by JoAnn Ross
Bouncing around the country had also had her realizing how regional guests’ needs tended to be. Here in Washington she’d need to bone up on hiking trails and fishing location recommendations as opposed to knowing who to call to score tickets to some big sold-out show.
“So, the past years have been like getting your PhD in hospitality.”
She laughed. “I like the way you think.”
The tower room’s bay windows offered a view of the waterfront, harbor and mist-draped islands that would allow her to charge more for it, but her takeaway from those audiobooks was that due to its size, it wasn’t special enough to be a featured room.
“Here’s my idea,” he said. “Gut this space and the next two down the hall. Then open them up into one room that would give you both mountain and harbor views. Add grand, double hardcore entry doors, along with extra insulation to add more soundproofing, which I imagine would appeal to honeymooners. Since all the chimneys in the place are sound—I had them checked out early on—you could stick with wood. But if it were my decision, I’d change it out to gas that can be operated with a remote. Then turn the three separate rooms into one large honeymoon suite. You can separate an en suite bath with either pocket doors or even a sliding barn door.”
She could envision it. So clearly. “I love the idea. Especially the barn door, which brings in a trendy feature without breaking the bank. And although a crackling wood fire is romantic, gas would be better for the environment.”
“It’d also be better during red flag, no burn days,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to use a fireplace as a selling point, then have to tell guests they couldn’t use it.”
“Good point.”
She turned from the view of a large, red-sailed ship that looked a lot like it might have been commanded by Captain Jack Sparrow, to look up at him. “Why did those other owners turn your idea down?”
“Because they’d read a bunch of books that said the entire point of an inn was to have as many rooms—and beds—as possible. They were focused on the number of heads in beds.”
“That may be true for a highway off-ramp motel chain.” During her college days, she’d worked nights at a couple of those herself, where room service didn’t exist and the “continental breakfast” consisted of a plastic-wrapped pastry of unknown age and coffee guests poured themselves into cardboard cups from a huge stainless steel urn. “But the one thing bed-and-breakfasts, country inns and five-star hotels have in common is that they’re offering an experience. Something special. And in a town that’s literally named for a honeymoon, a honeymoon suite seems like a no-brainer.”
“Thanks. That’s what I thought, too.”
“We’ll need a statement bed.” She slowly turned around in a circle, taking in the space, imagining the adjoining walls gone. “This big bay window bump out would be a perfect place for a nice skirted table and chairs for private breakfasts. And, of course, the room needs a Victorian fainting couch—”
“My mother has one of those. And I don’t believe she’s ever fainted a day in her life.”
“I suspect fainting was more common when women were all corseted up for hours a day. Body shapers are bad enough. I can’t imagine being tied into whalebones.”
He skimmed a look over her. If he’d been anyone else, she’d think he was checking her out. But this was Seth. Her best friend’s husband. Well, widower. But still, any interest she might have thought she viewed in that dark gaze was undoubtedly born from whatever cooled ashes were lingering in her imagination from her youthful crush.
She was no longer a teenage virgin with a wistful, yearning heart. She was a grown woman who’d slept with not all that many men, but enough to know her youthful dreams of Seth Harper had been both overly romanticized and unrealistic.
“Also, there’s another theory, but...” She felt the color, the bane of her fair skin, rise in her cheeks.
He tilted his head. “But?”
“That the couch was also used to keep women comfortable while they underwent a cure for female hysteria. Which, for a period of time, apparently was common. And often frequent.”
“And the cure was?”
He’d already guessed it. She could tell from the slightest quirk of his mouth. “A pelvic massage.” She’d gone this far. She might as well go full-out. “Often with specialized equipment.”
“Well, then,” he said, his tone remarkably matter-of-fact considering they were discussing vibrators, which was the only sex she’d had for far too long. “Sounds as if a fainting couch is a must for a honeymoon suite.”
She slapped his arm, resisting the urge to feel up his brawny biceps. “You’re terrible.”
“You brought it up,” he reminded her. “And now you sound like Zoe.”
And, damn, there it was. The subject they’d both been avoiding. The dead wife in the room.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. It was the same thing she’d said two years ago. She knew it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference then. And doubted it did now, either.
“Me, too,” he said. Which was exactly the same thing he’d said. Thinking back, other than the required thank-yous to all the people offering condolences, she doubted he’d said more than a dozen words the entire day.
Brianna had dealt with this situation before. Often widows or widowers would return to special places they’d shared with their spouse. Many times one of those places would be a hotel. At The Royal Hawaiian, a woman who’d stayed there for her honeymoon sixty years earlier had returned with her husband’s ashes for their anniversary. Every day for a week, she’d take off in the morning carrying that urn. Every evening she’d return to have dinner in her room with, in her mind, her husband. Many of the staff had thought it creepy. Brianna, on the other hand, could only hope that she could someday experience a love so long-lasting, faithful and true.
If she were going to be here only for a visit, she might not pick up this emotional conversational grenade. But because she was going to be staying, and because they’d be working together, but mostly because they’d been such close friends, she decided to face the situation now.
“How are you doing? Really?”
“Fine.” His tone was flat. The single word sounding like something he’d say to anyone. Even a stranger on a plane, were the subject to somehow come up.
