Lake Season

by Denise Hunter

  “No, Molly.” Adam reached out.

  She sidled away. “You know what? I’m just—I have to work now. You two . . . I don’t know, go do whatever you need to do.”

  “Molly—”

  She nailed Adam with a look. “Stay away from me.” She held the look until he wilted a little. Then she walked around him and through the door.

  thirty-five

  Adam paced the length of the porch. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Why hadn’t he just told her the truth when she’d confronted him about the conversation she’d overheard?

  “So she thought I was you,” Jordan said. “She thought I was Nathaniel Quinn.”

  Adam stopped at the swing and laced his hands behind his neck. “I’m sorry. I know that wasn’t fair to you.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Jordan had come up on the porch. “That’s probably the only reason she went out with me. Talk about a blow to the ego.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Don’t worry; my self-esteem can handle it. So you told her the truth, and she obviously didn’t take it well.”

  “I didn’t tell her. She—she found out before I got around to it.”

  He’d literally been minutes from revealing his identity. Although technically he had ended up telling her the truth. In Italian.

  He shook his head. All those things he’d said to her . . . His face went hot. He was such an imbecile, thinking he was so clever, telling her what was in his heart. She’d known what he’d been saying all along. Had his words meant anything to her? Or had she only been patronizing him all this time?

  “That’s unfortunate,” Jordan said. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really.” He’d made her cry. Just last night he’d been ready to throat-punch the guy who’d made her cry, and today he’d put the tears in those eyes. He deserved a beating.

  “Want me to talk to her?”

  He faced Jordan, hands on hips. “And say what? This isn’t a contract clause you can negotiate or a bad title we can replace. I lied to her. She has every right to be angry with me.”

  “Technically . . . You just let her believe what she wanted to believe.”

  He flinched. “Technicalities only matter in contracts. This isn’t business, this is a relationship.” One that had been on the precipice of something more than friendship—at least he’d thought it had been. Maybe it was time to be honest with his friend about that too. Why not? Everything else was on the table now.

  “Jordan . . .” He drew a deep breath and forced his eyes to meet his friend’s. “I have feelings for Molly.” There. He’d said it.

  Jordan smirked. “You don’t say.”

  “I know I should’ve—Wait, you knew?”

  “Not till last night, if I’m honest. Then today, Molly seemed pretty distracted. I got the feeling she was going to friend-zone me, but then my mom called, and Molly went inside and . . . What happened in there anyway?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Do you think she’ll keep quiet? I should probably talk to her about signing a nondisclosure agreement.”

  Funny, Adam hadn’t even considered that. “I thought you wanted my identity revealed.”

  “Not like this.”

  “That’s the least of my worries right now.”

  Jordan’s brows rose. “Really. Because it kind of seemed like the most important thing in the world to you yesterday.”

  “Yeah . . .” Adam said, still reeling from everything that had just happened. “That was yesterday.”

  * * *

  Molly blotted her face with a tissue. After leaving Adam and Jordan on the porch she’d gone up to her room. Levi had been on the phone, making it easy to slip past.

  She powdered her face to help cover her blotchy skin and used eye drops to get rid of the redness. But it wouldn’t work if she kept tearing up like this. Darn it.

  The vacuum cleaner came on down the hall. She was glad Grace was busy cleaning Jordan’s room. Glad Jordan had already checked out. Maybe he’d be gone by the time she went downstairs to take her shift. Please, God.

  But Adam would still be here. She’d have to face him every day. How would she do it? She was so stupid! She’d trusted him. How had she not seen the truth? How had he so blithely let her believe Jordan was Nathaniel Quinn? What was his deal anyway?

  She was swearing off men until she figured out why she let herself be so easily duped. Was she just a magnet for con artists?

  She balked at the slur. No matter how angry she was with Adam right now, he wasn’t a con artist. Dominic, yes, con artist. But there was something else going on with Adam.

  However, it wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t her problem. Her eyes stung again, but she blinked away the tears.

  A quick glance at the clock showed it was a couple minutes after noon, so she headed downstairs to take her shift. She’d keep busy and refuse to think about Adam.

  When she came downstairs Levi was looking inside the bag she’d left on the flower stand. “What’s this?”

  She glanced out the window, relieved that Jordan’s car was gone. Adam’s too. “I guess Jordan forgot them.”

  She slipped behind the desk. “How are we looking for the weekend?”

  “Great. We’re full up.”

  “Great.”

  He studied her a long moment, his keys jingling in his hand. “Everything all right?”

  “Just peachy.”

  He looked toward the porch, then back to her. “You seemed upset earlier. You guys have a fight? Do I need to beat somebody up?”

  “Just me,” she mumbled. After all, she was the idiot who kept believing people’s lies.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Everything’s fine. I’m good. I’ve got things covered here if you need to go somewhere.”

  She busied herself by checking the reservations, waiting for Levi to head out. He’d warned her about getting too close to guests, and he was probably fixing to remind her. He’d been right, after all. She hated to admit it to herself, and she sure wasn’t going to admit it to him.

