A Forever of Orange Blossoms (The Merriams Book 5)

by Ava Miles

  Okay, he would have—to keep Clara smiling.

  He was such a sap.

  Boy Wonder had that gaga look on his face when he met them in the festively decorated front hall of the bed and breakfast. Ah, l’amour had struck the playboy without a cause, and darn it all, it had only boosted his good looks.

  “Uncle Arthur! Aunt Clara! Hargreaves! Welcome to beautiful Ohio!”

  “Put your invisible megaphone away,” Arthur said, knowing it was important to establish his contrary attitude for this trip right away. Otherwise, he’d get suckered into more than he’d already agreed to.

  Clara elbowed him like he’d expected. “Ignore him. You’d think a three-hour flight would have been piece of cake after flying to Kenya. How are you, my dear? You look wonderful.”

  He heard Clara sigh as Flynn kissed both of her cheeks.

  “I feel wonderful, and it’s only Tuesday. The whole week’s ahead of us,” Flynn said as Hargreaves handled their check-in with the older woman at the desk who was watching them with open curiosity, a row of red, pink, and white poinsettias on the ledge behind her along with some cute but kitschy Santa statues.

  Small towns in Ohio were like every other small town he knew. Packed with curious people with too much time on their hands. “Once Hargreaves gets our key, you can fill us in.”

  “I have it right here, sir,” Clara’s trusty butler said, looking over his shoulder with his ever-polite smile. “It’s good to see you, Master Flynn.”

  “Please do me a favor, Hargreaves, and only call me Flynn. I hate the formal stuff.”

  “A butler never lowers his standards, sir,” Hargreaves informed him before signing the slip the woman extended to him.

  “Meet our lovely hostess, Penelope Wingate,” Flynn said, making the introductions. “She runs this beautiful bed and breakfast with her husband, Joe.”

  The older woman fairly beamed as she came forward and shook their hands. “A real English butler in our place. My bridge club won’t believe it.”

  After he shook the woman’s hand heartily—it didn’t do to be rude—he hastened Clara along. “Come on, dear,” he said, “let’s find our room. My feet are barking.”

  They weren’t, but sometimes a man needed a good cover. The less they said in public, the better.

  “If you’ll follow me, sir,” Hargreaves said, rolling Clara’s small suitcase down the hallway to the right and past three doors until he paused. “Your room, Madam. I’ll bring in the rest of the suitcases shortly.”

  “Thank you, Hargreaves,” she said after he unlocked it and handed her the key.

  “I’ll look forward to meeting Ms. Loudermilk and beginning the skincare training, Master Flynn,” Hargreaves said with a bow.

  Flynn gave the butler a look, likely for ignoring his request for informality, before saying, “Annie and I thought it might be nice for you guys to meet her tonight before we get started in the morning. She’s coming over for dinner later. Her former mother-in-law agreed to babysit.”

  “I know it isn’t your usual habit, Hargreaves, but perhaps you’ll join us for dinner since we’ll be talking business,” Clara said, ever crafty.

  The man didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Madam. Do you need me to arrange anything for the meal?”

  “No, I have everything covered,” Flynn said before Hargreaves excused himself and walked down the hall to the room on the end.

  After he disappeared, Arthur nudged his wife. “Way to go on getting the mysterious Hargreaves to sup with us.”

  Her smile held a touch of mischief he found terribly compelling. “I know how to move a mountain when I see it. Speaking of… Flynn, fill us in on how we can help.”

  Clara unpacked her small suitcase as Flynn walked them through his situation with Annie. The woman’s father-in-law wasn’t an immovable obstacle—Annie didn’t need his approval—but the twins? That was a problem. If the boy wanted to woo their mother, they’d need to like him, and vice versa. Arthur had come across his fair share of twins, from J.T. and Trevor to his granddaughter Jill’s daughters, and he knew they tended to be peas in a pod. If one of those girls didn’t like him, the other wouldn’t either. Yes, this would be a challenge, all right. It wasn’t their usual matchmaking assignment.

