by Annie Jones
Had he done something to hurt her? To embarrass her? Was she angry with him? Just as he had a few short hours ago, Andy began to drift off to sleep with these questions colliding in his mind.
“Andy!” He heard his name through his musings. Louder this time, but still hushed and hurried.
“What?” He opened both eyes and looked directly out the open door of the room, into the empty hallway. The light from his alarm clock stung his darkness-adjusted eyes as he checked the time. “It’s five-thirty in the morning. If I’m imagining this, I want it to stop. If not, well, I still want it to stop. Do you hear me…”
“Andy!” This time a face appeared in the doorway. Two faces, actually, if you counted the sock monkey, Buddy, that Greer held clutched to her chest as she poked her head around the side of the doorway.
“Greer. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to get to work around here for a few more hours. Let me get some more sleep and I promise when I get up I’ll make you the biggest bowl of sugary cereal you have ever seen.”
“In a couple hours it will be too late.” She disappeared into the hallway, leaving her sock monkey’s limbs swinging against the door frame as the only evidence she had ever been there.
“Too late for what?” He scrunched his eyes shut and yawned.
“Too late to catch whoever is downstairs,” she whispered as she peered in again.
“Greer, I have told you a hundred times that nobody—”
Clang. The sound of metal ringing against something hard rose from somewhere below, followed by a thump and a thud, a crash then a bump. Then silence.
Andy was out of bed so fast he dragged half the covers with him. They fell into a pile on the floor. He had to disentangle himself as he told his sister, “Get in here. Lock the door behind you. Get in the closet with my cell phone and if I don’t give you an all-clear in three minutes, call the sheriff. You remember how to do that, right?”
His sister nodded solemnly and did as she was told.
Andy hesitated for only a moment, wondering if he should bother with putting on shoes. He decided against it. He wasn’t actually afraid so much as concerned. More than likely, it was nothing, a bit of equipment not put away properly that had fallen. Maybe one of the workers had come in early to try to finish up a job. That happened sometimes since the guys didn’t get paid until they had completed each week’s assignment.
Or it could be an animal, a raccoon or even a stray dog that found a way in and began foraging for food. Still, he said a quick prayer that he wasn’t about to surprise thieves rummaging through the place in hopes of stripping out the copper pipes, hauling off the appliances or making away with anything from the doors to the light bulbs.
As his bare feet hit the icy unfinished concrete floor in the lobby, he said a silent prayer that all would go well, then looked around for a length of pipe or a board to use as a weapon if it came to that.
A noise from the kitchen made him freeze. A smack. Followed by a slap. And right on the heels of that, a thwap! Each had its own distinct sound and none of them put him in mind of a burglary in progress. In fact, it sounded to him like—
“La-la-la… La-la-la… La-la-la-la-la-la…hey!”
“Corrie,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up his pace, built up steam and hit the swinging kitchen door with his arm straight. “Hey yourself! What are you doing in my kitchen so early in the—”
Corrie gave out a startled scream as she spun around, sending the bowl of flour in her hands exploding outward in a big white cloud.
A cloud that landed right in Andy’s face.
“…morning,” Andy finished, spewing the gritty flour and other ingredients and wiping them from around his eyes. He supposed he should have seen that coming.
Corrie gasped and put the bowl aside, practically stumbling over herself to get to him. “I’m so sorry that happened but to be fair, you did scare the stuffing out of me.”
“And what do you think you did to Greer? Coming out here at five-thirty in the morning.” He reached for a towel and began cleaning himself up.
“You told me you needed to see the gingerbread inn put together to get a better idea how to fix the problems I’ve had with it.” She spread her hands wide to show what she had been up to. “So I’m baking. I told you that I start early in the morning.”
“Baking I understand. Getting an early start, totally get that. What I don’t know is how you got in here?”
“Greer gave me her backpack to hold on to. She had a key hanging on the side.” Corrie motioned to the familiar pink pack now lying on the floor in the corner of the kitchen. She began looking around, opened the broom closet and got out the broom. Within minutes, she was taking care of the spilled ingredients coating the floor. “I didn’t think it would be a problem since we’d talked about me coming here to put the gingerbread inn together.”
“We did?” He had to step lively to avoid the whisking bristles. He took a minute to grab the dustpan and laid it down for her to brush the debris into. “When?”
“At the park. Don’t you remember?” She took the dustpan from him, emptied the contents then put the broom away. After washing her hands, she began moving around the kitchen with all the grace of an ice skater taking command of the rink. “You thought it might help you to fix the gingerbread inn if you saw the problems?”
He scratched the back of his neck and when he looked at his hand, there was flour under his nails. He didn’t know whether to laugh or grumble. “I did say that. But I don’t recall us scheduling this.”
“Scheduling?” She laughed lightly. “I didn’t know I had to schedule baking gingerbread.”
“Baking gingerbread in my kitchen,” he reminded her.
“I have to have the entry at the community center no later than Friday at five. I don’t have time for elaborate plans and meetings, Andy.” She went to the fridge, opened it and reached inside. She brought out some eggs, milk and butter and closed the door with a swing of her hips. “You know it’s not all bad having me here in your kitchen so early, you know.”
