Holiday Man

by Marilyn Brant

  Her smile brightened a notch. “Great.” She collected the papers in one smooth swoop and stood up. “I’ll bring all of these along then.”

  “Okay.” He eyed the stack of flyers. Yeah, really great. There was probably a “Limbo by the Lake Contest” in there somewhere, too. Or an equally riveting evening’s entertainment, like “Slides of Regency Costumes: The Form and Function of Corsets.”

  He sighed. Well, at least he’d bought their freedom for that night.

  They left the restaurant and strolled along State Street, a traffic-free zone, with the State Capitol building at their back and the warm sun sinking slowly toward the horizon. Hand-in-hand, they edged near the university’s bustling Memorial Union.

  “They’ve filmed all kinds of movies here,” Shannon informed him, rubbing her thumb against his knuckles and making his body heat rise. “I know they shot ‘Back to School’ with Rodney Dangerfield on this campus and, also, some of ‘The Prince and Me’ starring Julia Stiles.” She paused. “The view from the Union’s back terrace is especially pretty. I haven’t been in town for a while, but I know it overlooks the lake. And you can buy really delicious ice cream inside the building and eat it on benches outside.”

  He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Ice cream he could do. After all, he had to agree to something she suggested tonight. “Why don’t we aim for that then? I could go for something chocolaty right now.” And he’d bide his time until he could get her back to The Lakehouse and would be able to lick her instead.

  At this invitation, she tugged him down the street and into the formidable brick Memorial Union, pausing only to laugh with delight at a family of Canadian geese waddling on the sidewalk in front of them. Some of that high energy and enthusiasm was returning to her and, if pressed, he’d have to admit a few beams of it were rubbing off on him.

  They ordered enormous waffle cones loaded with triple scoops of tangy, freshly made Orange Custard Chocolate Chip ice cream (one of the Union’s specials) and carried them like burning torches through the dark “Rathskellar”—the UW’s popular student café—and out onto the terrace.

  The waters of picturesque Lake Mendota greeted them with winks of dappled sunlight, and Bram was overcome by the illusion that, if he could glide across the lake’s shiny surface, he would be in the midst of a dazzling lightshow.

  “This is pretty,” he said, taking in the 180-degree view. He’d been to Madison for a half dozen business meetings, but he’d never bothered to sightsee here before.

  Shannon nodded but soon skipped ahead, passed both him and the weathered tables, toward the stairs that led downward to the lakeside walkway. “C’mon,” she said.

  He trailed after her, swerving around a thicket of loitering youth engrossed in the quest for end-of-summer fun. Never had he felt so old. The swarming students reminded him for one unhappy heartbeat of his brothers and the way the three of them battled through their college years. For him especially, holding Grant and Alex up as role models, he’d spent most of his university experience alternating between driving workaholism to get his career off the ground and mindless partying to blow off the resultant steam.

  Memorable years? Yes.

  Enjoyable years? Well, not particularly.

  He watched from the distance of a few yards as Shannon paused by a tall pole, a glorified billboard with posters of all sizes and hues tacked to it. A look of longing he couldn’t miss graced her face. More bands advertising their concerts. More lectures. More art shows. More book discussion groups. More Open Mic invitations. No, thank you.

  But when he cleared his throat to announce he’d caught up with her, she turned away from the activity postings and gazed up at him with a sad, half smile. Her tiny indication of defeat.

  Yes, he’d won their battle of wills for the night but he felt, again, like an old man in the midst of youth’s joviality. Did they give out senior-citizen discounts on this campus for grouchy thirty-one year olds?

  “We’ll do whatever you want tomorrow,” he said, staring at her mouth as she licked the top of her ice cream cone into a custardy twist.

  She nodded. “Oh, I know we will.” Her tongue swiped another swirl of creaminess, and he had to bite back a groan. “Tomorrow’s mine to plan.”

