The Inn at Laurel Creek

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  "It's not fair that I'm half naked and you're fully dressed," I said.

  He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside. "Better?"

  I nodded, distracted by the ripples on his tanned abs. I slid my fingers down from his chest to his trim waist, feeling each bump and curve, feeling his strength in contrast to the softness of his skin. The sun sent rays through the tree branches above us, making his skin glow with warmth. "You have an incredible body. I've wanted to touch you since the day I met you," I said, trailing my fingers around his chest in tiny circles.

  I kissed his neck, breathing in his scent and holding my breath, letting it bury itself inside me. I wanted to keep his smell with me forever.

  I dropped my hand to his shorts and tried to unbutton them, but my hands shook again.

  Ben chuckled, and grabbed my hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing my fingers. "You're not good at undressing, are you?"

  "Apparently not so much."

  He kissed my hand again while his other hand unbuttoned his shorts in one move.

  "Wow, you're good."

  "More like impatient," he said, his voice deep and soft. "I just want to feel your skin against mine."

  "Well then," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "what are you waiting for?"

  We made love for hours right there next to the creek, our bodies entwined and our hearts connected. It was exciting and sexy and amazing and familiar too—like we were meant to be together, and I didn't want it to stop.

  ***

  Ben lay next to me, twirling my hair between his fingers.

  "You're incredible."

  "So are you."

  "We missed dinner," he said, running a finger down my neck.

  "I know," I said, not sorry at all. "Lou's probably mad."

  "Are you kidding me? She's probably doing her happy dance, knowing we're together and you know about Bret."

  "You're probably right."

  He sat up, keeping me covered with the throw from his bag. He grabbed my bra and shirt and handed them to me, then put on his own shirt. "We should get back though. It's dark and there are wild animals out here."

  "Are you scared of wild animals, Ben?" I tried to maneuver the throw so I could put on my bra without dropping it, but it didn't work. "Because that's not very manly and you don't want to mess up that manly image I have of you, do you?"

  "Do I need to prove to you—again—that I'm a man?"

  I pulled my shirt over my head. "I think you're going to have to, but not here. First I need some food and a big glass of that sweet tea Lou makes, but you can start to prove it by protecting me from the wild animals on the way back to the Inn."

  "Deal," he said, a big smile on his face.

  ***

  Lou was frantic when we arrived, and after apologizing repeatedly for worrying her, we walked the walk of shame up to our rooms, with the addition of our tails between our legs for upsetting her.

  "That was embarrassing," I said, standing next to my room.

  "Lou's a big girl. She'll be fine," Ben said. "She'll have dinner up on the deck for us as soon as we're finished showering, too." He kissed my forehead. "Do you need help washing your back?" He bobbed his eyebrows up and down.

  I opened my door. "So cheesy."

  "Is that a yes or a no?"

  I closed the door without letting him in, giving him my answer. I was in desperate need of a shower and had to pee so bad I thought I would burst—not something any woman wants to do in the early stages of romance.

  An hour later I was on the deck waiting for Ben. I'd dressed quickly, wearing just a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, my usual sleep attire. I wasn't sure if one of us would stay with the other, and I wasn't trying to be sexy—as if that was possible in a tank top and boxers. I just wanted to be comfy. I was equally tired and energized, and my body fought itself when I yawned and fidgeted at the same time. I was nervous but I couldn't quite figure out why. Being with Ben had been everything I'd imagined—more, really, and I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable, in fact, just the opposite. I wondered if my nervousness was because of that…because of how comfortable I felt with him…how easy it was to be with him…how much I wanted him. How was this even possible so soon? Did he feel the same? Of course earlier it was obvious he did, but I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made more out of the sex than was really there. I stopped myself from going down that road, and instead admired what Lou had done to the deck.

  She had dinner waiting, and she had lit dozens of small candles, placing them along the entire length of the deck railing. Soft music played in the background and tiny white lights entwined through the trellis were lit up like stars. It was incredibly sweet and romantic, maybe even magical, and I made a mental note to thank her with a special gift when I got back home.

  I sat in the rocking chair, breathing in the smells from the dinner she'd prepared. I snuck a peek under the tops of the trays and my mouth watered. Homemade fried chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, and corn casserole along with a massive piece of cheesecake made my stomach growl.

  "What's under there?" Ben asked.

  "The most amazing looking macaroni and cheese I've ever seen, for starters," I said. "Will you hurry up and sit so I can eat? I'm famished."

  "I have that effect on women."

  I couldn't argue with that.

  "So tell me about your tour," I said as we ate.

  And he did. He told me all of the different states and venues—all big and all sold out.

  "Are you playing in Atlanta?"

  He nodded. "Verizon in Alpharetta. It's my first stop. You'll come, right?"

  "Oh God, my friends are going to flip. What am I gonna tell them?"

  "Tell them you've got backstage passes to meet Bret Bennett and when they're there, we'll break it to them."

  "Do you know how much that will freak them out?" I loved the idea. "They'll pee themselves from the excitement. I'm pretty sure at least one of them will want to sleep with you."

  "Hopefully not the one that pees herself."

  I smacked him in the arm. "Funny."

