She’d just moved in with Ethan a few months ago and they were confronting so many changes together. They didn’t need additional stress.
Ethan must have sensed her weakness, because he went straight to begging. “Please let Kyle stay with you. He can stay in his room. You’ll hardly have to see him. You won’t have to cook anything for him or treat him like a guest. Just let him hole up and write for three months. You’ll never even know he’s there.”
Their hopeful gazes caused her steely resolve to tremble. The problem was that she would know he was there. His presence would haunt her on a regular basis, mess with her head. She couldn’t admit the truth to her brother. Still, Mia was important to her, and this wasn’t her problem—even if Ethan had been the one to get them all into this mess.
“I’ll check the schedule and see what I can do,” she finally said. “I’m completely full this weekend, though. I had two couples already scheduled, and then today I received a call from a group of skiers for a last-minute weekend trip. Great for business, but I’ll be slammed for the next few days. Maybe next week I can try to work out an arrangement.”
Mia reached across the table and squeezed her hands in gratitude. “That’s all we’re asking. Maybe he can stay with us if the inn gets overbooked. We can be like a backup.”
“Just not a permanent residence,” Ethan said.
“I’ll check the schedule,” she said again. “Maybe next week I can find him a room to write in during the day, and he can stay with you at night.”
“That’d be great,” Ethan said quickly, putting up his hands. “We decided to head to the city this weekend anyway, so Kyle will have the place to himself until we get back.”
“How does Hei Hei feel about that arrangement?” Ophelia asked in amusement.
Mia winced. “He’s going to be pissed at me. But I’ll have Harper check in to make sure Hei Hei doesn’t kill Kyle.”
Ophelia laughed, silently cheering on the chicken’s bad behavior.
Serves the man right for thinking he could just waltz into her home and declare he wanted to write his screenplay, expecting her to fall in line like she used to. Hell, no. Not anymore.
They were finally on her turf and playing by her rules.
She concentrated on her dinner. She figured she’d work something out with her brother when he returned, but no matter how bad she felt for him, Kyle Kimpton would not be staying permanently at her inn.
“Stop staring at me. I can’t work.”
Kyle glared at the chicken currently giving him the evil eye. His clawed foot scratched at the floor and his head feathers crooked to the right, reminding him of a Stephen King–inspired killer fowl.
He’d been trying to work on the script since Ethan and Mia left for the weekend, but between the dogs and crazy chicken and the small space, he couldn’t get in the zone.
Muttering a curse, he got up from the too-saggy couch that swallowed his ass and walked to the window. Ethan said he’d talked to Ophelia, who was apparently finally considering his request. Something told him she was harboring a bigger grudge than he’d originally imagined.
It was going to get worse once she heard the news.
He’d been here almost a week already, and she refused to engage with him. The flowers he’d sent were met by a cool “thank you” and a closed door. His phone calls went unanswered.
How was he supposed to move forward with his work and their relationship when she wouldn’t even talk to him?
Maybe he needed to woo her a bit. Try to convince her his presence wouldn’t threaten her routine. Showing up on her doorstep and announcing he needed to stay for three months to write probably wasn’t the best first move.
Decision made, he grabbed his coat and walked up toward the inn. He’d ask her out for lunch, or coffee. He’d be charming and apologize for his intrusion. He’d beg her to give him a few moments to talk.
Ophelia might have a feisty temper, but she also had a soft heart.
It was hard for him to imagine her turning away from a good grovel.
His shoes crunched over the snow, and he breathed in the sharp, clean air.
God, it felt good to be home.
His gaze swept over the thick woods and curving path that led to the horse barns and open meadow. Growing up around horses and farming had taught him to appreciate not only the beauty of nature but also the simple pleasures he’d forgotten in California. The satisfaction of cooking meals with fresh vegetables from the garden and eggs gathered from the chickens. The sense of freedom you get from galloping on a horse as the flash of green grass whipped underfoot. The pride of strained muscles and sweat-soaked skin after a hard day’s work that was measured not by a pile of papers or a successful negotiation but hands-on effort. He’d run away from it all for the lure of something greater.