  She focused on the screen and made note of the special requests for tonight—extra pillows and a crib. She sent a text to Grace, asking her to fulfill those requests while she was upstairs.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” Levi was still teetering on the threshold. Maybe he wasn’t going to throw her mistake in her face.

  The warmth she felt for him just then produced a convincing smile. “I’m fine, Levi. Really.” Or she would be. Eventually.

  thirty-six

  Molly checked out the last of the weekend guests and sent them off with a bag of muffins and two coffees to go. Normally, after a busy weekend, Monday mornings were a bit of a relief, but she had mixed feelings about an empty house today.

  One, she’d have more time on her hands, giving her too much opportunity to think about Adam. Two, all of her convenient buffers were gone, and chances of awkward encounters with him had just risen exponentially. They currently had no guests scheduled until Wednesday.

  Outside, the lawn mower’s engine growled to life, and a moment later Molly saw a flash of red through the picture window as Levi rode by.

  Adam had been away much of the weekend. He left before she was working and came home after she was off—obviously avoiding her. She’d only seen him twice since their blowup Friday, and both times there’d been guests nearby. She’d kept everything professional. Levi would’ve been so proud.

  She’d had a few days to calm down, though, and now a terrible unsettling feeling had begun rising up inside. The one that said she needed to make peace with Adam. Because people didn’t last forever, and if anything happened to him she’d never forgive herself for leaving things so badly.

  It annoyed her that she assumed the responsibility for clearing the air. She hadn’t done this. She hadn’t been the one to lie. The one to break trust. And yet, there it was, this nagging need to rectify things.


  Yesterday when she’d awakened to find his car gone again, she’d had the horrible feeling he wouldn’t return. What if he had a car accident? What if he had an undiagnosed aneurism? What if an oversize tome fell off a library shelf and conked him on the head?

  It was irrational, she knew. But was it really? Hadn’t her parents’ accident been just as random and yet so very real?

  Her chest tightened, and she pressed her palm against it. She had to clear the air with him. She knew it was the only way to relieve this awful anxiety. And she wanted answers, doggonit. Why hadn’t he trusted her? She’d thought they were friends.

  Friends, Molly? Really?

  Her thoughts went back to Thursday night when he’d held her in her parents’ room. She’d never felt so comforted in her life. Had never felt more cherished. The way he’d looked at her, those eyes warm and full of affection. She wanted to go back in time and be in his arms again where she’d felt so complete.

  But even then he’d been lying to her. There was no excuse for what he’d done. She didn’t understand it, and she sure didn’t trust him anymore. But she’d gone off on him Friday, and she couldn’t just leave things that way. She was going to have to hunt him down today. She couldn’t stand this much longer.

  Jordan had texted her when he’d gotten home Friday. They’d cleared the air between them, but he hadn’t given her any answers either. Please talk to Adam was all he’d said.

  Maybe she’d been dating Jordan, but she’d been falling for Adam. She hadn’t realized how far she’d fallen until Friday when her heart had hit the ground with a resounding thud.

  She heard the rolling thump of a suitcase overhead and frowned at the ceiling. The last of their guests had already checked out. She looked at the screen just to be certain she wasn’t losing her mind. No, everyone was gone. The distant hum of the vacuum cleaner kicked on upstairs as Grace cleaned the recently vacated rooms.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Adam rounded the corner. He hadn’t shaved this morning, giving him a haggard look. Or maybe it was the dark circles, visible even through his glasses.

  His lips curved in a sad smile. “Good morning, Molly.”

  Her eyes fell to his suitcase, and her heart seized. He was leaving. Of course he was leaving. It was that or live under the same roof with the freak who fancied herself in love with an author—with him. He was probably afraid she’d turn into a psycho stalker and start rooting through his trash can for souvenirs.

  Swallowing back a knot of humiliation, she forced a professional smile to her lips. “Good morning, Adam. Are you . . . checking out?”

  “I am. I—thought it might be best, considering . . .” His words fell off. His weight shifted. He poked his glasses into place.

  Molly’s heart was beating a million miles per hour, thoughts of those potentially fatal incidents stealing him away forever.

  “Oh?” She cleared her throat and began the process of checking him out. “Are you heading back to New York then?”

  “No—I still—I’m sticking around town for a few more weeks. I found a house on the lake that’s available. But go ahead and charge me through the end of the month.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s fine.”

  “I reserved the room, Molly. I don’t mind paying for it.”

  “Cancellations are part of the business. No worries.” She gave him a placid smile as she clicked a few buttons. The printer whirred to life. When it stopped she grabbed the receipt and handed it to him.

  “There you go.”

  She started to ask which house he’d rented but didn’t want him to think she’d become that stalker. And all she could think was that he was about to walk out the door, and she might never see him again. Bluebell was small, but it wasn’t that small. And she had a feeling he’d be avoiding her. Plus there was that accident thing.

  Her chest tightened, and she fought the urge to press her palm there. She couldn’t let things end like this.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  They spoke at the same time. Then stopped, each waiting for the other to continue.

