Buns

by Alice Clayton

  He sighed. “When someone dies, the people left behind, no one quite knows what to do with them. They don’t want to talk about it, but sometimes you need to talk about it. But I never liked knowing that other people were talking, does that make sense?”

  “It makes perfect sense.” I nodded. “So you tell me about her.”

  “You sure we shouldn’t talk about what just happened? Up there?” His eyes flickered up to the observation tower, observing us right at this very moment.

  “Oh, we’re gonna talk about that, Mr. Bryant,” I said, arching my eyebrow, “especially how you took matters into your own hands up there. And by matters, I’m speaking specifically of my ass.”

  “I did nothing of the kind,” he murmured, the indigo flashing fire once more. “Your hips, on the other hand . . .”

  “Remind me to chase you up a mountain more often.”

  He laughed then, and it was magic. And it was into this magic that I did walk over to him, reach up toward him, not with my lips but with my hand, and gently brush back the shock of auburn hair that had fallen down over his forehead. He closed his eyes, then instantly leaned into my touch, almost like a cat. Jesus, when was the last time someone had touched this guy?

  The truth was, however, it’d be the last time I’d be touching him, at least in this way. “And since people seem to go a little crazy up on these mountains, I recommend we stay a bit closer to the ground.”

  His eyes remained closed, and he nodded, agreeing with my words. But he didn’t pull away just yet, and neither did I.

  In the end, it was people coming up the trail, other early birds anxious to get out in the nice weather this morning that blew apart our little world inside the summerhouse. We backed away from each other, finally putting a respectable and appropriate distance between us.

  But even at that respectable distance, his eyes blazed with heat.

  The next day I arrived at the morning meeting and was surprised to see Archie there. Surprised because he hadn’t attended all week, only coming to meetings that he was specifically requested to attend and then to either sit and listen and not volunteer any information, or if asked a direct question respond in such a way as to prompt an argument with me as soon as he could.

  Today when I walked in he immediately rose, brought me a cup of coffee, two sugars and a splash of cream, exactly the way I take it, and before I could stammer out anything he turned me toward the rest of the group and announced, “Starting today I will be embracing Ms. Morgan.”

  I didn’t quite spit-take my coffee, but only because I’d swallowed it almost entirely, burning my esophagus in the meantime and blistering my tongue. The rest of the team simply stared at him in anticipation, wondering what in the hell kind of meeting this was about to become.

  My reaction and their staring prompted him to immediately reevaluate his words, and he offered a nervous laugh. “Embracing her ideas, of course, her ideas. I’ve been, well, I think we can all agree, a real pain in the ass up until this point.”

  I raised my hand. Although, to be fair, I might’ve been signaling someone to bring me ice cubes for my throat.

  “Some of her ideas may be a bit unconventional, but I’m willing to try and see things her way. Within reason, of course.”

  “Of course,” I croaked out, managing a smile while wondering what in the world he was up to.

  Famous last words. The truce lasted barely an hour. By ten thirty he was frustrated, I was irritated beyond belief, and I wanted nothing more than to pick up my now empty coffee cup and whap him squarely in the middle of the forehead with it.

  “You can’t keep dragging your feet on this, Mr. Bryant, it’s got to happen this way or we will literally never get anywhere.”

  “Nothing has got to happen until I say it’s got to happen, Ms. Morgan, and I’ll thank you to remember that. I’m willing, more than willing, I think, to look into upgrading some of the rooms, but—”

  “Not upgrading. Overhauling. New mattresses. New bedding. New pillows. Speaking from my own experience here, my bed, in a word? Sucks.”

  “The beds don’t suck, Ms. Morgan,” he sputtered. “And I’ll thank you to remember that each of those beds has been a part of this hotel for over a century—”

  “New wallpaper,” I continued, feeling on a roll and running with it, “and an entirely new concept for that carpet, if indeed there will be carpet. There’s money in the budget for this, if we can—”

  He exploded. All over the Camellia Conference Room and all over the department heads who’d been passing the economy-sized bottle of Tums back and forth between them. “The budget? How in the world do you expect us to pay for this overhaul, and reduce the room rates, and bring in additional entertainment for the summer season, and—”

  “May I see you for a moment?” I asked, interrupting his tirade. “Privately?”

  He looked as though he was about to say something else, but bit it back. Exhaling heavily, he pushed back from the table. “Everyone take fifteen.”

  Stoically he followed me out onto the porch overlooking the lake. I usually took my breaks out here, getting a little hit of nature when I needed it.

  I needed it right now. I needed to pitch him something pretty drastic and I needed to have him on board.

  “Ms. Morgan, I realize I got a little heated back there, but you have to realize all these changes are going to be expensive and—”

  I cut him off. “You’re going to have to close for a few months every year, for probably the next five to eight years, in order to keep this place going.”

  He tilted his head like he didn’t actually hear me. “Come again?”

