“Eleven? I’ll get hungry.”
We get stuck there, staring at each other, as if he’s poured maple syrup on everything, and there’s no hope of ever freeing ourselves. If only he hadn’t kissed me. If only I couldn’t remember how it felt to be in his arms. If only we still lived in a world where I didn’t know how perfectly we fit, not just physically, but emotionally. Maybe then we’d be able to find our way free of the feelings trapping us here.
“I’ll take care of everything.” He gives a weak smile. “Get some rest, Brooke.”
“You too, Evan. Sweet dreams.”
“I will.” I’m nearly through the door when he speaks again, almost quiet enough that I can’t hear him. “Always of you.”
I wish it helped to know that he’s hurting like I am, but it doesn’t. Misery may love company, but I feel like it would rather not be miserable in the first place.
Chapter 20
Brooke
The smell of apple cinnamon nudges me awake with gentle prodding. I open my eyes to find two of Evan’s donuts on my nightstand, complete with a mug of his hot cocoa. I sit up and cradle the warmth from the cocoa close. It’s hot enough that Evan was probably only here a moment ago. My heart pulls in two directions, giddy that he was thoughtful enough to bring me breakfast in bed, but heavy with thoughts of what we’re expected to pull off.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t secretly hope he might find bravery in his heart and decide to come clean. He could sweep me into his arms on national television, declare that I’m worth the risk, and we could live happily ever after. It’d be my own Christmas miracle. But like he said, there are too many ghosts in his past to open those doors.
I take my time eating breakfast, getting dressed, actually applying makeup and curling my hair. I know he said eleven, but by ten I’m bored and feeling like I might go crazy. Taking my dirty dishes, I venture downstairs. I’m used to the crowd of guests, usually ten to fifteen scattered around the first floor in the morning, but in addition to them, I count at least ten more people bustling around.
New Christmas décor adorns the walls. Lush garlands, with white lights and crimson ribbons that dangle, line my dining room. A quick glance down the hall tells me they’re busy in the other rooms as well. The network must want my little inn up to par for the party. Sweet of Evan to nudge them toward the decorations I wished I could afford. Everywhere I look, I spot another wreath dripping in ornaments, or a stuffed snowman, or sprig of mistletoe being set in the perfect space. I feel like I’ve stepped into a magazine, or at least someone else’s home.
“Brooke!” Winnie calls my name from across the room. “Brooke, isn’t it lovely?”
I make my way toward my cousin. “Positively. It was sweet of the network to do this. I wish I could keep it all.” I can’t even imagine the price tag attached to something like this.
Her smile tilts down for a second. “The network didn’t do this. Evan hired them. I heard you weren’t supposed to be down until eleven. He said he was surprising you.”
Another publicity move. Smart on his part. Too bad I spoiled it.
“For the cameras, right?” The gift feels tainted with the knowledge. “I need to come downstairs and gush over him?”
“No.” Winnie’s frown deepens. “Evan made a point of saying he wanted the feed cut and everyone out when you saw it for the first time. That’s why they’re working so fast. They have to be done by eleven.”
I’m not sure how I should react. He’s done it for me, and me alone. Hope that he might change his plans itches at the back of my mind. Maybe he’s plotting something, a big reveal, enough to gain traction and create a new company on his name alone. My heart quickens at the thought. My own Christmas miracle, it could be waiting in the wings.
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
I never went to sleep. The decorators arrived early. Brooke’s guests were hungry. My mind won’t stop racing. I thought if she knew about Santi, about where I learned to cook, she’d look at me differently. I was sure of it, and now I’m not sure of anything.
My breath brings the flames to life. It took some doing, but the old fireplace is roaring again. Four stockings hang over the hearth. I hope she understands the sentiment, three for her family, and one for me. I drop her present into the one on the end. She may not find it until I’m gone.