  And though he didn’t say anything further on the subject, he couldn’t help but wonder how the hell she could think that going to some lecture on Tibet would be preferable to returning to the B&B and doing something erotic with that luscious orange ice cream. Wasn’t being alone with him an exciting enough activity?

  From the way she darted along the walkway that evening and back up the steps and around the Union’s terrace, perhaps not. And something in Bram’s gut clenched tight at this thought.

  Even without a formal event to attend, she kept scoping things out and moving like a sunfish in the water. She was acting like his ex-girlfriend Angie, for God’s sake. Social. Insatiable. Relentlessly curious. He’d always appreciated Shannon’s imagination and intelligence, but he hadn’t guessed these other traits of hers, and he’d be lying if he said they didn’t worry him. Not that they were problems in and of themselves, but what did they mean in regards to their relationship? And his questions didn’t end there.

  Without an inn to run or any other occupying pursuits, did she find herself bored in his company already?

  After over a hundred hours of late-night telephone conversations and nearly a thousand sexy e-mails, did this woman not know him at all?

  And, worse, did he not know her?

  ***

  In the impeccably furnished dining room at nine a.m. sharp, Shannon yanked on Bram’s collar in an unsuccessful attempt to nudge him along.

  Saturday morning!

  They couldn’t waste away this sunny day indoors, however lovely The Lakehouse B&B might be and however delicious the full English-style breakfast certainly was.

  “Want another cup of coffee?” Bram asked her as he refilled his mug.

  She grimaced at him. “You’re purposely dragging your feet.” She crossed her arms. “Drink up your coffee and let’s go already! I want to walk around the Capitol. Henrietta said they’re having a farmer’s market this morning.”

  “Hmm. Well, we’ll rush right over to it in a few minutes, but I need to get a little caffeine in my system first.” He leaned close, so their hostess in the other room couldn’t hear, and he whispered, “You wore me out last night, sweetheart. I need to replenish my energies.”

  She rolled her eyes. Yes, the man was energetic enough in bed—and, okay, delightfully so—but out of bed he’d turned into a real slacker. You’d think she’d asked him to compete in the Ironman or something for all the resistance he put up whenever she suggested going to a little event, like a watercolor showing or a piano concert. What was his problem anyway?

  Then it hit her.

  He’d already been everywhere, seen everything.

  No wonder the guy looked so bored.

  Sure, art was very nice in Madison, but it must be positively spectacular in Rome. Mozart might still be nifty when played on a street corner in Wisconsin, but maybe it was just a tad more lyrical when performed by a professional Austrian orchestra at a concert hall in Salzburg.

  She sighed. She’d just have to handpick a bunch of activities that would be as novel an experience for him as they would be for her. From her handbag, she pulled a few of the flyers their waitress last night had given her. When were the Scarlet Warlocks playing again?

  Henrietta slid into the room. “Hey, loves, before I put away any of the goodies, do either of you want another pecan muffin? A slice of carrot cake?” She temptingly held out a tray with both delicacies in front of them.

  Bram raised an eyebrow, and Shannon saw his hand begin to rise to reach for another muffin, which would’ve been his third.

  She clasped his hovering hand and brought it down on her lap. “No, thank you, Henrietta. After the eggs, sausages, tomato slices and all the delicious bakery items you’d prep
ared for us, neither of us could eat another bite.” She squeezed Bram’s fingers and shot him a hard look. “Right?”

  He winced. “Right. But thank you,” he added, sending Henrietta a genuine smile. “You’ve got me looking forward to tomorrow’s breakfast already.”

  Henrietta laughed. “Ah, go on you two. Glad you enjoyed it.” The older woman swiveled back toward the kitchen. “Have fun out on the town today,” she called over her shoulder. “And if you get back after midnight, don’t be shy about using the key in the hanging azalea pot to let yourselves in. That’s what it’s there for.”

  “Thanks,” Shannon and Bram chorused.

  Then Shannon looked at him. “Well, you heard what the lady said. It’s high time for us to go out on the town. No more delay tactics.”