“Bad?” He went to the kitchen island, pulled out one of the two stools alongside it and sat.
Corrie never stopped moving, placing the carton of eggs down, flipping it open, getting down a clean bowl, taking up a whisk, looking in cabinets.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even in what had to be a pretty unfamiliar setting, she showed no hesitance in going for what she wanted, whether it be a frying pan or a solution for her gingerbread problem. And when her actions didn’t bring the results she hoped for, it didn’t even slow her down.
“Let me just get one of these,” she said under her breath as she reached around him to pluck a measuring spoon off the island by his hand.
She brushed so close he caught a whiff of vanilla and spice. He didn’t know if it was her shampoo or the aftereffect of her work in the kitchen this morning. Not that it mattered. She should always smell like something rich and sweet and natural, he decided. It fit her so. As did those red glasses, that big apron and even those cumbersome boots.
In this cozy space with the cold darkness of a winter morning beyond these walls he couldn’t imagine anything bad about having her in this inn, in this kitchen, in his home. He opened his mouth to tell her just that but before he could get the words out, another sound startled them both.
“Is that a siren?” Corrie put everything down and went to the swinging door. When she pushed it open a piercing whine filled the room.
“Greer! I forgot to give her the all-clear!” Andy got up so fast the stool wobbled and almost tipped over. He and Corrie both dove for it, each catching it by the edge, his hand covering hers.
“All-clear?” she asked.
“We thought you were a burglar,” he told her as he set the stool upright. Neither of them took their hands away. “I’m not used to having anyone in my place this early in the morning.”
“So you had Greer call the law on me?” A smile broke slowly acros
s her lovely face. “I hope you still don’t consider me too much of a threat.”
“I think I can handle whatever danger you might bring my way,” he said softly.
The air practically crackled between them. Andy felt that he had to say more, but what? If he reminded her that there could never be anything between them it might hurt her feelings. Or it might hurt his if she laughed in his face at the very idea he ever had a shot with her. If he said what he really wanted to say—to tell her that in just the short time he’d known her she had gotten under his skin like no other woman he had ever met—her laughing in his face would not just hurt, it would kill him.
For the first time in a long time Andy didn’t just lack a plan, he had no idea how to formulate one. Corrie Bennington had him that far off balance.
“Andy?”
“Hmm?”
“You better go talk to the sheriff. Then maybe reassure Greer that everything is okay. I’d go up to her but seeing an unfamiliar figure in the dark upstairs might terrify her. So you go. After that, why don’t all of you meet me in the dining room?”
“The dining room?” He thought of the roughed-out room that still needed the drywall finished, painting and above all, a floor over the unimpressive concrete there now. “What will be in the dining room?”
“A surprise.” She patted his cheek then stood up and waved both hands as if to shoo him away. “I told you it wouldn’t be too bad having me here this early. Trust me. Let me do something for you to smooth things over with the sheriff and ease Greer’s anxiety.”
Trust her? He did. Let her fix things for him? “I don’t need help smoothing things over with anyone, Corrie. I told you I can handle it. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the offer.”
“And?”
A pounding at the front door echoed through the nearly empty lobby and dining room. “Andy? Greer? Is everything all right in there?”
Andy resettled the stool, which clearly had been fine and didn’t need further settling, and gave her a brisk nod. “I’ll go take care of the sheriff and Greer.”
“And after that, bring them into the dining room. If you feel the need to do something more, set up a table and get out enough flatware for four.”
He wanted to question that but with the sheriff calling out his name, he couldn’t spare the time.
“Everything looks secure from out here but no one is answering. I don’t know if Greer just called on her own and Andy isn’t even awake or if something is actually wrong.” The sheriff’s voice was heard then a crackle and a response Andy suspected was over a walkie-talkie. “If I don’t get an answer in a couple seconds, I’ll find a way in.”
Andy reached the door before the man—who was only a couple years older than Andy—got too worked up.
“Hey, Jim,” he told the mayor’s son as he let him inside. “Thanks for getting here so fast and for not breaking the door down once you got here.”
Jim Walker placed his walkie-talkie on the spot on his shoulder where it usually lay quiet. He tipped his hat back with one hand then laughed. “I did a quick survey of the grounds before I knocked. Besides your truck and a pint-sized hybrid with South Carolina tags, no vehicles on the grounds. No signs of forced entry. I figured Greer was overreacting.”
Andy grimaced. “What did she say?”
He followed Andy into the lobby, and slipped his hat from his head and began unsnapping his leather jacket. “Well, she whispered for starters, and said, ‘You have to come and bring the big guns. They got Andy already but I won’t let ’em get me.’”
“Big guns?” Andy rested one hand on the banister and shook his head. “I have to talk to Mom about how much TV she’s watching. I’m going to go upstairs and let the kid know it was just Corrie Bennington, you know the baker who helped your mom with the lights yesterday? She’s making gingerbread in the kitchen. Sorry about that.”
“No problem. While I’m out here, need anything else?”
“Actually, Corrie asked me to bring you and Greer with me into the dining room and set up a table. Got something in mind, I guess. She thinks she’s being helpful.”
