by Nancy Naigle
In less than two minutes she’d opened up bookings for one of the rooms. Wouldn’t it be nice if there was a point and click fix for everything?
Chapter Ten
Flynn settled into the old leather chair at the desk. She felt a renewed interest in getting Crane Creek Bed and Breakfast back on track this morning. A few website tweaks would keep her busy and out of Ford’s way. It was so tempting to see how things were going.
It had been a while since she’d messed with the website, but these new online tools made it quick work. She’d typed up some of her favorite inn recipes to add to the website months ago, but had never gotten around to posting them. Sidetracked was about the best word she could come up with for what she’d been the past few months.
She added the recipe page, and a slide show to the main page along with some new pictures.
Her calendar caught her eye. It was time to take advantage of being in business for herself.
The weeks that coincided with town events were always busy, so she made sure she marked those dates as open for business, and then took into consideration those times that were slower to use for her own little getaways. She could even offer those dates to her grandparents to come back and stay so they could visit with friends and relax here for a change. A win-win for both of them. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Time away would also give her more to share with her guests, and that was one of the best parts of owning a bed and breakfast—sharing stories.
She went to her social media accounts and posted an update that she had vacancies. Hopefully, that would translate into a few new reservations too.
Still wouldn’t hurt to take on that job, she thought as she looked at her budget, especially since the job was temporary. If she could finish that project in just six months, she’d get the bonus too, and that would put her right back where she needed to be. Six months wasn’t that long to sacrifice, but she’d promised Angie she’d sit on that decision for a while . . .
The bright colors from one of the drawings she’d done for her grandparents years ago caught her eye.
Looking at it now, she found it amusing.
Most children probably drew pictures of their own family. Not Flynn—she’d always drawn the family she’d wished she’d have someday. She was the mom. Bright yellow curlicues for hair and a red dress with a black belt and high heels made her look a little like one of those moms out of the fifties shows she’d seen in reruns with her grandparents.
Would she ever have her own children running these halls?
A sandy-haired husband and four children completed the picture. Two boys and two girls, stair-stepped in age. Being an only child she’d always wished for brothers and sisters. Four was perfect. No middle child. And what family was complete without a dog? A bearded collie, of course. Just like the one she’d grown up with. Dad had taken Gus with him when he left. At the time she hadn’t even realized that neither Dad or Gus would be coming back. She wondered now if her grandparents had known. They’d never let on if they had. Too bad Granpa was so allergic. At least that was the reason they’d said Dad took Gus with him.
The muscles on the husband in the drawing made him look like a lumberjack without the plaid shirt. Even in grade school she’d been drawn to well-toned big guys. Standing between her and her make-believe husband, the children held hands and wore big toothy grins. The two boys had blond hair like her, but one of the girls had red hair and the other, brown like the dad. There were little sweeping arcs on each side of the dog’s tail, showing he was a happy tail wagger that day.
I may not have that husband or children, but I could get a dog. A little unconditional love never hurt anyone.
Gus had been her best friend when she was a little girl. That dog had filled the role of brother or sister for her. As an only child, you had to get creative, and an imaginary friend just seemed weird. Pretending Gus was a sibling seemed quite natural. The scruffy gray-blue dog had tolerated daylong tea parties and dramatic Nancy Drew readings in her bedroom along with a bed full of stuffed animals. She’d dressed him in her clothes complete with ribbons and barrettes too. Poor Gus had been such a trooper. Much better than Daddy had been about it. Daddy had lost his sense of humor when Mom got sick, and he never smiled again. He seemed to take it quite personally when she dolled up Gus as an imaginary sister. She could still hear Daddy muttering under his breath when she proudly marched Gus out in drag.
And as fun as the short daydream of having a dog was, she knew she couldn’t do that now, even though she was settled in Boot Creek. When she’d been working in Charlotte, she couldn’t have a dog in her condo, and now with the recent thought of doing some traveling . . . having a pet would mess up the whole plan.
She itched to get her life in order. There wasn’t one thing that felt like it was locked in. Not her job, her home, or her love life. Her dwindling finances made her nervous. She wasn’t in trouble, by a long shot, but she liked knowing she could weather any financial storm.
She ambled through the house trying to burn off the antsy feeling.
The one thing that always calmed her was cooking.
She went to the kitchen and looked through the contents of the well-stocked pantry. Pulling out all of the ingredients to make stuffed pork chops, she turned the kitchen island into something out of an episode of Hell’s Kitchen.
She wondered if Ford liked pork chops. For half a second, she considered running upstairs and asking him, but Angie’s advice rang in her mind. This wasn’t about Ford. Or anyone else, for that matter.
I’m the leading lady of this story.
If Ford didn’t like pork chops, her friends Derek and Katy would happily accept some leftovers. Derek loved her stuffed pork chops. Not that she wished a failure on Katy, but it was kind of cool to have a specialty dish that, even with the recipe, no one else seemed to be able to duplicate.