  “Look, I’ve been over and over the books and it’s the only way I can see making the changes we need to make and keep within the budget. You’re literally bleeding money in your off-season, you’re barely at thirty percent full, it no longer makes financial sense to be a true winter resort. At least for a while. It’s drastic, but it’s what needs to be done.”

  His lips pressed together hard enough that they turned white. “We have never closed, not one day since we opened our doors. Not for blizzards, not for wars, not for major repairs, not for anything.”

  I sighed, knowing this was a lot to take in. “I realize that, and I know I’m asking for a lot.”

  “You are literally asking for the impossible.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not impossible. We did it at the Manor Crest in Colorado and at the Seaspray in Rhode Island. Granted, they’re still doing it, but Manor Crest is on track to reopen full-time in two years . . . a year ahead of schedule.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You want to close Bryant Mountain House.”

  I nodded just as slowly. “For ten weeks, starting in mid-January. Get through the holidays, have a helluva New Year’s party, and then close up shop. We can discuss reopening for Valentine’s Day, although I don’t recommend it, at least for the first year.”

  “And we reopen?”

  “Right before Easter. I’d say Easter weekend, but since that date is fluid each year, I’d aim for the third week of March.”

  “The third week of March,” he whispered, the idea as foreign a concept to him as if I’d suggested we iron each other’s feet. “We’d miss the entire winter season, all the outdoor activities. We get snow before Christmas, sure, but the big stuff doesn’t really come down until January, and the lake doesn’t freeze until then anyway. No ice-skating on the lake, no snowshoeing through the woods, none of it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Bryant, I truly am.” I had to make my hand into a fist behind my back, it wanted so much to reach out to him, touch him, soothe him and make this better. I resisted. “But we can make this work, and you’d be surprised how much we can do when the hotel is empty of guests and with only minimal staff.”

  “The staff, what will we do with them? They depend on their salaries, many of them, they’ve worked here for years. We can’t just, I can’t just . . .” He trailed off, shaking his
head again. “This’ll never work.”

  “It can work. But you’re going to have to trust me,” I said, stepping a little closer. We were within sight of anyone who might be walking around the lake or down on the dock, not to mention the rest of the team inside. But I still took that step, that very small step. He needed to know I was on his side. “I realize I’m asking for a lot here, but you have to trust that if you don’t come on board, if you don’t guide your team and your hotel through this, in a few years you won’t just be closed for ten weeks in winter.” I watched as his face went through a range of emotions: hopelessness, frustration, and finally, resignation.

  “I’m going to need details, and details about those details. And I’ll ask a lot of questions. And it’d be helpful if you didn’t act like every time I ask you something you’re expecting World War Three.”

  I bit down on a chuckle. “Agreed, but it’d also be helpful if you didn’t look at me every time I open my mouth like I’m trying to ruin you.”

  He shot me a sideways look, then nodded. “But before we bring this to the group, to my father even, you’re going to have to lay out your plans in their entirety, tell me everything you want to do. No more surprises.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight. You’ll tell me everything.”

  I exhaled. Why did that statement make me uneasy?

  We went back into the meeting a united front, with plans made to have dinner, in town this time, to go over my plans. Neutral ground? Maybe. But for the first time with this guy, I felt hopeful.

  Chapter 10

  At five minutes to seven I descended the stairs to meet Archie in the lobby. It was funny how in the relatively short time I’d been here, I’d come to know certain parts of this hotel like the back of my hand. I knew the potted ferns on the fifth floor were a bit on the droopy side and looked like they weren’t being watered regularly. I knew that the last room on the right on the fourth floor always had afternoon tea in their room, the service still usually sitting outside by the time I went down to dinner. I knew that on the third step between the third and fourth floors there was an extremely loud squeak if you stepped on it just right.

  The main staircase really was a thing of beauty, all carved wood and twisty columns. Between the second and first floors it became even grander, the showpiece of the center lobby. As I turned the last corner and saw Archie waiting at the bottom for me, a slow grin crept over his face as I moved down the steps.

  “This feels very Titanic.” I chuckled. Though Jack Dawson in his borrowed finest had nothing on Archie Bryant in a sweater and jeans. The sweater being a soft-looking beige cashmere V-neck with just the edge of his white collared shirt poking out, so he was still neat and tidy but a bit more approachable than in his customary finely tailored suits. “You know, Jack and Rose, center staircase, all that?”

  “That’s terrible, I don’t plan on hitting any icebergs tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t plan on hitting anything tonight,” I said, raising one eyebrow and coming to a stop a few steps before the bottom. Eye level.

  His blue eyes twinkled. “Let’s just try to get through dinner without yelling, that’d be a start, Ms. Morgan.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “We’re going into town for dinner, right?”

  “That was the plan.”

  “Then I’m Clara. You’re Archie. Once we come down from the mountaintop and all.”

  He mulled this over a moment. “Agreed.” He nodded. “Clara.”

  An involuntary shiver ran through my body at the sound of my name on his lips. Mercy.

  Work dinner. It’s a work dinner. Stop shivering.

  But my name. On his lips? Divine.

