Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1)

by Christine Nolfi

  Upon his return to open the town’s only law office, Frances had brought him bouquets of honeysuckle for a week straight. She understood how much he longed to inhale the cloying sweetness.

  On the circle, his brother’s landscaping company stood directly next to the law office. He discovered Linnie jiggling the doorknob of Unity Design.

  “Good morning.” Daniel offered a cordial smile.

  Beaming, she regarded him. “Hey, pal.”

  Inwardly he cringed at the sobriquet. “My brother’s not in.” Pal, a depressing indication of his buddy status.

  “He needs a receptionist.” She held out a carton tied with pink ribbons. “Brownies, for Fancy. There’s enough for you and Philip, too.”

  “Great.” He took the box. “Should I tell him you stopped by?”

  Linnie rubbed her lips together. She looked tired, her hazel eyes puffy. She had on one of her quirky getups, exercise pants and a top big enough to cover Daniel’s frame. Presumably the top was meant to hide the attractive curves she possessed in abundance. Luckily it didn’t quite do the trick.

  He tried again. “Want some java? Kay isn’t in yet, but I can scare up a pot.” Among the many things he had in common with Linnie was an inability to get the pistons firing without a morning fix. They were both addicted to coffee in its various guises—hot, iced, flavoring ice cream—no doubt they’d both purchase coffee-flavored cereal if such a thing existed.

  Relief warmed her face. “You don’t mind? Actually, I could use some advice.”

  “Always happy to help,” he said, leading her through the lobby and into a ballet they’d long mastered: Linnie storming into his office after the Wayfair’s bank accounts were cleaned out, seeking advice on pressing charges; Linnie dissolving in his arms at the hospital, needing reassurance her father would live. The daunting task of assuming control of the inn at the tender age of twenty-five—how he’d find her past midnight in the circle, flung out across the top of a picnic table like a kid making snow angels, her tawny hair tumbling around her shoulders.

  The idea of carrying on the family legacy terrified her, a legacy carried only by Wayfair men—until her sudden promotion.

  Back then, she’d yelled at the heavens for hours or until exhaustion took hold. When her eyes grew sleepy, Daniel walked her back to her car, her fingers held in his like a gift he yearned to keep.

  Dismissing the memory, he waited as she studied the walls in his office, inspecting photos she knew by heart. She was wound up, rolling forward on the toes of her tennis shoes. The effort failed to make her a scant inch taller.

  Locating a neutral starter, he said, “Rumor has it you and Jada are fixing up the ballroom.”

  She fell back on her heels, her attention stubbornly trained on the photos. “Not just us. I hired a painter. Finished early this week. You’ll have to stop by—the walls used to be that dull grey, remember? I chose an off-white hue with a touch of pink at the base.” Pausing at a photo of Fancy on her first day of kindergarten, she added, “We’re having an event in the ballroom.”

  “That’s news.” Like everyone else, Daniel held out hope she’d reopen the shuttered portions of the Wayfair.

  “The Mendozas are celebrating their fortieth,” she said. “We have less than three weeks to get our acts together. You’ll get an invitation. Silvia’s inviting most of the town.”

  “Looking forward to it.” He let the silence wind out. Finally he plunged in, asking, “Is this a new start? The inn used to do a healthy trade in weddings. Services by the lake, receptions in the ballroom—Linnie, the economy is improving. You can take out ads in bridal mags, drop off flyers at the local churches and the temple.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Destination weddings are a profitable sideline. Worth looking into.” The comment pressed lines into her forehead, and he held up his hand in apology. “Just an idea.”

  “Right.” She puffed out her cheeks. The endearing tic made her look like a blowfish. “Cat and Jada think I’m gutless. Do you agree?”

  “I think you’ve been through a lot.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with slow and steady. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

  “Sure.”

  At last she settled on the leather couch.