She chopped onions and celery, then sautéed them on the stovetop. In another pan she scrambled fresh sausage. It was always a good day when the sausage man was at the farmers’ market. Using a spatula, she broke up the lean meat into small bite-sized pieces. Everyone loved her homemade sausage stuffing. It had been Gran’s recipe, but Flynn had upped the savory spices and made it her own. Even her grandfather boasted about it.
With the rest of the ingredients mixed in one of Gran’s turquoise and white, butterprint-pattern Pyrex bowls and set to the side, she gave the sauté pan a good stir.
Ford walked into the kitchen. “I could smell that all the way upstairs.”
She jumped, sloshing grease in the air.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped closer to the stove, inhaling the simmering scents. “I don’t know how you expect me to get anything done with that smell wafting through the house. I swear I almost drooled on your hardwood floors up there.”
“Don’t you go slipping and sue me.”
“I wouldn’t, but if your buddy Megan made one of her candles smell like that she’d be a millionaire.”
“You’d just go around hungry all the time.”
He scratched his head. “Good point. What are you making?”
“Dinner. Do you like stuffed pork chops?”
“If that’s going in the stuffing? I like it already.”
She pulled out the drawer next to the stove and took out a dessert fork. Stabbing a piece of sausage, she handed him the fork. “Local sausage. Doesn’t get any better than this.”
He took the fork and raised it to his lips. He nodded as he chewed. “Man, that’s good.”
“I know.”
“What time is dinner?”
“Figured we already missed lunch so we’d do an early dinner. Around five thirty work for you?”
He glanced down at his watch.
She hadn’t noticed the expensive watch before. A nice Rolex.
“I have to go pick up some things, but I’ll be back in plenty of time for that.”
“Great. I’ll set a place for you.”<
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“Are those pork chops going to be baked or fried?”
She could do it either way he liked, but instead she answered with her favorite, “Fried.”
“Oh, girl.” He clutched his heart. “Careful. I might never leave.” He walked out of the kitchen, and she heard him holler out a whoop as he went out the front door.
She put together the stuffing and set it aside. Ford still wasn’t back when she’d finished making the salad, so she folded the load of towels she’d washed in preparation for the completion of the other two bathrooms and went upstairs to put them away.
It felt good to have someone back in the house. Maybe having no guests was part of what was making her so unhappy lately. She’d thought she was missing Brandon, but what if that was only part of it. It might be old-fashioned, but fussing over people brought her joy. She came by it honestly from her grandparents, she guessed. It must’ve skipped a generation.
She set the large stack of towels on the chair in the hall and went into Ford’s room to make his bed and freshen his room before he got back. A portfolio sat on the desk near the window.
Hesitating for a moment, curiosity forced her to open the leather-bound book and start thumbing through the pictures. Photographs of brightly colored glasswork filled every single page. Different techniques were explained on some of the facing pages, others held awards or accolades from trade magazines. One clipping even heralded having been featured in an episode of a show on HGTV.
She tidied the room, noticing the way he’d folded his jeans and shirt on the chair in the corner of the room. Unexpected for a man who seemed so rugged.
The pillows with the shams on them had been tucked in the nook next to the nightstand. She picked them up and placed them on the freshly made bed, and then smoothed out the quilt.
“I’m back.” His voice carried upstairs, and her breath caught in her throat. She felt like a teenager getting caught skipping school. “Up here,” she called and stepped quickly to the handrail with a little wave. “I was just tidying up.”
He climbed the stairs. “You didn’t have to clean my room. I do know how to make a bed.”
“Habit,” she said, moving away from the door to his room.
“Thank you.” Ford grabbed her hand. “Now quit treating me like a guest and come see what I bought. I think you’re going to like it.”
“I feel so bad that you had to go back to the store again.”
“It’s fine. I just wanted to do the job right.” He led her to the second bathroom.
She stepped inside and stopped. “I thought you went to get parts. You already finished? What did you go get?”
“Everything on the list is done.” He raised a finger and handed her one of the bags he’d carried in. “I bought you a present.”
A gift? He looked proud of the find. Like a young boy producing the frog he’d just caught in the ditch. That was so thoughtful.
But why? Did he use my credit card to buy me a present like Brandon had? Stop it. This is not Brandon. Let it go. Just be gracious, and quit prejudging the poor guy.
As casually as she could manage, she accepted the plastic shopping bag and took out the box inside.
A light fixture?
The picture on the box showed a vintage light fixture made of oil-rubbed bronze with a seeded glass shade. The lightbulbs even had carbon filaments. She glanced up at the original sconces that still graced the wide glass mirror. “But . . .”
“I know. If you don’t like them we don’t have to swap them out. What you’ve got works perfectly and they are right for the time period of the house, but when I was putting everything back together I remembered seeing these fixtures when I was at the store last time.”
“They would look awesome.” She hesitated, knowing she needed to be careful with her budget. “How expensive were they?” She had a lot of things to take care of before she started splurging on nice-to-haves, and she wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Especially not so soon. And someone else spending her money felt a little too familiar to her recent mistakes.