  Work. It’s work. Focus!

  I took the last two steps down, coming to rest next to him. He’d been right, I am short, I barely came up to his shoulders. He held my coat open for me, and as he slipped it onto my shoulders he asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Hell yes” was out of my mouth before I could stop myself, and he chuckled in my ear, low and a bit growly. Goddammit, I shivered again.

  Archie + growly = mercy.

  We sailed out the front door under the watchful eye of literally every single employee, half of whom I’m pretty sure weren’t even on the clock but had somehow materialized at this very moment.

  Yeah, it was a very good thing we were heading into town.

  “So this is . . . pretty nice.” I’d been tucked into the front seat of a very nice, very luxurious BMW. The heater on, my toes stretched out against the warmth, grateful after the chilly run to the car.

  “Are you interested in German engineering, Ms. Morg—Clara?”

  Oh yeah, I could get used to this guy saying my name over and over again. “Not necessarily.”

  “What are you interested in?”

  “Is this what we’re doing now? Asking questions?”

  He waved a good-bye to the guard at the security shack, shifted smoothly, and then shot me a pointed look. “You had your tongue in my mouth yesterday, don’t you think a few questions are the natural progression?”

  “My tongue in your mouth was after you put your tongue in my mouth, Archie. Let’s not forget that.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting that anytime soon.”

  The car was silent. Full. We were heading down the mountain, dark pressing in on all sides. His words hung in the air, I could still hear them in my ears. Did I want that tongue in my mouth again? To quote myself, hell yes. But it didn’t matter, because I was here to do a job and I wasn’t going to put my entire career in jeopardy because some supercute nerd kissed me. And, technically, I kissed him back.

  Take control, Clara!

  “Running.”

  “What?”

  “You asked what I was interested in. Running. Sometimes swimming.”

  “If you swim as fast as you run you must be part fish.”

  “And cycling, although between all three I prefer running.”

  “You should do a triathlon.”

  “You should come see me do one. My next one is in June.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. Ironman. Technically, Ironwoman. But I’m thinking about doing a Tough Mudder before that.”

  “You mean those races where you splash through mud and run up walls?”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t that filthy?”

  “God yes, the filthier the better.” I laughed, turning so I could see him. “You want to come with me?”

  “To a mud race?”

  “Sure.”

  “You want me to come watch you get muddy.”

  “Hell no, I want you to come get muddy with me.”

  “And why would I do this exactly?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s a blast!” I punched his shoulder excitedly. “It’s such a rush, you push yourself, you think you can’t do it, but then you do, you bang your elbows, you scrape your knees, you probably cry at least once, you may even vomit . . . it’s the best time.”

  “I wonder if my father knows he hired an actual insane person to help turn his hotel around.”

  “Oh shush,” I huffed. “You’d do great. It’s not a big deal to get a little dirty sometimes.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.” He laughed, swinging the car right and just like that, we were in Bailey Falls.

  I’d seen pictures. I’d heard Natalie wax poetic about the cuteness, and even Roxie now admitted that her hometown was nicer than she remembered. I’d grown up in an urban environment, and still chose to live in a city. But when I got to go out on jobs, they tended to be either set in or just outside lovely small towns. And I admit, I did love me some quaint.

  For the same reason I loved old family-run hotels, I really enjoyed the sense of pride I felt whenever I was in a small town. There was the “everybody knows your na
me” aspect, sure, but there was also just such a sense of belonging, of togetherness that was totally foreign to me. It never made sense for me to become “one of them” when I was on a job in a place like this, but I sure as shit could enjoy what it looked like from the outside. And Bailey Falls was obviously no exception.

  The graceful homes, the tree-lined streets, some still sporting their original cobblestones for goodness’ sake, the mom-and-pop stores on Main Street and a good old-fashioned town square. Good God, was this place adorable or what?

  And the most adorable of all, the one place I’d been dying to see but hadn’t yet visited, was Callahan’s. The diner owned by Roxie’s mom, Trudy. And to my surprise, we pulled up right in front.

  “Wait, we’re going to Callahan’s?”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Sure, sure, I just figured, I don’t know.”

  He turned off the car and looked at me carefully. “You just figured what?”

  “I pegged you for a more formal guy. I guess I thought you’d want to have dinner at a fancy pants Frenchie or whatever.”

  “Is that a real place?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You just seem like a guy who likes to eat in a place that has finger bowls.”

  “You should probably get to know a guy better, then, before you chase him up a mountain.”

  Okay, that’s it. “For the last time, I may have chased you, but it was only to talk to you and then you—” But I was cut off by his door closing, and a wink and a grin through the windshield. I hadn’t lost any steam by the time he opened my door. “—pushed me up against that damn tower and made out with me like you just got out of prison and—”

  It wasn’t just towers that he got off on. Because the next thing I knew I was pressed into the cold brick wall in between the diner and a taxidermist with Archie and his impossibly strong hands all over my hips.

  “You really are a pain in the ass,” he said, his breath fogging up the space—the very little space—between us.