  Taking his time, he went out to grab the coffee. There was no point in pushing Linnie. She’d take the next step, or she’d pull back and let the ballroom grow a new layer of dust. Daniel prayed for the former. The grand functions her parents had overseen were a cherished part of Sweet Lake’s history. Linnie had shone at the countless events, her glossy hair drawn up on her head, the low-cut gowns she’d worn, even as a teenager, showing off too much bosom. She’d never been the prettiest girl in town, but she’d been the most vibrant.

  Returning, he was relieved to find the delicate lines smoothed from her brow. “Sugar, extra cream.” Seating himself, he handed over the cup.

  A polite sip, and then she resolutely set the cup down. She pulled out the letter he knew was the source of her anxiety.

  With a smack, it dropped to the coffee table. A familiar, scratchy cursive ran across the cover. Daniel placed his untouched cup aside.

  “So it’s true. Your crazy brother wrote to you.”

  “You aren’t surprised.” A statement, not a question.

  Immediately he cleared up the mystery. “I ran into Frances on the circle. She told me. I’d hoped she got her facts wrong.”

  “I’m worse. I’d hoped gnomes would run off with the letter while I slept.”

  “Not likely.” The flap was unbroken. “You don’t intend to see what Freddie has to say?”

  The query curved her spine. “What if he . . . wants something from me?”

  Years of legal work had taught Daniel to recognize the omission of relevant facts. “Simple,” he replied, wondering what she was hiding. “If he comes looking for a handout, tell him no.”

  “What if he’s in trouble?”

  “Then he’s in trouble. Happens all the time.”

  “I hate him for taking the money, but what if I . . . I don’t know, feel compelled to help? Play rescuer because his health’s bad, do something stupid?”

  The admission lifted his brows. “You care about Freddie? That’s a switch. I thought you wanted him flayed and his entrails scattered before wild dogs.” Despite the fetching confusion in her eyes, Daniel grinned. “Or was it wolves? I have trouble keeping track of the punishments you devise for your brother.”

  She lifted her shoulders to her ears, another mannerism he particularly liked. “Daniel, I wish I could switch with you. What did I do to deserve this curse? Why didn’t I get your brother?”

  The soliloquy, uttered repeatedly through the years, was now a longstanding joke between them.

  “Philip’s also a pain,” he shot back, playing along. “Here’s a fun fact. He still can’t throw anything together except burgers and fries. Okay, he’s also figured out how to fling pizza in the oven, but Italian doesn’t agree with Fancy. Too much red sauce and she sounds like a pop gun. I should charge for catering.”

  “Good thing he lives nearby. Makes the catering easier.”

  “I guess it’s all right. I mean, what would I do with the leftovers?” The allusion to his single status was a blunder—no matter how much he wanted Linnie, he didn’t want her pity. Deftly, he got back on track. “Bottom line. You can open the letter or throw it away. If Freddie needs help, you’re under no obligation to aid and abet his current foolishness, whatever it is.”

  “I’m off the hook?”

  “You were never on the hook in the first place. If his health is bad, he should drink less and cut down on the ladies. Not that he will. Men like Freddie don’t change. However, he probably doesn’t require financial assistance. I’m not a fan of B movies, at least not those featuring vampires in space, but I have the impression he’s doing quite well.”

  “Bad Seed Productions is earning a profit? No way.”

  “Guess again—this i
s the era of YouTube and Netflix. Film Cut magazine even did a feature on Freddie. He’s doing all right. Better than all right.”

  She laughed. “Stop Googling him. I gave up the habit for my thirtieth birthday, a big present to myself. Two years now, and I don’t have the least curiosity. Why don’t you follow suit?”

  “Checking Google is the best way to protect you.” He let his attention linger for as long as he dared. The familiar hunger drove through his blood. The beauty mark a hair’s breadth from her mouth was a particular obsession. Cutting off the appraisal, he reconsidered the admission. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Darting past his defenses, she leaned in, landing a smack on his cheek. His thermostat soared. “You’re the best, Daniel.” She got up to leave.

  “Linnie?”

  She paused by the door. “Yeah?”