  “So basically you don’t need our matchmaking help so much as you need our peacekeeping help?” Arthur asked as Clara finally took a seat on the sofa next to him.

  Their room wasn’t terribly large, but at least there was a king-size bed and a small living area in the corner. Of course, they wouldn’t be spending much time in it, based on what he’d been told about this trip.

  Flynn ran his hands through his hair, still standing as if unable to settle, and said, “I suppose I need your help winning them over, yes.”

  “Then we will dedicate ourselves to the task with our usual verve,” Clara assured him, worrying the diamonds on her bracelet.

  Arthur knew what that gesture portended. She was uneasy about this too. Well, they would meet Annie tonight and do what they could.

  Flynn’s phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s my dad,” he said, his brows clashing together. “I think I need to answer this. Excuse me.”

  “Of course,” Clara said, edging closer to Arthur on the couch and taking his hand. “Tell Shawn hello.” She was quiet for a moment, waiting for Flynn to move away to the window, then she turned to Arthur. “It’s not our usual matchmaking assignment, is it?”

  “You read my mind.” He snorted. “When have we ever had a normal assignment with this crew?”

  She smiled, but it was fleeting. “It’s only… If two of her children are hostile to Flynn, I’m less optimistic. I haven’t had much experience with children. I don’t know how helpful I’ll be.”

  Her tone was filled with the regret of never having children of her own. Her grief wasn’t what it once had been, but he still was determined to see her freed from this old pain. “Clara, people of all ages love you. Don’t you remember that woman in Kenya who put her baby in your arms? Trust me, you have the most important ingredient to win over anyone. That’s love. Now, let’s hush up. Boy Wonder is wrapping up his call.”

  Sure enough, Flynn clicked off and stared at his phone almost as if in a trance before looking over. “That was my dad.”

  They already knew that, but a glance from Clara warned Arthur not to bark it out. “What did he say?” he asked instead.

  “He’s the one coming to evaluate Annie’s company.” Flynn slapped his hand to his forehead. “I told Quinn I couldn’t be impartial and that he needed to send a third party. Hell, I didn’t expect him to send Dad.”

  Clara’s bracelets rustled as she worried at them. “Your father is more than capable of evaluating a business.”

  “But he’s retired…and this is the kind of task he would have delegated back in the day. Dad said he wants to help me. Crap, some of the other kids said he’s on this new kick about making up for lost time and reconnecting with us. Do you think that’s what he’s doing?”

  “Why the hell else would he come to Nemo, Ohio, in the dead of winter?” Arthur said, aware he had more than barked this time.

  “Arthur!” Clara stood after swatting him. “Never mind him, Flynn. If your father is coming in person, it’ll serve as a message that your family supports you—and Annie. Things like that have a way of turning people around.”

  Her undertone was clear. From the sound of it, we need all the help we can get.

  “Your dad is charming, isn’t he?” Arthur asked, pushing up off the couch, hating how his bones squeaked at eighty.

  “Charming?” Flynn winced. “Would we say that?”

  “He was the CEO of Merriam Enterprises for nearly five decades,” Clara said. “He’s more than capable in numerous capacities, I expect.”

  “God, I hope so,” Flynn said. “I need to call Caitlyn and tell her to get here fast. I don’t think I can handle Dad alone.”

  “What are we? Chopped liv
er?” Arthur pulled out a red hot. “Here, eat some candy and call your sister. Then go clear your head. We have a hell of a lot of things to accomplish and not a lot of time. If you want to win your woman and help her fill this order, you need to be in top shape. You need to be fearless. And that only comes from having a clear head and heart.”

  “You’re right,” Flynn said, taking the red hot and pulling him in for a half hug. “Thanks, Uncle Arthur.”

  Clara kissed Flynn’s cheek. “Everything will be fine, my dear. Go. Do what your uncle said.”

  Nodding, the boy let himself out.

  Clara tugged on her diamonds again, causing rainbows to flash across the ceiling. “Why do I think we might have our greatest challenge yet?”

