the same stipulation. The attribution doesn’t have to be big—you don’t want to confuse your potential clients, and we want them to know exactly what the website is advertising—but it would show a sense of community and get you the images you need.”

  Brynn liked the idea.

  “I’ve done photo contests before,” Irving went on, “and I have a legal release of rights that you’re welcome to use. In fact, if we do this contest together, we can do a little cross-promotion—help each other out—and it would help you get the website on its feet sooner rather than later. What do you think?”

  After a few minutes of hashing out the details and a few more minutes to create a flyer, Brynn left the photo gallery with a stack to distribute.

  “I’ll send out this email to the Chamber of Commerce and the Business Association right now,” Irving promised. “I still think it’s a good idea to distribute the flyers to all of the main-street businesses by hand though. That way they get it twice—and a paper lying around will remind them.” He held the front door open. As Brynn stepped through the doorway, she checked out both sides of the street to plan her walking tour. “Tell them to check their email for the link to submit their photos.” He stuck out a hand to shake Brynn’s. “It was really great to meet you, and I really think this will work. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

  Brynn shook his hand. “I think it will, and I really appreciate your help.” Having such a short deadline hardly seemed fair, but hopefully everyone would understand the need for the prompt reply. “Like you said, though, it helps us all. I’m sure every business has at least one photo they’ll want to share.”

  Irving nodded. “For sure.”

  With a built-in excuse to step into every shop in midtown, Brynn was able to introduce herself and hand out flyers that advertised not only the contest, but also the grand reopening date and the release date of the future website. The plan was to generate much-needed web traffic on opening day. Hopefully, contest entrants would satiate their curiosity by checking to see if theirs was one of the images chosen.

  The flyers and personal contacts must have worked, because within hours, Brynn had an influx of images to choose among. She got busy inserting the photos into the slide show and posti
ng links to the individual shops around Ruidoso. Within the week, she had more images than she could use. This truly would be a win-win for the entire community.

  “What do you think, Nora?” Brynn twisted the tablet she’d set on the checkout counter so it faced the shop owner. Brynn stood across from Nora so she could watch as she navigated through the website. “I haven’t made it live yet, but I think it’s done.”

  “It’s gorgeous!” Nora stared at the home screen so long, Brynn was worried the woman didn’t know where to go from there. “Where did you get the beautiful landscapes? Did you take them yourself?”

  “A couple of them my dad took on previous trips out, but since I wanted pictures of Ruidoso in every season, I had to recruit some other photographers as well.” Brynn pointed out each photo’s attribution and chatted about each of the shop owners who’d contributed. “They all care about you and your husband so much, they were excited to help out in any way they could.”

  Brynn waited while Nora clicked through the different tabs, and was pleased to see how she didn’t hesitate anywhere, never seeming lost or confused in the navigation.

  “Beautifully done,” Nora said at last. “I wish I would have found someone like you to do this for us ages ago.”

  Brynn kept her eyes on the screen, critiquing it for the millionth time. Should she move the title over slightly to the right? She could fix that when she finally got with Mr. Konewko and they decided on the new name for the shop. She’d been trying to brainstorm a catchy name but hadn’t come up with anything yet.

  “Did you see any typos or anything else I should change?” Brynn wanted everything perfect, but she had a hard time deciding exactly when that was. On creative projects, she always found herself second-guessing, wondering if it was the best it could be.

  “It looks amazing. I wouldn’t change a thing,” Nora assured her.

  “Then I suppose it’s time to run it past Mr. Konewko.” Brynn couldn’t say why she was so nervous. If she had Nora’s support, that mattered more than his, didn’t it? Mrs. Bradshaw was the one who would decide between the two of them at the end of the next year.

  “He’ll love it. I know he will,” Nora said.

  To: Brynn Caley

  From: Joseph Konewko III

  RE: Website

  Brynn:

  The website design is impeccable. It’s exactly what we needed. We can further personalize it with photos we’ll take once we have the interior of the shop remodeled. Similarly, when we get our new sign up, we can update the shot of the exterior. Speaking of which, you asked about names for the store. As soon as you and I can meet in person, we can resolve that. Until then, I agree that we need to launch the website so we can advertise our grand reopening and highlight upcoming holiday sale prices and our tour packages.

  You suggested that we use the domain with the original name for now and then redirect that to our new name’s domain when we have that settled. That’s an excellent idea. We should keep both domains running for at least the first year.

  As far as meeting together in person, I’m going to have to put that off a little longer. “Good things come to those who bait.” (Please excuse a little fishing humor.) I will be attending the annual trade expo in Denver the second weekend in November. While my travel will preclude me being there in person on the day we’ve slated to begin the remodel, I feel the expo is a better use of my time, as it will get me up to speed with what’s the latest and greatest in outdoor equipment and will greatly benefit the business. I assure you I will have my construction guy there and would appreciate it if you’d be there to carry on.

  Thank you,

  JGK

  With the last few emails, Brynn had thought Mr. Konewko was softening a bit, becoming slightly more approachable, but she wasn’t sure what to make of this one. She still didn’t know anything about him. With his name, she figured he must be of Japanese descent, and he talked as if he were older than she was. Much older. For example—what was with the corny fishing joke?