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “About reading the letter? Still undecided.”

  His throat tightened. “You’ve got to stop living your life on the fence.”

  After his last appointment, Daniel picked Fancy up at the babysitter. The impromptu meeting with Linnie had left him blue, and he was glad for the diversion of little-girl laughter. They took Puddles for a walk on the north side of the lake, far from the revelry of the inn’s vacationing guests and the possibility of running into the Wayfair’s pretty manager. When he returned his niece to Philip at six o’clock, he was sinking beneath exhaustion unrelated to the work left at the office.

  The life he imagined held Linnie at its center. He still coveted the dream. Yet he was now aware of the elusive quality of wishing for a relationship that may never grow from friendship to love. Life didn’t always work out as planned.

  It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, but he’d given up watching any of the shows he’d downloaded from Amazon or surfing through sports tweets on Twitter.

  Puddles, a more determined optimist, leapt onto the king-size bed. The dog made hairpin turns, knocking pillows to the floor. The ritual never gained the intended result, and Daniel shooed him off. He’d reached to extinguish the light when the doorbell rang.

  Pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, he came to a decision. If Linnie was on the front stoop seeking more assurances, he’d handle it. No, he wouldn’t land a kiss sure to tattoo her senses. He’d never take the plunge without an invitation.

  But he would open the damn letter.

  Satisfied with the plan, he strode through the living room, smoothing his hair into place. As he swung the door open, the greeting he’d rehearsed melted away. His mind emptied out.

  On the doorstep, Freddie Wayfair offered a grin.

  Chapter 4

  Slack-jawed, Daniel regarded the heir apparent who’d run off with stolen cash and ill-formed dreams seven years ago. Beneath Freddie’s chin, a cravat of crimson silk wagged.

  He looked like John Waters. If he went much more rakish, people would wonder which side of his bread he buttered.

  “Daniel, it’s been too long!”

  Not long enough, he mused. The last time he’d been foolish enough to hang out with Linnie’s brother, they’d been home on break from their respective colleges. The lucky bastard, who’d received a Mustang convertible for his twenty-first birthday, corralled Daniel into a road trip.

  On the adventure in Cincinnati, Freddie left the keys inside his new car. The thief who took the Mustang from the parking lot of Cheetah’s Strip Joint zoomed away in a haze of burnt rubber. Afterward, Freddie continued to race through his father’s money and soon forgot the event at the strip joint.

  Unlike the forgiving Wayfairs, Daniel’s parents were livid. He was nearing his thirties before his mother’s eyes stopped hurling thunderbolts at the mention of Sweet Lake’s most disgraced son.

  Freddie peeked behind Daniel’s bulk. “Planning to ask me in?”

  “Wasn’t my first impulse.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in California filming trash. What is it this time, Werewolves on Mars? Or have you moved on to slasher flicks?”

  Freddie’s blue eyes blazed. “My studio doesn’t produce gore. Bad Seed has built a strong brand of genre-blended films. We have a substantial following in Asia and South America.” With ease, he slipped into patent curiosity. “I’m disappointed with my sister. Didn’t she mention my arrival? I assumed you were still close.”

  “Are you joking? She received your letter yesterday.”

  “Ah.” Freddie nodded, a sage philosopher overdressed for the occasion. “Did I forget to snail mail in a timely manner? I would’ve preferred to call or send e-mail.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Her number’s a state secret, and she’s reported my e-mail as spam.”

  “Smart girl.” Puddles bounded up, and Daniel grabbed the beast by the collar.

  “What’s this?” Distaste sprinted through Freddie’s eyes. “Does it bite?”

  “For you, he’ll make an exception.”

  “Lock up the monster, will you?” The filmmaker breezed past and into the living room. “I wouldn’t have come if this weren’t important. Can you at least hear me out?”

  Indecision caught Daniel by the throat. He should’ve pressed Linnie to open the letter in his office. If she’d known her brother planned to reappear, she would’ve left town in a hurry.

  How to proceed? There was no telling what trouble Freddie planned to rain down on her life.