Funny. Now he wondered if he’d had the true prize all along.
Pushing the disturbing thought away, he climbed the porch steps and rang the bell. Squared his shoulders. Recited his speech in his mind.
It all went to hell once she opened the door.
“What do you want?” she asked with a fierce frown, lips pursed as if she’d tasted something bad. But the intimidating effect was completely ruined by the series of racking coughs that came right after. She covered her mouth with her arm. When she managed to lift her head again and try to glare at him, he caught the glassy look in her blue eyes and the stark paleness of her skin.
“You’re sick,” he said, immediately stepping past her and shutting the door behind him. He laid his hand on her forehead before she could jerk away. “And you have a fever.”
“I’m fine. I took some cold meds.”
He studied the slight shaking of her shoulders under the thick cardigan wrapped around her. “Baby, you may have the flu. You have to get to bed.” The familiar endearment spilled from his lips before he could think.
“Don’t call me that.” But her voice came out weak, and was followed by another series of coughs. “I can rest later. I have a full house today and a million things to do. There’s no time for me to be sick.” She spun around as if trying to show him she had everything under control, then wobbled, her hands grasping for the wall as she scrambled for balance.
He caught her before she tumbled, his heart stopping at the lack of color in her cheeks and the burn of her overheated skin. With a growl, he scooped her up into his arms and marched down the hallway. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“I don’t need—”
“Bedroom,” he commanded.
She gave a small humph and pointed to the last door on the right.
He walked in, quickly surveying the feminine space decorated in her favorite colors of powder blue and lemon yellow. It smelled of honey and lavender. He laid her down on the four-poster bed, ignoring her protests. “You can’t take care of guests with a fever,” he pointed out. “You’ll get them sick, plus spread germs everywhere. Is there someone I can call to help out?”
She blinked as if her vision were blurred, then shook her head. “No. I can get Aubrey to do the cleaning and laundry service, but usually Ethan or Mia or Harper would step in for the main functions like check-in, setting up guests’ schedules, or cooking breakfast.”
“Okay. I know Ethan and Mia are in the city. I’ll call Harper.”
“She’s not here, either,” she said. “She got an emergency call to pick up a rescue horse and won’t be back till tomorrow.” More coughs choked her throat. “It’s okay. I’ll put on a mask. Maybe Aubrey can pick up breakfast at the Market Food Pantry so I don’t have to cook. I can do this.”
Her effort to sit up was so pathetic, his heart squeezed. She’d always been a stubborn, determined creature about whatever task she put her mind to, refusing to admit defeat. It was another reason why he’d been so shocked when she gave up her dreams of singing to run away, bury herself again in the safe world they’d both worked so hard to escape. But that was a discussion for later.
Right now,
she needed his help.
“You’re going to stay in bed and get better,” he said, tugging back the quilt and adjusting the pillow. “I’ve got this. I’ll take care of the guests and whatever else is needed.”
Shock widened her eyes. “What? You can’t run an inn. I’m expecting a group of ten skiers today, and I already have two couples staying here. You’d need to do check-ins, make dinner reservations, cook breakfast, put out afternoon snacks, do turn-down service . . . No, you can’t. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, and I can handle it.” She was so weak, he was able to easily shift her under the blankets and tug them over her. “If you allow yourself to burn off the fever and get some sleep, you’ll probably be back in full force tomorrow. I grew up watching your mother, remember? The tasks are simple enough as long as I’m organized. I can handle it.”
She snorted. “You have no clue,” she muttered under her breath. “Mom made it look easy.”
“Ophelia, if you don’t rest, you’re going to end up in the hospital. Can you afford to be out for a whole week?”
“No!”
“Then let me do this for you. Please.”
