The Guestbook

by Andrea Hurst

  “To sleep only,” Lily said.

  He looked at her long, creamy legs and doubted he could just sleep beside her. But the last thing he wanted to say was no to her. He followed her into the bedroom and watched her hop into the bed and pull the covers up to her chin.

  Ian slipped off his jeans and t-shirt and lay down far to the other side of the mattress over by the window.

  “Thanks,” he said, “this is so much better.”

  “You’re welcome.” Lily switched off the light and they both lay there in the total darkness of a moonless night.

  Ian closed his eyes and tried not to think about her warm, soft body only a few inches away. He flipped on one side then the other. This was impossible; there was no way he would be able to sleep. He considered going back out to the couch but did not want to wake her with his movements. Then she turned over and he knew she was awake, too. Every part of his being longed to take her in his arms, to bury his face in her silky hair and… Stop, he told himself, think of something else.

  “Ian?”

  He considered not answering, but that was ridiculous. “Yes, Lily?”

  “I can’t sleep. Would you hold me?”

  She did not have to ask twice. He rolled towards her and wrapped her in his arms. Lily laid her head into his shoulder. He kissed her hair and let his lips linger across her forehead and cheek. When she lifted her face to his, their lips met in a soft kiss that quickly deepened into a passionate embrace. Lily raked her fingers through his hair, her hands caressing his neck and running down his back. He tightened his embrace as she pressed her body into his.

  “Lily,” he gasped. “I want you. You don’t know how much.”

  She moaned as he lifted her t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. He traced her perfect breasts with his fingertips then bent to gently kiss them. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  Lily pulled him into her silky, moist body, whispering his name, running her tongue down his neck while her fingers gripped his back.

  He rolled her beneath him as he placed his slick body, burning with passion, over hers. He drifted, lost in an ecstasy he never thought he’d find again.

  ✦✦✦✦

  Ian smiled in his sleep. He was dreaming of Lily, dreaming he could smell the sweet herbal scent of her hair, that her warm body with its silk skin was cuddled beside him. He reached out and felt the warmth of her leg under his hand, and it startled him. He was fully awake now, and the memory of the night rushed back to him. He smiled. Perched on one elbow, he marveled at the remarkable woman sleeping beside him. She looked like a sleeping angel, golden hair swirled across the pillow like a halo around her lovely face.

  She stirred and his heartbeat picked up speed. He did not want to wake her. Fear gripped his heart. What if she woke up and was upset at finding herself in bed with him? He had pushed gently, but not against her will. She was like a newborn colt, stumbling around on fragile legs trying to walk by herself. He wanted to protect her and give her that chance. He did not mean to rush her, but his passion for her had overtaken him. Despite their obvious attraction for one another, until now her fear had kept her from letting go. He hoped something had changed for them last night and that now he could open his heart to her. The realization that he had grown so fond of her hit him with a gale force.

  Agitated, he carefully lifted off the blanket and slid out of bed. He retrieved his jeans and t-shirt from the floor and slipped them on. He paced the oak floor, intermittently glancing over at Lily to be sure his silent vigil did not wake her. What was he doing? She was not even divorced, and he was in a very vulnerable position himself, opening his heart to someone who could just as easily return to her husband, leave the island. Just the thought of it terrified him; he could not bear to lose another woman he loved.

  He remembered his sketchpad and pencils in his backpack. With supplies in hand, he quietly positioned himself in the wicker chair opposite the bed and studied his subject with an artist’s eye and distance. Yes…this feels better, he thought, just draw and don’t think. He sketched her face with broad strokes, highlighting the angular cheekbones and wide curvaceous lips. Her long neck and shapely shoulders peeked above the fluffy down comforter. He drew the bed floating on abstract images of bubbling, misty water. Enormous heron wings crossed the sky, casting shadows on the cedar trees below. Ian surveyed his sketch and smiled. It would make a good painting someday.

  “You look very pleased with yourself,” a female voice said with a giggle.