  “Because you’re one smart cookie,” Arthur said, caressing her cheek.

  Chapter 8

  Annie didn’t know what miracle workers looked like, but if anyone fit the bill, it was Arthur and Clara Hale.

  When Flynn introduced her to the older couple in the bed and breakfast’s small dining room, his elegant, stylish aunt immediately embraced her. Warm notes of rose and vetiver wrapped around her from the woman’s perfume, twining with the cinnamon scent of the decorative pine cones in the middle of the table. “It’s wonderful to meet you, dear.”

  She was as surprised as she was grateful for the warm greeting. Annie had carved out a half hour earlier to research the Merriams and Merriam Enterprises beyond her earlier cursory search, and she’d been a little overwhelmed by what she’d discovered. The few pictures she’d seen of Flynn from her earlier research session paled in comparison to the trove she’d found today. Flynn really had lived a playboy lifestyle she’d only read about in Jackie Collins’ books in high school, and his family was wealthier than she could imagine.

  Their company was in the big leagues—Fortune 500 level—which made it an even bigger deal that they were potentially interested in buying her business. She’d told herself she’d impress them by being professional and organized and focused on exceptional quality. At the same time, she wanted Flynn’s family to know she would always treat them like real people. She knew from Emily that some people treated the rich differently, disingenuously, and she never wanted that to be said of her.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” she told Clara, squeezing the woman in return.

  “Are we hugging already?” the older man said with a laugh, enfolding her after Clara released her. “You smell like flowers, like my wife.”

  “My special blend of orange blossoms,” she said, smiling as he pulled back and scratched the white hair at his temples. He was more rough around the edges than his wife, and somehow that made their pairing all the more endearing.

  “How about a red hot to round out all this flower power?” he asked, pulling a candy out of his Irish fisherman cardigan and handing it to her. “A little cinnamon puts a spring in your step. Raising three daughters alone and running your own business must make for long days.”

  His blue-jean eyes were attentive, but not intrusive. “You do what you have to do.”

  “Indeed, especially if you do what you love,” he said with a wink. “Worked for me all my years running a newspaper. Now, why don’t we sit down? Hargreaves is making my wife a gin and tonic because she likes the sauce.”

  “Arthur!” Clara laughed after socking him gently in the arm. “He’s trouble. You can’t believe most of what he says.”

  “Some of it’s bull,” Arthur said, pulling out a chair at the round dinner table and gesturing for Annie to sit. “Some of it’s wisdom. You look smart enough to know which is which.”

  She found herself laughing as she sat down, Flynn taking the seat beside her. “I like to think so. Thank you for coming to help.”

  A man in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie approached the table with a full martini glass. “Thank you, Hargreaves,” Clara said, taking it from him. “Annie, please meet my long-time assistant, Clifton Hargreaves.”

  “Her butler,” Arthur whispered conspiratorially, taking the seat between her and Clara. “Whom we call Hargreaves.”

  The man bowed to her, a welcoming yet reserved smile hovering on his lips. He was right out of an old movie, and she couldn’t help but be drawn in by him.

  “A pleasure, miss.”

  “Please call me Annie,” she said. “So you trained at the Cordon Bleu, I hear. That must have been wonderful. I’d hoped to attend Atelier Maquillage after I finished my schooling in London. I always thought living and studying in Paris would be the most glamorous thing in the world.”

  Arthur and Clara shared a look, smiling at each other for a reason she didn’t understand before looking at Flynn, who simply grinned back. They seemed to have mastered the kind of silent communication accessible only to the closest family and friends, something she hadn’t shared with anyone except for Emily and Amelia. The twins had their own shared language, and Ben? Well, the absence of that connection should probably have been a red flag, but she’d been so young when they’d started dating. Sixteen. Seemed like light years ago.

  “Paris is a fine city, miss,” Hargreaves said. “Would you like a cocktail? I brought a few different possibilities to choose from besides Madam’s favorite: a sidecar, a boulevardier, a millionaire, and an old-fashioned. Bourbon and whiskey drinks seemed more seasonally appropriate choices.”