The decorators hang a sign that reads, ‘Joyful’, over the mantel. The sentiment fits Brooke, always joyful. I hope she likes this. With everything I’m asking of her, everything I’ve taken and put her through, it feels insignificant.
“Evan.”
Her voice stops me where I stand. A quick glance at the clock on the wall tells me she’s about forty minutes early. My staff of Christmas decorating elves sense the change and quickly scatter. I pinch my eyes closed and steel my nerves before I turn to face her.
“You’re early.” I take her in, jeans and a green sweater that sets off her dark eyes. She takes my breath away. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Consider me surprised.” She’s not even looking at me. Brooke won’t look away from the fireplace. “It’s lit.”
“I thought it would be nice for the party to have a cozy fire. I found some wood by the barn when I went to feed the animals.”
If I’m expecting praise for anything, it’s not coming. She won’t look away from the fire. “I haven’t lit a fire in there in a long time.”
A pit opens in my stomach, like a black hole swallowing my internal organs one by one. I’ve made a mistake.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped. I didn’t know it would be a problem.”
For the first time, she snaps away from the roaring flame. A quick smile warms her cheeks. “No, it’s fine. It’s good. It should be lit. That’s why it’s here. I haven’t had the heart to do it, that’s all. It was Grandpapa’s job.”
It registers at once. She hasn’t lit it since they died. I twist my hands together, feeling the ache of impeding on her life once more. I’ve reopened those wounds for her, and I’m leaving in the morning.
“Stop.” She closes the gap between us and sets her hand over my arm. “I can see you beating yourself up for this. It’s good. He’d be happy that it’s being used. You made a beautiful fire. The whole house is beautiful.”
“It’s yours to keep, all of it.” I pull her closer, tightening the space between us. “I wish I could give you more.”
Her lips clamp together, almost tucking back into her mouth like playing a game of keep away from me. “You know what I want, Evan.”
She’s trying to remain cryptic for the cameras that dot the room. I’m sure Andrew can use it to his advantage one way or another. They’ll spin it to mean something else, but I know what she wants. She wants me to come clean, admit who I was before, and take a shot at building on the ashes of my old life. I wish I could. I wish I had that kind of faith in myself, the kind I see glowing in her eyes.
Being this close to her, the first time in days, I can’t help myself. I bend to meet her lips. They brush against mine, sending electricity coursing through my veins, but she pulls back as if she’s reconsidered her feelings. Desperate to chase our passion again, I whisper, “It’ll look good on camera.”
Her muscles stiffen at the thought. She rolls a shoulder back, wiggling until she’s free of my grasp. I step forward, taking her in my arms again. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. Talk about things.”
Brooke’s head shakes and her curls fall over her shoulders, shielding her eyes from me. “I can’t do this, Evan. It’s too hard. I’ll play the part tonight, but that’s it. It hurts too much to let go right now.”
“It hurts?” I don’t mean to question her, but the phrase is a burr on my skin. I guess I thought my feelings were more one-sided. I thought she was having fun, and I was falling in love. If I was wrong about that, if she’s saying…I’m nearly breathless at the thought.
“Why does it hurt, Brooke?”
She looks up, likely searchi
ng for cameras, but I don’t care. I’ll give it all away to hear her say it.
“I need to go get ready. Thanks for breakfast, and all of this.” She motions to the room full of decorations. “It’s beautiful.”
Her fingers trail over my arm, falling away until I’m left alone to wonder if it hurts too much because she’s falling in love with me. I might never know the answer. My heart drops at the thought.
No, I can’t handle that. I refuse. I have to know, and I have to know now. I rush after her, pausing to wait for the staff to set the boughs over the entryway. Red and green cover every surface, cameras are being set up, Winnie shouts orders from the far side of the solarium, but I can’t find Brooke in the bustling activity.
“Evan, there you are.” Andrew takes my arm, oblivious to my desperation. “We need to talk.”
“I’m looking for Brooke. I need to talk with her first.”
“It can wait. This is important.” He nods to the stairwell that leads to my room. “Let’s get out of the cameras for a minute.”