  "Maybe have them bring a change of clothes along too, just in case." He winked at me.

  The thought of surprising my friends like that made me so excited—thinking about the expressions on their faces, how they'd react knowing Bret Bennett was mine. I wasn't sure I could keep the secret much longer than another twenty-four hours, let alone a few more weeks. "I'm not sure I can wait that long. I mean, girls talk, Ben. We tell our friends about our boyfriends, and even though you're Ben Reynolds to me, you're still Bret Bennett and that's a pretty big secret to keep."

  "I'm your boyfriend?"

  I blushed. "Oh, well you know what I mean."

  "No, I don't," he said, leaning toward me and kissing me. "Tell me."

  "You said you wanted this to continue after we got back to the city," I said. "So I thought that meant…" I was horribly embarrassed, heat rushing to my face. "I guess I just assumed…"

  "Right," he said. "You assumed right. I'm your boyfriend and you're my girlfriend. I like that. We're a couple, so that means you can't see anyone else, or think about anyone else."

  "Who would I think about?" I asked.

  "Matthew?"

  "I'm sorry, who?"

  Ben's expression changed from flirtatious to serious. "Are you over him, Carly?"

  I stood, pushed the food tray aside and sat on Ben's lap, nuzzling his neck. "I'm over him, Ben. From the moment I saw you, Matthew didn't matter. I don't even care that he's married, in fact, I hope he's happy."

  "Do you think it's possible to fall in love that quickly now?"

  I knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if I was in love with him. I was, but I wasn't sure if he felt the same, and I didn't want to say the wrong thing. "I'm more open to the idea now."

  He leaned down and picked up his guitar. "I want to play you what I wrote for you."

  I scooted off of his lap and
back to my chair. "Okay." I twisted my hands together, nervous and excited.

  "I played it for my manager this morning, and I've added it to my playlist. It'll be the first encore on the first night of my tour, and I'd like you to come out on stage with me."

  On stage? "I don't know if I can do that. I've never been on stage before. What if I make a fool of myself? Or of you?"

  He laughed. "You won't, I promise."

  "But I thought you wanted to keep your private life private?"

  "You're right, and when I think about it, I don't want to share you with anyone."

  His fingers picked the strings of the guitar, playing a slow, soft melody that reminded me of the few moments just after we'd made love, wrapped in each other's arms, feeling happy and sated.

  Ben's voice was low and smooth, and I could feel the emotion coming from deep inside of him.

  "I hadn't found my way,

  Living my life day to day,

  Not thinkin' about what I was missing,

  No miracles for me,

  Until I saw you lying there.

  In that moment, I knew I'd never be the same.

  So let's not waste time, let's take this leap of faith.

  I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you."

  He didn't finish the song. Instead, he set down his guitar, grabbed my hands from across the small table and pulled me over to him again. "I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you."

  "I love you, too."

  "So I guess you believe it's possible to fall in love in a short time now?"

  "I didn't know."

  "Because you'd never experienced it."

  "But now I do, and I have to admit, it's amazing."

  He leaned his forehead into mine. "Yes, it is."

  He kissed me then, a kiss that lasted a long, long time.

  READ ON FOR CHAPTER ONE

  OF

  UNFINISHED BUSINESS

  AN ANGELA PANTHER NOVEL

  BY

  CAROLYN RIDDER ASPENSON

  PRAISE FOR

  UNFINISHED BUSINESS

  AN ANGELA PANTHER NOVEL

  "I laughed and I cried...and laughed...and cried...throughout the entire book! This book was so real (yes even with the heroine seeing her mother's ghost) and the emotion in it will stay with me for a long, long time!"

  —Joe Cool Review

  "It definitely touched a chord with anyone who has ever lost a loved one. The writing was strong and the dialogue -- which many people simply cannot write—was terrific."

  —Christie Giraud, editor, Editingpro.com

  "What a fantastic read! I couldn't put it down! I had to keep reading just to see what twist life was going throw out at Angela next!"

  —Chicklit Plus

  "The author has a great sense of humor, even about death, but when the story called for it, she was reverent and empathetic in the way her characters handled each other."

  —Caroline Fardig, Bestselling Author of It's Just a Little Crush

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE AIR IN the room felt frigid and sent an icy chill deep into my bones. Searching for comfort, I lay on the rented hospice bed, closed my eyes, and snuggled under Ma’s floral print quilt. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of Dove soap, Calvin Klein Eternity perfume and stale cigarettes. The stench of death lingered in the air, trying hard to take over my senses, but I refused to let it in. Death may have taken my mother, but not her smell. Not yet.

  “You little thief, I know what you did now.”

  I opened my eyes and searched the room, but other than my Pit Bull, Greyhound mix Gracie, and me, it was empty. Gracie sensed my ever so slight movement, and laid her head back down. I saw my breath, which wouldn’t have been a big deal except it was May, in Georgia. I closed my eyes again.

  “I know you can hear me, Angela. Don’t you ignore me.”

  I opened my eyes again. “Ma?”

  Floating next to the bed, in the same blue nightgown she had on when she died, was my mother, or more likely, some grief induced image of her.