  He’d brought his own cocktails? This was the man who would be cooking for her and the girls? “I think I’m in heaven. How about a millionaire?”

  It sounded like luxury in a glass. Maybe she should think about getting a new inspirational saying for her refrigerator: Drink what you want to become. If they bought her company, which she was coming to see would be an answer to her every wish and dream, she could potentially become one. Oh, what it would do for her and the girls…

  “I’ll have the same,” Flynn said. “Uncle?”

  “A sidecar would be great,” he said. “Hargreaves, you do know that a millionaire is a set of cocktails served during Prohibition and not a cocktail in itself? I like to poke at him, Annie.”

  This last comment was whispered to her, and she found herself relaxing more.

  “Yes, sir,” Hargreaves responded, crossing to a side table that Annie hadn’t noticed before. It held an open leather picnic basket filled with cocktail fixings, glasses, and a shaker, and a sweating ice bucket sat beside it. “Actually, it was created in 1925 at the Carlton Hotel in London, although some scoundrels have attempted to attribute it to the Ritz in London before 1925.”

  “And how would you know the real origin, Hargreaves?” Arthur asked.

  “One of my cousins was working in the restaurant at the Carlton at the time. He passed the recipe on to my father, who shared it with the household he was serving.”

  Suddenly, Annie had images of Downton Abbey flowing through her mind.

  “Enough history dueling for you, Arthur?” Clara asked with a laugh. “I rather like you poking at him. I keep learning more about him, even after all these years we’ve spent together. Why have you never told me that story, Hargreaves?”

  “The subject never came up, Madam,” he said, a discernable glimmer in his brown eyes. “I’ll see to the drinks, after which I’ll tell Mrs. Wingate we’ll be ready for the first course in about twenty minutes if that suits you.”

  The first course?

  “That time frame is perfect,” Clara said with a nod. “Now…Annie.”

  “Yes, Clara,” she said, acutely aware of the woman’s full attention on her.

  “I imagine this is all a little overwhelming and exciting for you, but I want you to know we’re here to help.”

  Hargreaves set Annie’s drink in front of her in one of those wide-mouthed champagne glasses she’d seen in old movies. White foam dotted the top, and underneath it was a smooth concoction the color of pomegranates. “Thank you, Hargreaves.”

  He nodded and went back to making drinks. Flynn nudged her. “See what you think.”

  Ta
king a sip, she was sure her eyes fluttered. The sweetly tart juice was a little smoky, followed by the creamy deliciousness of the egg white. “I think I’m in love.”

  “Me too,” she heard Flynn say, and when she looked at him, he was watching only her. Her belly fluttered.

  “Ow,” he cried out suddenly, giving Clara a sharp glance.

  “Oh, was that you dear?” she asked. “I thought there was something under the table."

  “Like what?” He reached down and rubbed his leg. “A bear?”

  Arthur raised his hand to cover his mouth, but Annie caught him laughing under his breath. More subtext. She had another sip of her drink.

  “Anyway,” Clara said, reaching for her martini, “Hargreaves and I promise we’ll be able to execute your instructions brilliantly. Isn’t that correct, Hargreaves?”

  “Yes, Madam,” he said, setting Flynn’s drink down to his right.

  “Age before beauty doesn’t seem to work with Hargreaves,” Arthur commented. “The last again. Like an old shoe. Hargreaves here refuses to make more than one drink at a time. Efficiency means nothing to the man. Missing your silver tray from home?”

  Clara sucked the first olive off her stick and pointed it at him before releasing it back in her glass. “Good heavens, Arthur, a well-executed cocktail requires focus and precision, and ice melts.”

  The man only laughed.

  Holding Annie’s gaze, Clara said, “My husband here is wonderful with little ones despite his gruffness. He has a number of grandchildren and great-grandchildren who are quite fond of him.”

  Arthur leaned back, his hand on Clara’s arm. “Flynn says your youngest, Amelia, is cute as a button. She’s home all day, so I suppose I’ll be spending a lot of time with her.”