  Molly swallowed against the swelling in her throat. “Go ahead.”

  A beat later he stepped closer, his eyes more intent than she’d ever seen them. “I just wanted to apologize again. I am so sorry for hurting you, Molly. I feel just awful that I’ve let you down. I assure you, that was never my intention.”

  She gave a little nod. “I know that.”

  “I wanted to try and explain. I’ve never told anyone this, not really. Not even Jordan, fully. It’s hard for me to talk about.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m making excuses, but I want to explain why I write under a pseudonym—why I keep my identity a secret. I didn’t really understand it myself at first. I said I just valued my privacy, and I do. But over the years I’ve come to understand it’s much deeper than that.

  “I told you a little about my family. I wasn’t like the rest of them. They’re athletically gifted and I’m not. That probably sounds petty, but I always felt . . . like a misfit. Like a big disappointment. Especially to my father.”

  But Adam was so smart. So kind. So gifted. She shook her head.

  His cheeks were flushed, and he shifted on his feet. “Remember, I come from Texas, Molly. Football was my dad’s life. My value was largely based on what I could do on the field—and in that arena I amounted to a big zero. One of my cousins was particularly close to him. My dad treated Brody as more of a son than he did me. I guess he didn’t know what to do with me. He was such a man’s man, and I was so cerebral. It left me feeling pretty insecure about myself.”

  Her heart twisted of its own accord. “But you’re a wonderful person, Adam. And you’ve been so successful.”

  “I know it might seem that way, but . . . those insecurities go deep. It’s humiliating to even confess all this to you. But you deserve to know why I did what I did.”

  “I still don’t understand. I wouldn’t have judged you the way your dad did. We were friends—or I thought we were.”

  “We are.” His eyes flickered down to the desk. “We were. But when you overheard Jordan and me talking shop . . . all those insecurities rose to the surface. I know how you feel—felt—about Nathaniel Quinn. I knew you had high regards for him and such high expectations—”

  “Yes, I did. So why wouldn’t you want to claim that, Adam? Especially with me? You know how much I value books and great writing. Didn’t you trust me to keep your identity to myself? I would never out you like that.”

  “I know. I know you wouldn’t! That’s not—” He scratched the back of his neck.

  “Jordan mentioned something about a nondisclosure agreement. I told him I’d sign it and I will.”

  He frowned. “I asked him not to do that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. You don’t need to sign it. I trust you.”

  Well, at least there was that. But if he trusted her so much, why had he been so reluctant to tell her the truth?

  “Listen, Molly, I’m fully aware that readers form . . . attachments to authors.”

  Oh, boy. Her face heated at the memory of what Grace had said about her little crush on the author—on him. She closed her eyes briefly, wishing she could crawl behind the counter.

  “I’m not the man women are picturing when they envision Nathaniel Quinn, Molly.” He gave her a direct look. “I’m not the man you were picturing.”

  He was so much more than the man she’d imagined. She blinked at him. It was unbelievable that his insecurities had led him so far astray. “That’s not true, Adam.”

  “You’re just trying to be kind, and I appreciate it. But I know what kind of man you imagined me to be.”

  She had no idea he was so stubborn. “Seriously? You can read my mind now?”

  “Admit it, Molly. You assumed I’d be like my heroes. Tal
l, rugged, handsome, masculine. Few men can live up to that—certainly not me.”

  “I wasn’t infatuated with your heroes, Adam, I was infatuated with your words. With the way you strung them together in a way that made me feel understood. How shallow do you think I am?”

  A stricken look came over his face. “I don’t think that at all.”

  “Yes, you do. Did it ever occur to you that I might care more about what’s on the inside? Not to mention, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the outside either.”

  She skimmed him, head to toe, taking in his aristocratic features, his strong shoulders, his lean frame. Maybe he wasn’t the stuff of fantasy, but he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. And his brain . . . The creativity housed in that head of his was a thing of beauty. How could he not know that?

  * * *

  Adam’s face heated under Molly’s slow perusal. He felt like a scrawny gelding on the auction block next to a noble stallion.

  “I don’t understand how you can think so little of yourself.” She was shaking her head. “You’re so smart. So creative. You’re a New York Times bestselling author, for crying out loud.”

  “Look, I know I have a valuable gift. But I’m not what readers expect. I don’t want to be a disappointment. I’ve already been that and it’s the worst. Writing is just what I do. It’s not who I am.” He gestured to himself. “This is who I am, Molly.”

  Her eyes snapped. “I liked who you are.”

  She gutted him with her use of past tense. He swallowed back the disappointment swelling in his throat. That’s why he was leaving. She was finished with him, and having him around would only make things harder on her. He’d seen the strain it was taking for her to simply be hospitable.

  “I trusted you, Adam, and you’ve been lying to me all this time. And it doesn’t help that this isn’t the first time a man’s made a fool of me.”

  He steeled himself against the quaver in her voice and fought the rising tide of jealousy. He had no right to be jealous though. Especially since he’d let her down just like the man she spoke of.