“There will be more times like this in the future.”
“I know. But this is the first time. I want to be able to remember every second of it.”
Vaughn was quiet a moment as he stroked my back, and then . . . “I love you.”
Fear penetrated the loveliness of the moment.
I pulled back to face him. He stared up at me and, sure enough, that look in his eyes, that soulful, smoldering look, was filled with the kind of love no man had ever looked at me with.
And it terrified me.
Unable to give him the answer he wanted, I kissed him. I kissed him with everything I was willing to give and had to hope that for now it was enough.
TWENTY-SIX
Vaughn
After a night like the one he’d just had Vaughn should have been feeling relaxed, satisfied, and more than content with his lot in life. However, the next day as Graham talked at him about introducing a custom object relating to the state of Delaware to use as an eco reuse-your-linen card instead of the actual card or something . . . Vaughn had to admit he was only half listening.
Bailey still hadn’t said she loved him.
He’d said it to her a number of times now and still no reciprocation.
Vaughn knew he should be patient. Although it felt like they’d been together a long time it was technically just over two weeks.
But . . . the problem was that intuition of his told him that Bailey Hartwell was falling in love with him. No woman had ever looked at him the way Bailey had last night as he dropped her off at home.
Like she loved him.
And just when he thought she was going to say it, she bit her lip and walked away.
Which meant she didn’t trust him enough to tell him.
Fuck.
Patience, Tremaine, patience.
“I think it’s those little details that matter. Instead of just a card that the guest can place on the bed when they don’t want their linens changed, we could put like a ceramic blue hen or . . . we could have Dahlia McGuire, the silversmith at the gift shop, custom-make something that guests can put on the linens instead. What do you think, sir? Mr. Tremaine?”
Vaughn stared through Graham, forcing himself to focus and let his brain play catch-up. “I like it,” he said. “Talk to Miss McGuire. Get her to draw up some designs.”
Once Graham left his office, Vaughn rested his head on his chair and picked up his phone. He opened his messages to Bailey, his fingers hovering over the buttons. How much time should he give her before he had to raise this as an issue? He couldn’t go through with marrying Camille because she didn’t trust him.
He definitely couldn’t see his relationship with Bailey going where he wanted it to go if she didn’t trust him. Yet, he was itching to have her. For good.
The idea of her not believing in him, believing that he would hurt her, scared the shit out of him. It had taken him forever to start believing he loved her enough to overcome his fears; to believe in himself when it came to protecting her and making her happy.
Her distrust was fucking all that up.
They should talk.
The phone jumped in vibration in his hand, causing him to jump.
Dad Calling.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Vaughn said in lieu of hello.
“How did I manage that?” William sounded amused.
“I had the phone in my hand about to make a call.”
“Let me guess. To a certain redhead?”
“Maybe.”
His dad chuckled. “I was just calling to check in. It’s been two weeks since you two decided to pull your heads out of your ass.”
Rolling his eyes, Vaughn sighed. “You’re not expecting weekly updates, are you?”
“While it’s new, yes. I want to make sure you don’t fuck it up.”
“Nice. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Okay. Something’s up. I can hear it in your voice.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Vaughn.”
He sighed, knowing his father would just hound him until he told him. “She . . . she hasn’t said she loves me back yet. I think I know that she does but it’s like she still doesn’t trust me yet. Should I be worried?”
“Son, it’s been a couple of weeks. Give the poor girl a chance.”
For some reason his dad’s matter-of-fact response soothed him. He laughed at himself. “You’re right. Jesus. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“You love her. That’ll make a man act like a fruitcake. Speaking of . . . I . . . um . . . well . . . I was going to wait to tell you in person but I don’t see you getting out here for a while now that you and Bailey . . .”
“Dad, spit it out.”
“Diane left me for good. I . . . blew it.”
He was disappointed for his dad, and for Diane. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t change how I feel,” he explained. “I’ve felt this way too long. I don’t want to remarry. My wife is gone.”
“Dad . . . you’re being stubborn, and you’re going to lose someone you love because of it.”
“I do love Diane. And I would be with her for the rest of our lives. But she seems to think my not wanting to marry her means I don’t love her and there is nothing I can do to change her mind.”
“You could marry her.”
“I don’t want to,” he said firmly. “Sometimes . . . there’s just no finding that compromise.”
Frustrated with his father, but hearing the resolve in his voice and knowing what that meant, he realized this was in fact the end of his father’s relationship. And he was sad for him. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Me, too. I . . .” His words grew thick with gruff emotion. “I’ll miss her.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing to say, son.”
He had a thought. “Come out here.”
“What?”
“To Hartwell. Spend a few days, a week, however long you want. Take a break from New York.”
“I can’t right now. I’m in the middle of an important deal. But after? I would like to spend more time with this young lady of yours.”
“Definitely. Dad, you’re welcome here anytime.”
“Good,” William said. “Well, I best get going. And you . . . give the redhead some time. Be patient.”