  “Ma?" I laughed out loud. “What am I saying? It’s not you. You’re dead.’

  The grief induced image spoke. “Of course I’m dead, Angela, but I told you if I could, I’d come back. And I can so, tada, here I am.”

  The image floated up in the air, twirled around in a few circles and floated back down.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, trying to right my brain or maybe shake loose the crazy, but it was pointless because when I opened my eyes again, the talking image of my mother was still there.

  “Oh good grief, stop it. It’s not your head messing with you, Angela. It’s me, your Ma. Now sit up and listen to me. This is important.”

  As children we’re conditioned to respond to our parents when they speak to us. We forget it as teenagers, but somewhere between twenty and the birth of our first child, we start acknowledging them again, maybe even believing some of what they tell us. Apparently it was no different when you imagined their ghost speaking to you, too. Crazy maybe, but no different.

  I rubbed my eyes. “This is a dream, so I might as well go with it."

  I sat up, straightened my back, plastered a big ol’ smile on my face, because it was a dream and I could be happy the day my mom died, in a dream and said, “Hi Ma, how are you?”

  “You ate my damn Hershey bars."

  “Hershey bars? I dream about my dead mother and she talks about Hershey bars. What is that?”

  “Don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Angela."

  “But I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma.” I shook my head again and thought for sure I was bonkers, talking to an imaginary Ma.

  “Oh for the love of God, Angela, my Hershey bars. The ones I hid in the back of my closet.”

  Oh. Those Hershey bars, from like, twenty years ago, at least. The ones I did eat.

  “How do you know it was me that ate your Hershey bars? That was over twenty years ago.”

  The apparition smirked. “I don’t know how I know, actually. I just do. I know about all of the stuff you did, and your brothers too. It’s all in here now.” She pointed to her, slightly transparent head and smirked.

  She floated up to the ceiling, spun in a circle, and slowly floated back down. “And look, I’m floating. Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you, Angela? You know, I’d sit but I tried that before and fell right through to the damn basement. And let me tell you, that was not fun. It was creepy, and it scared the crap outta me. And oh, Madone, the dust between your two floors! Good Lord, it was nasty. You need to clean that. No wonder Emily’s always got a snotty nose. She’s allergic.”

  “Emily does not always have a snotty nose.” She actually did but I wasn't going to let Ma have that one.

  The apparition started to say something, then scrutinized at the bed. “Ah, Madone, that mattress. That was the most uncomfortable thing I ever slept on, but don’t get me started on that. That’s a conversation for another time.”

  Another time?

  “And I hated that chair.” She pointed to the one next to the bed. “You should have brought my chair up here instead. I was dying and you wanted me to sit in that chair? What with that uncomfortable bed and ugly chair, my back was killing me.” She smiled at her own joke, but I sat there stunned, and watched the apparition’s lips move, my own mouth gaping, as I tried to get my mind and my eyes to agree on what floated in front of me.

  “Ah, Madone. Stop looking at me like that, Angela Frances Palanca. You act like you’ve never seen a ghost.”

  “Ma, I haven’t ever seen a ghost, and my name is Angela Panther, not Palanca. You know that.” My mother always called me Angela Palanca, and it drove both my father and me batty. She said I was the closest thing to a true Italian she could create, and felt I deserved the honor of an Italian last name. She never liked Richter, my maiden name, because she said it was too damned German.

  “And that recliner of yours was falling ap
art. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself in it. Besides, it was ugly, and I was sort of embarrassed to put it in the dining room.” I shook my head again. “And you’re not real, you’re in my head. I watched them take your body away, and I know for a fact you weren’t breathing, because I checked.”

  Realizing that I was actually having a discussion with someone who could not possibly be real, I pinched myself to wake up from what was clearly some kind of whacked-out dream.

  “Stop that, you know you bruise easily. You don’t want to look like a battered wife at my funeral, do you?”

  Funeral? I had no intention of talking about my mother’s funeral with a figment of my imagination. I sat for a minute, speechless, which for me was a huge challenge.

  “They almost dropped you on the driveway, you know.” I giggled, and then realized what I was doing, and immediately felt guilty, for a second.

  Ma scrunched her eyebrows and frowned. “I know. I saw that. You’d think they’d be more careful with my body, what with you standing there and all. There you were, my daughter, watching them take away my lifeless, battered body, and I almost went flying off that cart. I wanted to give them a what for, and believe me, I tried, but I felt strange, all dizzy and lightheaded. Sort of like that time I had those lemon drop drinks at your brother’s wedding. You know, the ones in those little glasses? Ah, that was a fun night. I haven’t danced like that in years. I could have done without the throwing up the next day, though, that’s for sure.”

  Lifeless, battered body? What a dramatic apparition I’d imagined.

  I sat up and rubbed my eyes and considered pinching myself again, but decided the figment was right, I didn’t want to be all bruised for the funeral.

  There I sat, in the middle of the night, feeling wide awake, but clearly dreaming. I considered telling her to stay on topic, seeing as dreams didn't last very long, and maybe my subconscious needed my dream to process her death but I didn't. “This is just a dream." I tried to convince myself the apparition wasn’t real.