“Well, then, let’s let her play it out. No reason to be rude.” He positioned his hat on the counter where guests would one day register then tossed his jacket next to it. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically as he said, “You go see to your sister, I’ll get the table ready.”
Andy hesitated. He had expected his friend, upon finding nothing out of order, would just go about his business. That he wanted to cooperate with Corrie’s scheme without even knowing what it was because it was the nice thing to do, needled Andy. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Why hadn’t he been that gracious when Corrie asked him to go along with her?
Because he didn’t need her help, he argued in his head. Why encourage that waste of effort and time when he had everything under control?
He couldn’t help sighing at his own bullheadedness as he trudged upstairs to tend to Greer. It didn’t take much, once he mentioned Corrie’s name, to refocus the girl’s energy. She wrapped herself in her robe and took off like it was daybreak on Christmas morning, insisting that Corrie would need her immediately.
Andy took the time to change out of the clothes he had slept in and into some fresh jeans and a work shirt. He washed his face and neck to get the last of the flour, then brushed his teeth and checked his email to make sure his mom hadn’t sent any new information. He wasn’t stalling, he told himself, or worse, pouting because he didn’t want to surrender to Corrie’s offer. He was just going about his business. Stick with the plan. She was the one intruding, after all. Doing things that weren’t even necessary. Again, he knew that was pride talking, and when he got sick of hearing his lame justifications, he made his way down the stairs.
“Mmmm. What smells so good?” he called out when his foot hit the concrete floor and he turned toward the dining room across the way from the big, open lobby.
“Only a southern breakfast so good it will make you want to slap your mama,” Corrie said as she lifted up a huge platter.
Greer gasped.
Corrie set the platter on the table in front of Jim Walker, who tipped his head to one side and narrowed his eyes to study her.
“That’s just an expression, Greer, honey. A good southerner would never slap his mama.” She smiled at the girl then noticed Jim staring at her and inched back a bit. “Have I got flour in my hair? Jelly on my clothes? Egg on my face?”
Jim shook his head and chuckled. “No, no. I’m sorry. It’s just that there is something familiar about you.”
“Me? Really?” She worked the knot of her apron free, slid it from her neck and hung it on the back of a chair before taking a seat. “Were you at the lighting last night, maybe you saw me there?”
“Oh, yeah.” He shot Andy a discerning look, like he was having trouble making all the pieces fit. “That must be it. Last night and then to see you here a few hours later.”
“I hope I don’t have to remind you that we called you because it was a surprise to find Corrie here this early in the morning,” Andy said. He hoped his tone came off protective to Corrie and maybe just a tiny bit menacing to Jim, just in case the guy was jumping to the wrong conclusion about what had gone on since the lighting.
“Yeah. Yeah. Of course,” Jim blurted out. “I didn’t mean to imply anything.”
A puzzled look came over Greer’s face and Corrie’s expression looked a bit bewildered as well.
“Look, it’s not like Corrie is going to stay here. She came by to use the kitchen and will be gone as soon as possible.”
“By Friday at the latest,” she chimed in before she raised a small bowl with a spoon in it and asked, “Who wants gravy on their biscuits?”
“Friday?” The legs of Andy’s chair squawked over the hard, cold floor as he scooted it forcefully backward. “Friday is, like, a whole week.”
“Five days, if you don’t count today. Or Friday.” The spoon in her
hand, brimming with thick, steaming gravy, hovered over Andy’s plate.
“I have a timetable, you know.” Suddenly, he didn’t feel like such a heel for not instantly bowing to this woman’s seemingly benevolent offer of help. Benevolent? Yeah, benevolent like a bulldozer.
He gazed into her eyes, trying to figure out what she was up to. She must have taken that as a sign that he wanted gravy. Lots of gravy.
She began ladling it over the golden, fluffy biscuits she had already laid out on a plate for him.
At the table, Jim couldn’t seem to shovel the meal in fast enough.
Greer was pushing broken bits of biscuits dripping with sweet-smelling amber honey into her mouth like it was popcorn and Andy and Corrie were an action-packed movie.
Andy didn’t care. He felt hemmed in and at the same time completely outside his element. He found himself torn between how much he cared about Corrie and his drive to come to her rescue and the carefully laid plans he had made to get the inn ready by the Christmas Eve open house. Those plans had been more than a year in progress. Corrie had popped up uninvited, unexpected, uncontainable.
But hadn’t he allotted Corrie enough of his time already? He’d told her how to brace the top half of her gingerbread inn. Sure, it didn’t deal with the roof issues, and he didn’t know until they put it together if his suggestions would work, but… “I have a ‘to-do’ list as long as my arm.”
“And what a nice, strong arm it is.” She patted his biceps. “I have my own list, you know. And none of it can get done if I have to stop and move my project around, maybe risk ruining it and having to start over. As for your list, if you would let me—”
“I have a plan. A deadline.” It was less of a protest and more of a proclamation of the simple facts. “Any of this ringing a bell with you?”
“I’m not trying to become a guest at the inn. I’ll only work here during daylight hours then go back to my groovy digs at the Maple Leaf Manor.” She smiled.