A glimmer of raw emotion flickered in her eyes, but she quickly broke her gaze and turned her head away in retreat.
After a few moments, she turned back, her tone all business. “In the top drawer, you’ll find a piece of paper with all the tasks for check-in listed. I have everything saved in Excel with the guest information, credit card numbers, assigned rooms, and personal preferences—including any food allergies. All restaurant and activity reservations should also be included. Tea and cookies go out in the main parlor at three p.m. It’s Amanda and Michael’s anniversary, so I ordered flowers and chocolate-covered strawberries to be delivered. You need to set up the dining room at five p.m. with a bottle of champagne and the crystal flutes. I’ve got some frozen scones prepared, so if you’re able to pair them with bacon and eggs in the morning, I think we can get away with a basic breakfast. Although it might be nice to have fresh fruit, and Michael specifically requested bagels, so you’ll need to pick that up from the Market at six a.m. Kyle?”
His head spun from the list of instructions, but he schooled his expression and nodded with confidence. “Yes?”
“I’m going to throw up now.”
He jumped into action. Guiding her quickly out of bed, he got her to the bathroom and held back her tangled hair as she got sick, even as she desperately tried to wave him off. By the time she was back in bed, he’d retrieved a glass of lemon water, another round of meds, and a cool washcloth. He placed a bucket by her side.
She rolled her head on the pillow and groaned. “First you see me in yoga pants with messy hair. Now I’m sick and disgusting. Fate sucks.”
He laughed, thinking she wouldn’t be so open if it weren’t for her fever. He smoothed the cloth over her damp forehead and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. The years fell away, bringing him back to a nest of memories: the time she drank too much champagne at their very first Hollywood party and he took care of her during the awful night of bed spins; when she twisted her ankle wearing new designer heels and he carried her twenty blocks to the ER because he couldn’t get a cab; the time she cried after speaking with her mom and got homesick so he cuddled her in bed while feeding her Hershey’s Kisses. The way she’d leaned on him gave him a sense of purpose he’d never been able to duplicate. She was the only woman who made him want to be his best and feel whole.
God knows, he’d forgotten how that felt after so many years.
He decided to take advantage of her honesty while he had the chance. Keeping his tone light, he said, “Those yoga pants were sexier than a tight miniskirt. And you were always the most beautiful without any type of makeup or fancy clothes.”
She made a face. “Ugh, you are so lying to me. You’re used to those Hollywood chicks now.”
He cupped his hand to her hot cheek, his voice husky with emotion. “I don’t lie. One of the things I loved most was your vulnerability. The way you opened up only to me. It was a gift that meant everything, and there hasn’t been another woman I’ve even wanted to be as close to as I was with you.”
The power of his confession broke through, surprising both of them with its raw force. A soft gasp escaped her bee-stung lips. Her eyes softened and, for one perfect moment, it was like nothing had changed since they first looked at one another and realized they’d become much more than friends.
She opened her mouth . . . and fell into a coughing fit.
His hand dropped from her cheek and he eased back, giving them both space. “I’ll come back and check on you soon. Try to rest.”
He left her, his chest tight with too many emotions he didn’t have the time to examine.
He had an inn to run.
Chapter Five
Within fifteen minutes of the ski guests arriving, Kyle realized he was fucked.
He’d headed back to the bungalow to grab his laptop, figuring he’d have plenty of time to work before check-in. When he’d returned, he’d spent some time familiarizing himself with the computer programs and customer requests. Aubrey had thankfully swept in and made the beds, taken care of the laundry and bathrooms, and prepped the rooms. Ophelia was resting after the second dose of meds. He’d felt ready for the new guests’ arrival, even acknowledging a touch of ego regarding how easily he had taken charge.
Running an inn truly wasn’t that difficult.
Then four p.m. happened.