  She kissed his chin, remembering their passionate night together and how he’d rubbed that same strong chin against the backs of her knees. And against other places on her body as well. The recollection made her face flush hot.

  He grinned as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking, and then he held both his wrists out to her, palm side up. “Lead me away, my sweet. Try to be gentle.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “I will, and don’t worry. We’re going to do lots and lots of interesting things today. Stuff you’ve never done before.”

  He shot her a worried look that he tried to cover up with a neutral glance a second later.

  “It’ll be exciting,” she said, trying to reassure him. “We’ll have so much fun together, I promise.”

  ***

  Twelve hours later, Shannon was prepared to eat every syllable of that hasty promise.

  They didn’t have fun together, not really. Oh, on the surface Bram seemed attentive enough to her—and he valiantly put up with the farmer’s market, an hour of browsing at a New Age bookstore, the photography show, lunch at a Mongolian Barbeque (which he readily admitted he’d never tried before), dessert at an amazing Eastern European bakery, a hair-raising reptile exhibit at the Vilas Zoo and an introduction to Argentinean sweater weaving on campus. But the harder she worked to find an activity that would please and surprise him, the more tense he got. And his reaction to the Scarlet Warlocks mystified her.

  Here were a group of musical artists that had won the hearts of the town. Sure, they looked a little beat-up and grungy (what band didn’t these days?), but they possessed a lively, invigorating sound that wasn’t derivative. They chatted it up with the crowd in a funny, personable manner. They wrote catchy melodies to accompany intelligent lyrics. What wasn’t to love?

  Shannon caught Bram checking his watch for the eleventh time since the band began their second set.

  “Tired?” she asked him as the dynamic, student-filled crowd clapped and cheered around them.

  “Nope.” He shrugged. “Well, maybe a little.”

  “Let’s go then,” she said, taking a step toward the exit. “We’ve done a lot today.”

  He pulled her back. “Nah, I’m fine. I know you really wanted to see these guys.” The look that crossed his face was almost sad, and it confused her. “Let’s at least stay until the end of this set,” he said.

  So, they stayed. But the whole time, she got the distinct impression that Bram would have rather been just about anyplace else. Here they were, finally together in a city where neither of them had any pressing responsibilities and, yet, they couldn’t seem to do anything mutually enjoyable together unless it took place in the Marquette Room’s comfy bed. What woman wouldn’t worry about a pattern like this?

  In a veil of post-concert silence, they arrived back at their B&B—long before midnight, too. No special flowerpot key was necessary, which made Shannon feel irrationally depressed. There was so much to see and experience, they shouldn’t have gotten back until after three a.m. at least.

  When they’d trudged upstairs, Bram rubbed his eyes. “We’ve both got hours of driving to do tomorrow, so we should probably get a good night’s rest.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Of-of course,” she said. He didn’t even want to sleep with her now? Oh, God…what had happened between them this weekend?

  He gave her a slight smile and pulled her into his arms with a fierceness that surprised her. “Sleep tight, Shannon.” He then disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Soon afterward, he was beneath the covers and breathing deeply. Eyes closed. His body facing away from hers.

  Shannon washed up and slipped into bed herself. Questions about her relationship with Bram assaulted her from every angle, and they wouldn’t let her slide peacefully into her dreams.

  Who was this man sleeping beside her?

  Would he ever understand her point of view, or vice versa?

  What did each of them want from being a part of this couple…and why?

  It wasn’t until sometime around two-thirty, when shafts of moonlight angled into the room through the slats in the blinds and Shannon could no longer spin the same worries around in her head, that Bram turned and reached for her.

  Though his eyes remained closed at first, he pulled her body against his, wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered her name again and again along the side of her neck. He kissed her until passion’s fire consumed them.

  When, finally, they faced each other and stared deep into one another’s eyes, it was as if an unspoken agreement were forged between them and the inky-black night. If any fretful questions remained, Shannon knew they’d both chosen to disregard them.