I search the sea of faces one last time, but Brooke isn’t around. Maybe Andrew needs to tell me the deal fell apart. This plan is off. I could sign up for that. I relinquish my fight and lead the way up the skinny stairwell to my room. Andrew follows me inside, taking a seat on the bed with a sigh.
“Almost there, Evan. We’ve almost made it. This is the last show.”
I’m sure he means for me to sit, but anxiety turns my veins to jet fuel. I can’t be still. Too many crazy thoughts are whipping through my mind.
“Are you ready for tonight?” Andrew pats his legs as if what he’s referring to is just another walk in the park. “It’s the start of your new career, pretty exciting.”
I stop at the window. The red barn’s paint is fading, but it stands out against the new snow. Places like this make a guy believe in Santa Claus. If I had one wish right now…
“What if I don’t do it?” I blurt the question out without thinking about it. “What if I don’t want to be a part of this Bad Boy Baking Company?”
“Then I’d have your head examined.” Andrew pushes to his feet. “You’d be throwing away millions, Evan, not to mention costing the rest of us a fortune as well.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t care about any of it.”
Irritation twists his face. “Where’s this coming from? Is that innkeeper filling your head with stupid ideas?”
“I want to tell them everything.”
Andrew’s mouth falls open. His hand swipes over his face as if to try to wake up from a bad dream. “Everything? You can’t be serious.”
“I’m sick of being someone I’m not. If the public can’t handle me as Evan Skruggs, teenage runaway and chef, then maybe I don’t want any of this at all.”
“Did you hit your head?” Andrew’s volume rises with each question. “For one second, have you thought about how these choices would affect other people?”
“It doesn’t have to be Granny or Bad Boy, Andrew. Couldn’t we make a go at it using my name? My personality?”
“That’s what Bad Boy is, Evan. That’s why I was able to sell it. That’s who you are.”
“No.” I turn back to the window. Through the snow I watch Brooke step out of the barn. The cold roses her cheeks. She cups her mitten hands around her petal lips and blows as if to warm them. “I’m not that person, not anymore.”
Andrew takes the distance between us in four strides. He spots her quickly and turns away with a groan. “Are you kidding me? It is about her. You’re going to throw us all to the wolves because some naïve innkeeper has you in a tizzy.” He takes my shoulder and jerks me away from the window. “It’s not real, Evan. She’s playing a part, just like you.”
“But that’s the thing, I’m not playing a part anymore! I’m crazy about her, and I think she’s falling in love with me.” It hurts to admit it, admit what I’d be giving up. “She knows everything, Andrew. She knows I was going to play her. She knows I was doing it for publicity, and she’s willing to go along with it, just to help me.”
“She knows?” Andrew pins his palm over his mouth. I hold my breath, hoping he’s coming around. I need him. I can’t do this alone. “That’s good. We can use her if she knows.”
“What?” My breath rushes out like a popped balloon. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
He’s a runaway train of ideas. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do. This is actually better. I’ll write a script for her. She’ll follow it, and we’ll have maximum emotional impact.”
He starts for the door, eager to tear down my fairytale I’ve written. His hand grasps the knob, and I can’t hold back.
“No.” I wish I sounded more like a man, and less like that desperate teenage boy who sold his book of recipes written on tattered take-out menus. “No, I won’t do it, Andrew. I’m not the guy you want for this new project.”
The knob rattles once as he lets go. I’ve never told him no. Not about big plans like this. I’ve never refused to follow him since day one. He was the one who told me to leave Santi. Andrew was the one who told me I’d never be good enough for the cover of my books. He was the one who insisted I stay in the shadows and let him run the company. In all our years together, I’ve followed him blindly. I’ve never told him no.
“You’re not that guy?” He revolves back to me, but it’s slow, calculated, almost malicious. “Two weeks in the countryside and suddenly you’re a saint? You think sending food to the local shelter, or playing snowball with some local kids will change you from the street trash I found ten years ago? You think you’re redeemed and decent at this point?”