  Taken aback, Ian looked up see Lily sitting up in bed, sporting a teasing grin. “Absorbed in your work?” she joked. “Let me see what you’ve drawn.”

  He laid his drawing down. “Later, when it’s ready.”

  “Brr, it’s cold in here,” she said, pulling the covers up to her chin.

  Ian moved to the bed and bent over to give her a soft kiss on the lips. “Good morning, beautiful. Do you want me to come under the covers and warm you up?” He saw hesitation in her eyes and the way they darted to the clock. He straightened up. “How about I turn on the heat, put on some shoes, and get us some lattés from the lobby?”

  “Great idea. Any food would be appreciated too,” Lily said.

  He put on his tennis shoes and pulled a charcoal-gray sweatshirt over his head. “I think I remember something about a continental breakfast. Be back in a sec.”

  Ian hummed as he sauntered down the hall. “Good sign she wants to stay for breakfast,” he mumbled to himself. The lobby was toasty and filled with the smell of fresh pastries and coffee. At the start of the buffet were trays with extendable legs that could be pulled down if you wanted breakfast in bed. Great idea, he thought. He filled the tray with flaky croissants, thick loganberry jam, and a glass custard cup filled with fruit salad.

  A young attendant walked by with refills for buffet tables, and Ian stopped him with a question. “Where’s the coffee?”

  He pointed to the automatic espresso machine on the other side of the lobby. “It’s self-serve, sir. Real easy,though, just push a button for the kind you want. Mochas, lattés, you pick.”

  Ian perched two large round cups on the tray and headed for the machine. He pushed the various buttons, and within minutes the cups were filled with steaming lattés. Balancing the tray carefully, he walked back to the cabin and used his foot to knock on the door.

  Lily answered wrapped in a terrycloth robe provided by the lodge. She looked at the trays full of food. “Yum. Great job, Ian.”

  “You haven’t seen the best part yet. Hop back in bed.”

  Lily frowned.

  “Trust me.”

  She jumped on the bed and stuffed a few pillows behind her back. Ian lifted a tray and released the wooden legs. “Voila!” he said, grinning. “Breakfast in bed.”

  He placed the tray legs over Lily’s lap first, and then joined her in bed. He loved watching her eat. She savored every flaky bite of jam-covered croissant with a childlike pleasure. The comfortable silence between them as they ate felt natural and right. The clock registered 10:30 AM. Ian hated the thought that they would have to check out today. Maybe it was best they left soon, that he backed off a little and gave her some space.

  “Check out is at noon,” Ian said between bites.

  Lily looked up at him, but he couldn’t distinguish the look in her eyes.

  She took a last sip of her coffee. “Would you like to shower first?” she asked.

  After last night, he was kind of hoping they would shower together, but it was obvious she was starting to pull away again. “You go,” he said. She looked uncomfortable about getting out of bed. Ian turned his back to her. “Not looking, all clear.”

  He felt her slip out of the bed and heard the bathroom door close behind her. A sharp pain crossed his chest. He did not want this to be just a one-night stand. He got out of bed and rolled up the drawing he’d made while Lily slept, then retreated to the sitting area so she could have her privacy when she came out of the shower. We’ll le
ave as soon as she’s ready, he told himself. And then? He just wouldn’t think about it right now.

  ✦✦✦✦

  Lily stared out the passenger window, admiring the view on the drive down the mountain road. Neither one of them had spoken since they got in the car. The awkwardness of the situation caught in her throat. Last night seemed like a dream. She had melted into his arms until she no longer knew where her body stopped and his began. His smooth, strong body…she could barely think of it without sighing. But now, in the light of day, without the wine and soothing hot waters of the spring, she felt shy, uncertain. He seemed anxious to get back in bed with her this morning, but she’d panicked. She could see the pain in his eyes when she asked to shower alone, but she needed some space to figure this all out.