  At least until morning.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Columbus Day

  “Did the birthday girl get my present?” Bram asked Shannon, long distance, of course, on October seventh.

  “It’s absolutely lovely,” she said over a line so clear she might have been only across the courtyard. But she wasn’t.

  Despite his original plans to return to Holiday Quinn for Columbus Day, he’d been called away to Italy on business. Venice this time, but the city’s romantic beauty was killing him this morning.

  He stared out his hotel window overlooking San Marco’s Square, his gaze swinging toward the incomparable Grand Canal. Everywhere he looked, couples walked hand-in-hand through the bird-filled piazza or sat together in the distinctive black gondolas, which swept them off on an amorous ride. Venice was a city for pigeons and lovers.

  Today, unfortunately, he was neither.

  “I thought you might be able to wear it with that stunning cream-colored gown of yours, the one that has the golden straps,” he said, recalling the dress she’d dazzled him with on the night of the Valentine’s dance. “Every beautiful woman should have a Murano necklace to wear at least once a year.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, I think I’ll have it on a lot more often than that. The beads are gorgeous. I can’t believe someone can make something this delicate out of glass and gold.” She paused. “Bram, thank you. It was the best gift.”

  “You’re welcome. Wish I could’ve been able to give it to you in person.”

  And he did. Ever since their September weekend getaway had ended on such an unsettling note, he’d craved an opportunity to be with her again—and at a place where they had a history of everything going well.

  Holiday Quinn.

  “I know,” she said, her voice wistful. “Me, too. But work is work, and at least yours takes you somewhere exotic.” She sighed. “I have almost two hundred guests coming this weekend, all of them expecting ‘The Voyage of Discovery’ that the Holiday Quinn brochure promises for Columbus Day, and I’m nowhere near ready.”

  “Going to have little boat races with folded-paper Ninas, Pintas and Santa Marias?”

  A laugh erupted from her on the other end of the line. “Yes, in fact. How did you guess? Of course, this’ll be for the Age Twelve and Under set, but still.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “When might you be able to come back?”

  He heard the question beyond the question in her voice. He sensed she was really asking not merely when he was coming back but to what
degree did he want to return.

  In the weeks since Labor Day, their phone conversations, while sounding aloud almost as they had during the summer, now held an edge of carefulness. Maybe both of them had been out of their element when they were together in Madison. Maybe that accounted for this subtle discomfort between them…and her new questions within questions for him. Maybe that explained why, though he wanted her with a desire unmatched by what he’d ever experienced with another woman, he felt he needed to be a little more perceptive when it came to her reactions now, a little less certain of her responses.

  All in all, these unfamiliar anxieties drained him and he wanted to put an end to them.

  “I’ll be there in a couple of weeks,” he told her. “For sure. For Halloween.”

  “Good, we’ve got a fun weekend planned. Oh, and don’t forget your costume.”

  “You’re making the guests go trick-or-treating?”

  She laughed. “No. But we are having a Masquerade Ball on Saturday night in honor of all ghouls, ghosts and goblins. And there’ll be candy for everyone.”

  “Sounds great.” He hesitated, not sure if he should tell her yet what he’d decided to do in December. But he wasn’t a man accustomed to being intimidated into silence, weird vibe between them or not. “Shannon, I told my secretary that I was taking off the whole week between Christmas and New Year’s. I know you do a lot of special holiday events then, and I was hoping to make a reservation for them all.”

  Quiet—loud and clear—met his ears.

  Then, finally, “That’s...that’s wonderful, Bram,” she said, her tone a combination of surprised, excited and (did he read this right?) worried. “I can’t imagine better news.”

  “Then it’s settled. Book me for the full week in the Astaire Suite, and you can fill me in on all the details when I see you on Halloween.”

  “Okay,” she said, but Bram still couldn’t identify the multiple nuances of emotion in her voice. If any doubts beset her about their relationship, well, he’d just have to root them out one question mark at a time.