“I never said that. I said I’ve changed.” The waver in my voice speaks to how much I doubt myself. Andrew has known me longer than anyone. Longer than even Santiago.
“You haven’t changed any more than a chameleon changes on a new branch. The second you’re away from this place you’ll be back to the old tricks. Womanizing, drinking, parties, and even worse now because you’ll have fame to go with all that fortune. You think you’re doing yourself, or your sweet Miss Brooke, a favor by giving it up? What about when you get bored of her? What about when this quiet life at an inn drives you to your dark place and you take it out on her? She’s never seen you angry has she? She’s never heard the way you tear a person down. Do you really want to watch her crumble the first time you lose your temper?”
“I’ve never hurt anyone.” Panic wells in my chest at even the thought of it. “I couldn’t hurt Brooke.”
“You’ve never hit anyone, but you’ve hurt plenty. Your uncle taught you how to cut deep with words, didn’t he?”
Uncle Mark had a way of reducing me to nothing on as few words as possible. When my anger peaks, it’s his venom that falls out of my mouth. I have a temper, I’d never deny that, but to think I’d hurt her? Never, I couldn’t.
But if I did? I’d never forgive myself.
“You’re stuck in this fairytale here, Evan. It’s not real. This isn’t the real you. This isn’t even the real her. You told me she’s out to save her little bed and breakfast. She’ll do anything it takes to accomplish that.”
“It’s different now.”
He’s not listening. “One day back in the real world, and you’ll see it. She’ll go back to her life. You’ll go back to yours.” He cups my shoulder under his palm, warm and comforting. “Like waking up from a dream.”
“I don’t want to leave her.”
“It’s better this way.” Andrew lowers his volume. “Before you know it, we’ll be back at the penthouse, you’ll be back to your nightlife, and it will all be normal again.”
What if I don’t want normal? What if I just want Brooke?
The question stays on the tip of my tongue, refusing to fall, but too big to swallow down again.
Chapter 21
Brooke
I’m supposed to be at the party at six. I glance once more in the mirror, smooth my flared black skirt, and sigh. It’
s not every day I get to have my heart crushed on national television. One more swipe of mascara for each eye before I take the stairs from my gabled bedroom to the first floor below. The warm glow from the fire in the hearth catches me halfway down. For a second, I feel like Grandpapa is beside me, supporting me through my hardest hours.
He would love Evan. No one ever gets a blaze started in that old fireplace. When I saw it roaring this morning, it might as well have been Grandpapa giving his approval.
If only.
Music drifts from speakers all over the first floor. Instrumental big band versions of Deck the Halls, and White Christmas follow me from room to room as I greet my guests. I may be smiling, but my heart is heavy.
It’s not just what I have to do. It’s knowing that this chapter is over. No, I won’t miss the camera crews or taping specials, but I’ll miss Evan being around, the influx of guests, the good food and cheerful conversation. There’s no promise that any of it will continue after tonight. At least for the night, Grandmamma and Grandpapa can look down knowing the inn is right where they always knew it could be.
“Miss Cratchett,” a hand catches the back of my arm, “can I have a word with you?”
I stare up into Andrew’s eyes, Evan’s agent. He’s smiling, but I sense the urgency. I excuse myself from the group and follow him into the hall.
✽ ✽ ✽
Evan
I need to talk to her. I fasten the knot in my tie, red like the power I used to crave. Now all I want is Brooke. I think I’ll do it. I’ll confess everything on live television. It’s not like Andrew can say anything at that point. I might lose it all, but it’s worth it if I gain her. The jacket to my suit weighs too much. At least they didn’t force me to wear a tux.
I take the stairs fast like my foster brothers did on Christmas morning. I never raced because I doubted what waited under the tree. There was nothing to look forward to, but tonight she’s a better gift than I could ever imagine.
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