  The guy ran hot and cold. Just when she was beginning to think she could work with him—like when he complimented her website design—he would say something condescending like explaining that they should run both domains for at least a year. Duh. Hadn’t she already suggested that? She’d said she planned to redirect to the new name when they had it, which meant they would be running both the entire time. That’s just how those things worked.

  And then the part about him going to the expo. Wishing she had thought to go, she pictured the convention center crammed with booths and like-minded outdoorsy people. She wouldn’t turn down the giveaways, and trying out the latest products sounded a heck of a lot more fun than ripping out mildewed carpet. Not to mention a trip to Colorado. She could have run by her alma mater and said hi to the ski team and coach. And here this guy was probably going to claim it as a business expense and get the whole trip paid for. She had to rein in her jealousy, but she didn’t have to like that he sounded like he was ordering her around.

  However, when it came to the remodel, she would show up, as scheduled, ready to work and do her part on November 14. Even if the elusive Mr. Konewko wouldn’t be in attendance.

  Brynn finished her salted caramel hot chocolate on the walk to the store a few mornings later and tossed her paper cup into the receptacle at the corner under the streetlamp. Ever since her first taste that day when Espe was experimenting, Brynn had been hooked. She lifted her chin to the breeze, relishing the slight crispness in the air. Maybe she was an odd one, but she was happy it was finally cold enough for a thick sweater and looked forward to pulling out her parka in another month when the weather cooled even more.

  Today was going to be a good day. The papers had been finalized at the close of business the day before. Once again, Mr. Konewko e-signed instead of showing up in person. She was getting used to this and figured today his absence might even come in handy. If she was the only owner there, she would be in charge of the remodel.

  The Temporarily Closed sign she’d hung the previous night was taped to the inside of the shop’s glass door, explaining that the store would reopen in ten days. Only ten days, then she’d be working the counter in her own store. Brynn could hardly believe it—a milestone she’d never aspired to but was grateful to reach. It certainly had not been the plan a year ago. At the time, she’d wondered what the future held for the next year. It was amazing how drastically her goals had changed—from skiing for the US Olympic team to settling down to a career as a shop owner and ski instructor to assist others whose dreams mirrored her own. Skiing was a fun ride while she was on it, but she found, now that she’d had time for her brain to consider other tracks, she was okay with the path her life had taken. What had once felt like a diversion from the real destination had become a cherished adventure. Perhaps the view from the top of this mountain she was currently climbing would be just as glorious and beautiful as her previous goal had been.

  Brynn had loved her university ski team. Loved the women she got to associate with and adored the coach she trained under, but she was ready for more weekends at home. She was tired of bunkhouses and hotels. And though she would try to deny it if anyone asked, the competition had burned out of her. She was tired of fighting for first, never fully enjoying the journey she’d been on. Brynn wanted to ski for fun, and she couldn’t remember ever doing that. She was poised to master a new kind of challenge. It was the most determined and inspired she had felt in a couple of years.

  Pulling her keys from the pocket in her knitted satchel, Brynn admired the newest addition to the ring. Separating it from her car and rental keys, Brynn turned the lock in the door to Owen’s, expecting to be alone since it was so early, but was surprised to be assaulted by a cacophony of unexpected noises. Country music played from a Bluetooth speaker on the register counter, punctuated by some kind of clanging in the room—the harsh sound of metal on metal. If she had to guess, a hammer and crowbar were guilty of the racket. To complete the symphony of
sounds, she heard the deep exhale of a man out of breath.

  “How bad do you want it?” a deep voice belted out, clearly enjoying the Tim McGraw song and thinking he was alone.

  “Hello?” she yelled over the music.

  The singing stopped abruptly, and a head popped up from behind a stack of plastic tubs. A perfectly gorgeous head with short-cropped dark hair, symmetrical features, and soft, kissable lips. She hadn’t exactly been looking for a love interest at this juncture in life—she hardly had the time for it right now—but she could definitely make an exception for Mr. Konewko’s construction guy.

  “Oh, hey,” he said, straightening up and trying to act as if he hadn’t just gotten caught playing Pitch Perfect. His eyes locked on hers, and she felt weak in the knees.

  “Hi.” She tried to tear her look from his as she walked toward him, offering her hand. “I’m Brynn.”

  He grasped her hand, his hand warm and large and somehow comforting as it wrapped almost completely around hers. “Gage.”

  The man was gorgeous, much too good-looking to be hidden away on his knees pulling up carpet. He was easily six feet tall and looked like he worked out more than just swinging a hammer. Long, thick lashes fringed his dark chocolate eyes. Brynn found herself with a new goal—to rub her palm over the sexy stubble of his beard and the short hairs at the nape of his neck. To get back on track, Brynn tried to come up with something intelligent to say.

  “So, what do we have going on so far?” she asked, surveying the room.

  The racks and shelves that had been spread out in that corner of the room yesterday had been shoved over, but if they were going to do the entire floor, the room clearly needed to be emptied.

  “I’m just figuring out how stuck this carpet is to the subfloor.”