“Doesn’t matter. My gift to you.”
“I can’t let you—”
“You can’t not let me. You already said you liked them.” He picked up a screwdriver from the counter and started dismantling the original sconce. “Plus the new fixtures point down. Much better light. You’ll be happy with them.”
The gesture touched her, and he seemed to be getting as much out of giving these to her as she was excited to receive them. “Thank you. This is so thoughtful of you. I love them. They are absolutely my style.”
“I thought so, and I’ll enjoy them while I’m here.”
“I’m glad your bathroom is done. You can give it a good practical test-drive.”
“Exactly,” he said. His grin was boyish sometimes, making her smile. “Can you turn off the circuit breaker to this room?”
“Sure thing.” She ran downstairs and flipped off the switch. At least that was one good thing Brandon had done. It had taken them the better part of a day of yelling back and forth to get this whole panel marked, but that was work well worth the time. “Is that it?”
“That’s the one.”
She heard the shade slide up in the bathroom. “Need my help?”
“You know the rule.”
“Fine. Call me when you have something to show off.” She heard him snicker. She could get used to that rule.
The mailman dropped her mail through the front door slot, which meant it was getting close to four o’clock. She carried the mail into her office. Pitching the junk mail, she opened her water bill. Another big one. It was going to be nice to have all the leaky faucets and toilets repaired. Those leaks had really started costing her over the past few months. It had been one of the reasons she’d wanted to get those repairs done. They’d only turned the water off at the source of the problem a few days before she gave Brandon the boot. She wished she’d thought of that a lot sooner while no customers were booked. She could have saved a few bucks.
But that was behind her. Nothing she could do to change that now. Just keep moving forward. Tomorrow would be a better day.
“Flynn?” Ford yelled from upstairs.
She stepped into the hall. “Need me?”
“Are you busy? I’m done up here.”
“Not too busy to see.” She grabbed the handrail and took the stairs two at a time. She swept back her bangs, wishing she’d thought to put on a little makeup while he was gone. Those thoughts were like bad habits. This was not that kind of visit. She and Ford were friends. No strings. That was all it would ever be. And that was safe.
In a month he’d be gone. Back in Alaska. No pressure, whatsoever.
She moved quickly, excited to see the results, but stopped short of the bathroom when he stepped in her path.
“Close your eyes,” he said, placing himself in the doorway to block her view.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
She closed her eyes. He edged behind her and placed his hands gently over her eyes. She could feel the heat from his body. He led her into the room, strong but gentle, like the night they’d danced at Angie and Jackson’s wedding. He was a good dancer. A strong lead. Why hadn’t she remembered that until just now?
“Are you ready?” he whispered at her neck.
His breath tickled her skin. “Yes.”
He lowered his hand. She opened her eyes, taking in every detail. The bathroom looked even prettier than she’d ever imagined. “Those lights are perfect. They make the room.” She turned around. “It looks great. Even ties in with the other fixtures. Oh, my gosh. You put the towel rack up too?”
“I did.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “You like it?”
“Like it? No.” She turned and smiled. “I love it. This is spectacular.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not spectacular.” He dropped her hand. “The Northern Lights, now those are spectacular.” He leaned against the bathroom vanity a
nd crossed one boot over the other.
“You’ve seen them? I’ve always wanted to see them.” The thought tumbled from her mouth.
“Pictures don’t do them justice. I’m still completely in awe every time I see them.” His voice softened. “You feel part of them when you stand beneath their brilliance. The magic created by nature is hard to match. Alaska is full of moments like that.”
When he spoke of Alaska she felt drawn into his excitement about it. “You really love it there.”
“You have to experience Alaska to understand it. You should come visit some time.”
She yearned to see the Northern Lights. To share them with him. “Maybe I will.” Don’t get caught up in him. He lives like four thousand miles away, and there’s no time for those shenanigans right now anyway. “As friends I mean.”
“Right. Yeah,” he said. “You’re welcome to come visit anytime. I’ve got plenty of room. All you need is a plane ticket.”
“Alaska is one of those bucket-list kinds of trips.” She’d planned to start that bucket list. A for Alaska seemed like the perfect thing to start it off. Did she just invite herself to his house? “I was getting ready to cook dinner. Do you want to come down and keep me company while I cook? You can tell me some of those stories about Alaska.”
“No.”
Well, that was honest. “Oh, okay.”
“No, no, I meant I won’t keep you company, but how about I help out? I can tell stories and help at the same time.”
“Are you serious?” He wanted to help? Had Angie put him up to being extra nice to her? That had to be it. Probably some kind of test. Well, Angie was in for a surprise, because she had no intention of failing this test.
“Sure. It’ll be fun. I do know my way around a kitchen.”
She started down the stairs with him at her heels. “You’re on. Is there anything you can’t do?”
“I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
In the kitchen, she took the pork chops from the refrigerator.
He looked impressed. “Now those are some chops.”
“I know. No wimpy, skinny chops around here. The butcher cuts them and then slices them down the center for me so I can stuff them.”