They hung up and Vaughn put his phone down on the table. He stared at it, thinking of his father’s advice, and his heart began to beat a little faster. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a little black velvet jewelry box.
It was light in his hand but it may as well have weighed ten tons for all it symbolized.
“Be patient,” he murmured, and slipped it back into his jacket out of view.
Bailey
I stood in the doorway of Dahlia’s workshop, watching as she sat on a stool, bent over a piece of jewelry. Her brows were drawn together in focus. Her total concentration and the fact she had rock music blaring loudly meant she didn’t realize I was there.
Years ago she’d given me a spare key to her shop.
The store was light and bright, and it was filled with Dahlia’s own jewelry creations. She was a gifted silversmith and had converted part of the storeroom in the back of the building into a workshop. As well as jewelry, Dahlia sourced unique gifts, books, toys, witty mugs, clothes, and accessories. For the past year, since George Beckwith closed down his tourist shop, Dahlia had been selling Hartwell tourist stuff—T-shirts, magnets, mugs, postcards, key rings, etc.
The air smelled heavily of the coconut diffusers she had placed around the store to mask the heavy aroma from her workshop. Although Dahlia described herself as a silversmith, she also worked with copper, bronze, and gold. She liked to oxidize metals, using a chemical called liver of sulf
ur to oxidize silver, and it made the place smell like rotten eggs. Hence the diffusers.
After seeing the Closed sign on her door, I’d decided to check in on her. It was Aydan’s day off at the inn. Mona was watching over the place while Jay supervised in the kitchen so I could make sure my friend was okay.
Realizing Dahlia wasn’t going to look up anytime soon, I crossed the room to where her phone sat in a music dock and I switched it off at the wall.
“Ah!” she cried out behind me.
Trying not to grin and failing, I spun around to face her. “Hey, there.”
Dahlia glowered at me. “I nearly died.”
“You do insist on listening to your music that loudly.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The shop is closed.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged, refusing to meet my eyes. “So?”
“Considering that blast from the past yesterday and the fact that you wouldn’t talk to me at all about it, I was worried. I am worried.”
Grimacing, Dahlia got up off her stool and wandered over to me. “You don’t need to be worried. I closed the shop because . . . what if he’s still here?”
I braced myself to tell her what I’d discovered in my conversation with Michael yesterday. “I don’t think he is. The . . . uh . . . the woman that was with him?”
“Yeah?”
I blew out air between my lips, not sure at all how my friend was going to handle this news. “That was his wife. And I’m guessing by her angry reaction to his staggered reaction to you that they’re on their way home now and she’s yelling at him the entire way.”
“Wow.” Her eyes widened before they dropped to her feet so she could hide her expression from me. “Wow. Okay. Wow. Yeah.” She threw her hands up, laughing, but it was a hard, ugly sound that made me wince. “Of course he’s married. Michael wanted marriage and kids and all that jazz. All the stuff you want! What normal people want, right? Not people like me. Not weirdos like me.”
“Dahlia—”
“I just, uh, I didn’t want to have a conversation with him, you know?” She turned away, fiddling with tools on one of her workshop tables. “All of that was in the past. I’ve worked hard to start over here and I don’t want to dredge all that crap up. I wonder how he knew I was here.”
“He didn’t. He was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him. Plus, he asked me what you were doing here.”
She whirled around, clearly afraid. “What did you say?”
“I told him you were here on vacation and that you were leaving today.”
Her shoulders deflated and she slumped onto a nearby stool. “Thank you.”
“It was weird him being here, though, right?”
“Yes.” Her expression darkened. “And a little too coincidental.”
I thought of the letters she sent to Boston once a month. “Someone pointed him in this direction?”
“Someone definitely did.”
“Maybe you should talk to him then. You can’t hide forever.”
“Bailey, I love you, but this is one of those times where saying what’s on your mind is just going to piss me off.”
Duly warned, I held up my hands in surrender. “Shutting up. And leaving. But I’m right next door, and if I see the Closed sign on the shop tomorrow, I’m coming back.”
“I told you to shut up,” she grumbled, grabbing her purse. “Not to go away. Do you think Mona could make me one of her famous grilled cheese sandwiches? I haven’t eaten since last night.”
Relieved that my friend wasn’t pushing me away entirely, I slung my arm around her shoulder. “Grilled cheese sounds good. And she made scones this morning. I hid two from the guests. Want one?”
“Uh, like you even need to ask.”
Dahlia locked up behind us and we wandered toward the inn. Just as we were climbing the porch steps I got up the courage to say, “Since you don’t want to talk about your problem, maybe we could talk about mine.”
“Of course. What happened? You didn’t end things with Vaughn, did you?”
“No.” My belly fluttered at the memory of last night. “You would not believe the night I had. The things that man did to me and where.”
“So what’s the problem?” She pushed open the inn door.