  A more pragmatic thought intruded. Given Freddie’s track record, wasn’t it best he’d dropped by here first?

  Needing to protect her, Daniel came to an uneasy decision.

  Shooing Puddles into the backyard, he returned with his game face on. Cordiality was a nonstarter. He waited for Freddie to explain.

  Beneath the smooth John Waters impersonation, Linnie’s brother seemed upset. He cut grooves across the carpet, assessing the bookcase of legal tomes, pausing to study the painting of the lake hanging above the couch. At length, he noticed the wet bar at the end of the room. He took down a glass and poured two fingers of Smirnoff.

  “I need your help, Counselor.” He downed the liquor, then looked to Daniel expectantly.

  “For what? A lawsuit against your studio? Get a lawyer based in California.”

  “Bad Seed isn’t under threat. I need legal counsel in Ohio.”

  “And you have the nerve to ask me for representation?” The brushfire igniting in Daniel’s chest threatened to burn through his composure. “Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt Linnie?”

  Freddie rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’d like to tell me.”

  “Yeah, I would. If you’re curious, I was disappointed when your parents stopped her from notifying the police. I sure don’t understand why they covered up the facts. You shouldn’t be filming schlock movies in California—you should be serving time. Why your parents let you get away with cleaning out the Wayfair’s accounts is beyond logic.”

  “Play fair, Daniel. All the family accounts were linked, personal and business. I didn’t take every dime. There were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Circumstances brought on by you. What if your father had died? It wouldn’t hold water in court, but those of us aware of what you’d done would’ve considered you guilty of negligent homicide.”

  The latter put a gratifying dent in Freddie’s bravado. “Taking the money was an impulsive act,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to hurt my parents or Linnie. Dad had investments, a dozen places to pull cash. How could I know he’d have a stroke five months after I left and need money for a thousand co-pays?”

  “Plus an early retirement, which your sister continues to support. She walks around in old shoes but never forgets to send the monthly stipend.”

  “She supports our parents? I wasn’t aware.” Freddie glanced at his empty glass. Licking his lips, he managed to plant his attention on his Italian loafers. “I didn’t mean to saddle her with the inn. She was so carefree, and I thought . . .” Frowning, he
looked up. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  The stab at an apology sure as hell didn’t suffice. Daniel had never shaken the memory of Linnie on the day she’d packed her parents off for Florida. She remained chipper while helping her father into the taxi. She blanketed her hollow-eyed mother with kisses. Friends and neighbors were there to see the elder Wayfairs off—Jada, Cat, and most of the Sirens, with tearstained cheeks.

  After the taxi drove off, Linnie gave a rousing speech to the staff about how nothing would change, how the inn would continue to prosper. Her closest friends and Daniel already knew the Wayfair’s finances were a house of cards, rendering her speech heartbreaking to behold. Once the staff got back to work, she disappeared.

  Linnie had shut herself inside the office that had belonged to her father one short day earlier. The dank scent of tobacco left behind by the former occupant lingered among the stacks of paperwork unattended for too many weeks. On a corner of the desk, a printout of the names of each employee bore Linnie’s careful script in the margins. Within days, she would let half of them go.

  Daniel had found her behind Treat Wayfair’s imposing desk, sobbing into her hands.

  Like the letter he should’ve insisted she open, the day her parents left represented a missed opportunity. During the intervening years, he’d replayed that fateful day with regret. He should’ve told Linnie she wasn’t alone, that she’d never spend another day alone if she’d have him.

  Stung by the memory, he told Freddie, “Here’s an idea. Want to clean up your mess? Start by paying back every cent, with interest. Linnie has only recently begun taking steps to refurbish the inn. Given all the work she’s done to keep the place afloat, she deserves to succeed.”

  “I will,” Freddie quietly replied. “I swear it.”

  The promise was startling. Tamping down his ire, Daniel floundered.

  Trusting the man before him was dangerous. Freddie was capable of manipulating them all.