  She glanced over at him and longed to run her fingers along his carved cheekbones and down to his unbelievably soft lips. Just thinking of his kisses left her knees weak. Ian did not look back at her. She wouldn’t blame him for being upset. Last night she’d thrown herself into his wondrous arms without a protest. Then this morning she was embarrassed for him to see her naked. Any woman would want him, and it was clear many women did. What was she doing? She was not even divorced and had no idea where her life was going. It would be so easy to turn to him, to let his kisses wash all her cares away. But at what price?

  The waters of the Sound were a solid gray as the ferry made its silent crossing in the dense fog. Was it only yesterday that Ian brought her hot chocolate from the snack bar?

  “We’re lucky the ferry is still running in this weather,” Ian said.

  She searched her mind for something to say, something to smooth the tension. “Thank you for sharing that wonderful place with me,” she finally said.

  He turned to face her. Hope flickered in his eyes. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I sure did.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” she said.

  The ferry horn blasted, alerting passengers to return to their cars. They hurried down the stairs and back into the Volvo. “I’ll turn the heat on as soon as they let us start the cars,” Ian said.

  She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, feel his warmth pour into her. But she hesitated. She did not want to lead him on when she just wasn’t sure what she felt or what she wanted. He had been through enough pain, too.

  When he pulled into her driveway, Ian carried her bag and walked her to the door.

  “I’ll see you next week when I return to the Island,” he said.

  Impulsively, Lily threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He returned her hug, but eventually he dropped his arms, releasing her, and walked back to the car.

  Back inside the house, Lily tossed her bag of clothes on the floor of her room in the innkeeper’s quarters. She lay down on top of the neatly made bed. It was hard to say goodbye when he’d dropped her at her door. Hard to watch him leave the island for the week. But some time apart was exactly what she thought would be best, and that is what she would tell him. Her nerve was failing as she thought about calling and telling him she needed a break. Then she remembered he had given her his business card. She could email him. It was cowardly, but she knew if she heard his voice or looked into those soulful eyes, she might back down.

  She got up and rummaged through her desk until she found the card. Ian McPherson—Artist, it said. The computer took a minute to boot up. Lily composed the words carefully. She just needed some time apart to think. She cared about him, but timing and circumstances made it too hard right now. She signed it, “with affection, Lily.” She hesitated before hitting send. Her heart screamed no, but it was the right thing to do…for now. She pressed send, closed the computer, and wondered how she would face this day.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The tendrils of fog crept down the jagged cliff nesting in the crags, dispersing into thin fingers as they reached for the sky. The effect reminded Lily of the ancient isle of Avalon, floating in the mist, only visible to those with the sight…the privileged few. If you answered its call, the island lured you in; first to its darkest places, testing your strength, revealing your weaknesses. But for those who survived the initiation, unparalleled beauty was revealed. And she had survived not only the winter turning mercifully towards spring, but the dark places that divorce had driven her to.

  The fog spilled into the cove, looking like steam rising above a boiling pot. Layers of silver and blue filled the bay. She had a lot of work to do today, business was picking up. Lily had her day planned filling orders for Jude and for the local grocery’s deli. She checked her calendar for the exact numbers. It was Saturday, and she’d seen Ian’s car arrive last night. He had not been back to the island in almost two weeks. Not since she sent the email. His reply had been sweet, that he would wait until she was ready. Lily missed him but was much more focused on her work without him there.

  Out the office window she noticed someone walking toward her drive. It was Ian crossing the field with a bouquet of tulips. “Ugh, I told him I needed some space,” she muttered to herself. She watched him walk to the old mailbox and put the bouquet inside, then turn and walk away. Disappointment gripped her. He could have come inside, she thought. No…good. He’s keeping his distance. Oh, I don’t know what I want! She resisted the urge to go to the mailbox, take the flowers, and run after him. Instead she waited a few minutes before heading out there.

  The dusty path going up the driveway to the mailbox was bordered by blooming irises, wild pink lupines, and fragrant herbs. Since winter had turned to spring and summer’s promise was in the air, the meadow was starting to turn to shades of emerald, and the towering pines flanking it provided shade for the wild ferns. The sun was climbing overhead and just starting to penetrate the misty fog.