I can’t bring myself to tell him I love him and I don’t know why. “Well.” I exhaled as we stepped inside, preparing myself to tell my friend about how big a coward I was, when the sight of my sister leaning against the reception counter stopped me in my tracks.
Mona stood behind the counter, her arms crossed, and her eyes narrowed behind her thick-framed glasses. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence.”
Vanessa merely quirked an eyebrow at the dry comment, and that itself put me on alert because since arriving here my sister hadn’t let a moment go by when she didn’t admonish our employees for something. Mona’s attitude would have made her blow a gasket a few weeks ago.
Now she just smirked at me. “We need to talk.”
“Hello to you, too. How are you doing? How am I doing? I’m very well, thank you. As is the inn, in case you were wondering.”
She ignored my sarcasm. “I don’t have time for this idiocy. I leave for New York in a few days and I’ve got to get my things in order.”
I felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. The relief I understood. The disappointment was a surprise. But I guess, underneath all my irritation with my little sister, I’d kind of hoped that being home would miraculously change her. “Found someone new to play with?”
“No. But I will.” She shrugged.
“What happened to Jack? Did you finally see the light?”
“What? That Jack was using me?” She grinned and I tensed at the wickedness of it. “You always thought you were smarter than me, but, sweetie, I knew exactly what Jack Devlin and his band of merry brothers were up to. But I’ve had a crush on Jack Devlin since I was fourteen. I saw the chance to sleep with him and I took it.”
“So you didn’t get hurt?”
“No.” She smiled. “I played him. He thought he had to wine and dine me and give me multiple orgasms to get what he wanted. When the truth is I would have taken less than what he and his father offered for my share in the inn.”
“What?” Dahlia snapped.
Dread consumed me and my blood buzzed in my ears. “What?” I echoed Dahlia, praying we’d both heard wrong.
Vanessa explained. Happily. Gleeful in fact. “When Mom and Dad left us the inn and we agreed on signing that contract where you got a higher stake in the place, no one put anything in the contract about limitations on selling our share.”
Fury overtook the dread. “Because it’s our family business!”
“Now, now, rule number one, Bailey, no disturbing the customers with a family spat.”
I lunged at her and Dahlia grabbed my arms, pulling me back. “What did you do?” I bit out, my nose and eyes burning with tears.
“Not what I’ve done but what I’m about to do in . . .” She checked the gold cocktail watch she was wearing. “Five hours. I have a business dinner with Ian, Jack, and Stu at the Grand. Our lovely lawyers will be joining us for drinks afterward. And upon signing a contract I’ll have sold them my thirty percent share in the inn.”
“If you do that, Devlin will find a way to take this place from me. Do you get that?”
“Do I care? They offered me way more than this place is worth. And frankly they’ve been far more accommodating than my own sister. They let me stay at the Grand free of charge, in an actual bed.”
“Mom and Dad won’t let you do this.” I grasped at straws.
“There’s nothing they can do to stop me. Unlike you, I don’t need their approval.”
“If you do this, none of us will forgive you.”
That m
ade her pause for a moment, her gaze lowering to the floor. “Well, maybe not for a while.” She looked up at me. “They’ll get over it.”
“I won’t.”
Vanessa sneered. “Like I care if you love me. Let’s not pretend anymore, Bails. You and I can’t stand each other.”
“I don’t like you,” I agreed. “I think you’re a selfish brat and this moment only highlights that fact. But I do love you. And the fact that you could do this to me—”
“Oh, please. Enough with your righteous martyr act. You walk around like you’re the only one who works hard. Contrary to what you think, what I’ve had to do to survive has been hard work.”
“Yes, well, working on your back all those long hours can’t be comfortable.”
Mona barked with surprised laughter at my insult and Vanessa sliced her a killing look before turning it on me.
“Did you just call me a prostitute?”
“No, prostitutes are honest members of the oldest profession in the world—they provide sex as a service to men and men pay them for that service. You manipulate men who have money with sex to get to their money. I think that makes you a whore.”
“Bailey,” Dahlia muttered in warning.
But I was so angry I no longer cared what I said to my sister.
“If that was your idea of talking me out of this, then you’re not as smart as you think you are.”
Sadness overwhelmed me. “Vanessa, you have no intention of changing your mind whether I’m sweet and pleading . . . or just damn honest.”
“Yes”—she twisted her face in bitterness—“but hearing you plead would have made my day.”
“You little bitch!” Dahlia let me go and this time I had to hold her back. “You evil little bitch!”
“Don’t,” I murmured to my friend. “She’s not worth it.”
Dahlia whipped around to stare at me, incredulous. “But what about the inn?”
I didn’t know.
But maybe my parents did, or my brother. I strode out of reception, not giving my sister another glance, and as I made toward my office I heard Dahlia say, “You’ve got five seconds to get your boney little ass out of here before I smack the cosmetic enhancements off your face.”
Every Little Thing Page 31