The skiers swarmed the place with pumped-up testosterone and male juvenile humor that Kyle would have appreciated if he wasn’t the innkeeper. They stomped in with giant dripping-wet boots and cases of beer, jostling each other and collapsing immediately in the common area in front of the fireplace. He pegged them as being in their early twenties and longtime friends. They were respectful—but loud. He was barely able to get them all registered since they had little interest in paying attention to his requests, and by the time he’d organized all their luggage into their respective rooms, they’d begun clamoring for snacks.
At least they were polite. He didn’t know how he’d fare with a bunch of jerks, so he was sure he’d be able to handle them with some good old-fashioned assertiveness and organization.
He worked in the kitchen for a while, getting bottles of soda and a small variety of snacks together, including nachos and a decent-size appetizer plate filled with crackers, cheese, and prosciutto. Ophelia definitely had a fully stocked refrigerator, which made prep a lot easier.
The loud roar of approval when he entered the room made him grin. He set up the table, pouring drinks and chatting about the ski conditions on the mountains. He left them relaxing with the television on while he went to clean up.
Five minutes later, one of the guys popped his head in. “Hey, man, you think we can have more snacks?”
Kyle stared at him. “You guys finished them already?”
“Yeah, they were good.” He grinned, his surfer hair flipping into his eyes. “We’ll take anything you got.”
He hesitated. “Well, we provide snacks like tea and cookies, but for dinner you’re on your own. How about I get you some takeout menus? We can get some platters or pizza delivered.”
The guy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, man, that’s perfect. You got a hot tub here?”
“Sorry, no gym or hot tub.”
“No prob. This is still way more rad than some rank hotel room, and it was way too pricey to stay at the main lodge.”
“We’re glad to have you all here.”
Kyle got the menus and set them up, gathered all the empty dishes, then went back to the kitchen.
“Oh, hello? Can you tell me where Ophelia is?” a kind voice echoed from the hallway.
He dried his hands and walked out, finding an older couple looking at the rowdy group taking up the main room. One glance pegged them as the Rileys.
He motioned them to the back, where it was quieter. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Riley, but she got s
ick. Think it’s the flu. My name is Kyle, and I’m a good friend of Ophelia’s. I’ll be helping her out until she’s a bit better.”
“Oh, that poor thing! Such a wicked flu season this year,” she clucked, her eyes peering over her silver glasses. “It’s just that we were going to go to dinner tomorrow night at Crystal’s, and Ophelia was kind enough to make us the reservation, but we’d like to switch it to tonight and do Galveston’s tomorrow. Can you make those arrangements for us?”
He blinked. Ophelia did stuff like that, too? “Um, sure. What time works?”
“Six is perfect. Thank you, dear. We’ll be napping for a while. Can you make sure the boys keep it down?”
“Yes, not a problem.”
Her husband gave an approving nod and guided his wife back upstairs.
A roar from the main room hurt his ears, so he attacked that problem first. “Hey, guys, you gotta keep it down for the other guests,” he said loudly, trying to shout over the blasting game. “And lower that a bit. Sorry, but we have to respect the other people staying here.”
“Sure, dude! No worries!” One of the guys cranked the TV volume lower, then handed Kyle the takeout menus. “We marked our orders down. Can you just charge everything to the room? Oh, and make sure they give us extra sauce—they always skimp on the sauce.”
The whoop of approval from the guys cut off his initial reaction to balk at having to handle their food orders. He bit back his annoyance, trying to make sure he gave extraordinary customer service, and walked back into the kitchen.
Oh, right, reservation changes.
He made the calls, but Crystal’s couldn’t change the reservation and asked him a bunch of questions he didn’t know how to answer. He told them he’d call them back, then walked up the stairs to knock on the couple’s door and ask them if seven p.m. was acceptable.
His hand paused on the door. He was hoping he wouldn’t wake them up from their nap. Then he heard it.
Low moaning. A groan.
“Yes, like that. Yes!”
Backing up and shaking his head to get the image out of his brain, he realized the nice older couple wasn’t napping, but having wild sex.
A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Page 4