  She retrieved the pink tulips and today’s mail, brought them into the kitchen, and laid them on the counter. The note said: Lily, miss seeing you. Come by or call when you have time. ~Ian

  Short, simple, to the point. She weighed the note in her hand. Communication was not one of his strongest points, but then she had told him to give her some space. He seemed too good to be true, just like Brad had at first. There was no way she was going to rush into anything; she had a business to build, a future to figure out.

  They were a stark contrast to the blood-red roses Brad had brought her. Lily tried to decide whether to place them in a vase or into the garbage. The vase won out. Pretty tricky. He brings me flowers so when I look at them I think of him. Possibly the garbage can was the better choice after all.

  She ruffled through the mail and found another plain envelope with no return address. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she ripped it open.

  You might as well start packing because the house will be mine soon.

  Who was sending these and why? It was not Brad. Some crazy person probably. It made Lily uneasy, but she crushed the note in her hand and threw it in the wastebasket.

  On to something more pleasurable, like trying out her new finds from the overflowing recipe box her grandmother had left in the kitchen. She opened the box and turned a well-worn card over. Yum, lavender orange syrup over stuffed French toast, sounds like a breakfast from a dream. She read over the ingredients, punctuating them with the occasional blissful sigh, then closed her eyes and imagined–fresh-squeezed orange juice, just-picked lavender sprigs from the garden, cinnamon, vanilla, and thick maple syrup drizzled over puffy French toast browned in butter, stuffed with cream cheese and orange zest. Heavenly!

  She flipped through the box overflowing with more precious recipes. She sensed aromas floating up from the kitchen and could hear her grandma’s soft hum as she cooked.

  Her taste buds were alert as she read over what must have been her grandmother’s favorites: Lemon coconut bread pudding, potato sour cream pie, asparagus feta frittata, bittersweet chocolate cherry muffins. Her hands itched to cook them all. But who would eat them? She spread cards from every category across the table: breakfast treats, salads, baked goods, gourmet casseroles, an
d specials of the house. There were certainly enough of them to make a go of it as a decent business and run a full bed and breakfast at some point. Some of the other restaurants in town would carry a few products too.

  She held up the two index cards written in her grandmother’s distinct hand. Quickly assessing the ingredients, Lily knew these would be scrumptious and would work for Jude and the deli at Cascade Market. She could produce these in individual sizes or in a large batch. Customers would love this Fennel Sausage Frittata with artichoke hearts and provolone cheese.

  Her mouth watered as she read each ingredient. Ideas for a packaging logo flooded her mind. A cute label with the name, Grandma Maggie’s Baking Company. The second card held a recipe with multiple uses–Inn Style Cookies.

  Perfect! Cookies, batches and batches, would adorn her kitchen counters starting today. Besides selling them to the stores, they might work for a mail order item as well. Of course, when she reopened the B&B, they could be her afternoon cookie jar filler.

  She would show Brad…she would show herself.

  She could hear Mary arriving through the front door and went to greet her.

  “Afternoon, Lily. I brought some fresh eggs and just-pressed apple juice from Wasson’s Farm.” Mary smelled the flowers. “Oh, how lovely. Secret admirer?”

  “I’m glad you like them. They’re yours. Please take them home with you.”

  Mary replied, “But they’re beautiful and they’re yours.”

  Lily insisted.

  “Consider them gone,” Mary said. “Now, what’s on the menu today?”

  Lily started taking out ingredients. “We’re baking cranberry scones and chocolate cherry cookies.”

  “Let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work.” Mary’s melodic humming blended with sounds from the mixer and helped brighten the cold spring morning.

  Lily measured out the dark chocolate, sour cream, butter and sugar, and blended in the cherries while Mary greased the pans. “We’re doing three dozen of each today. I made the quiches earlier. One is pesto and feta and the other is mushroom and spinach.”