“I can’t imagine experiencing such a terrible loss. But I do care. I loved Zoe, too.”
“I have my work, which I enjoy. I eat six nights a week at the pub, where Quinn feeds me the best burgers ever. And I have dinner once a week with my in-laws.”
“How about breaking with tradition and having dinner tonight with my family?” The invitation, while impulsive, sounded exactly right. It was obvious that he was still hurting, which wasn’t unexpected considering how perfect a couple he and Zoe had been. What this Harper needed was to be surrounded by the exuberant Mannion clan. “I called Quinn from the ferry. He’s bringing wings.”
“None better than his maple whiskey bacon wing sauce,” Seth agreed.
“You can’t go wrong with bacon. But I prefer the sweet chili lime.”
“He was making that back when we were kids. Burke used to bring them to team meetings.”
“I always thought Quinn would grow up to be a chef,” Brianna said. With two working parents, all the kids were expected to pull kitchen duty, but she and Quinn had been the two who’d enjoyed it. Quinn, especially, whenever it had to do with fire, which had made him the Mannion summer outdoor grill chef.
“He did all the cooking himself the first year at the pub. Before hiring Jarle.”
“I know. Mom told me. And now he’s brewing beer, which also makes sense because it goes along with his pub food. What I’ve never been able to figure out was how he stood all those years working in that stuffy law firm.”
“Great minds. I wonder the same thing most nights I go in for
my burger.”
They were getting back on track. The tension that had stretched between them eased a bit.
“Life in a city’s fast lane can be a draw when you grow up in a place like this,” she said.
“For some,” Seth agreed. “One of the major things Zoe and I had in common was that neither one of us ever wanted to live anywhere else.”
“I know. And I’m belatedly realizing the same thing my brother must have. That sometimes you have to leave home to realize that it was where you belonged all along.”
He glanced down at her Keds. And this time his smile reached his eyes. “Those don’t exactly look like ruby slippers.”
She grinned back at him and clicked her heels. “Ah, but appearances can be deceiving... So, speaking of home, do you want to come home with me? Did I mention my mom’s blue-ribbon chicken?”
“I’d like to.” He seemed to mean it. Then his smile faded. “But I have plans for tonight.”
From the way he’d almost cheered up just talking about Quinn and his wings and dinner, Brianna almost asked if he couldn’t change whatever the plans were. Then decided not to push. What if he had a date? Which didn’t seem likely after how he’d talked about missing Zoe. But he wouldn’t be the first guy to separate emotions from sex.
“Another time, maybe,” she said mildly.
“I’d like that. Meanwhile, I’ll see you at noon tomorrow at the office. And if there are any wings left over from your welcome-home dinner, I wouldn’t turn them down.”
“I’ll make sure there are,” she promised.
“And keep the jacket,” he said. “Until you can go shopping. If you decide to stay after you sleep on the idea.”
“I’m staying.” He hadn’t made it sound like a challenge, but Brianna took it as one. She realized that he wouldn’t be the only person to question her reasons for returning home. But she was determined to prove any doubters wrong.
They made their way back to the main floor. The rain had stopped, and as he walked her to the car, Bandit bounding along beside her, Brianna watched the sun slowly sinking into the blue water, the golden ball tingeing the sky with shades of scarlet and orange, and decided that in spite of the potential problem with her lingering attraction to Seth Harper, she’d made exactly the right decision.
CHAPTER TEN
ALTHOUGH HE’D NEVER admit it, it hadn’t taken long for Seth to find his weekly dinners with his in-laws more and more difficult. Just as there was no way he’d ever stop loving his wife, there were days when he’d be shooting nails into window trim, or laying hardwood floors, when he’d realize that his shattered heart might have begun stitching itself back together again. It would never be the same. There’d always be rough patches, like the ones scarring the old Boy Scout tent he used to take camping. But sometimes he’d have to stop and force himself to remember Zoe’s face, which had begun to fade in his mind. Just a little.
But then he’d be back looking at the scrapbooks and photo albums and listening to her mother sharing all the stories of his wife growing up, going back to her birth three weeks early (“That girl was always in such a hurry!” his mother-in-law would say), and in his mind, he’d be back in that driveway, buffing the wax on her bright red Civic, watching the notification officers walking in slow motion toward him.
He parked in the driveway, walking past the trees that Helen Robinson had tied with yellow roses during Zoe’s deployment, past the flagpole, where Dave had gone out on that horrible notification day and lowered the American flag to half-mast. A banner signaling that this was the home of a Gold Star family hung in the sidelight next to the blue door. Seth had never needed a banner to remind him that he’d lost his wife to war, but he hoped the symbol, like the folded flag they’d hung in a shadow box with her bronze star and purple heart over the fireplace, brought his in-laws some peace.
“I’m so glad you came tonight,” Helen said as she brought the dinner to the table in the formal dining room, where a blue-and-white Greek flag hung on a wall painted bright red. Helen had once told him the color reminded her of the bougainvillea that climbed the walls of her childhood home back on the volcanic island of Santorini. She’d made pastitsio, Zoe’s favorite.
“I’m glad to be here.” It was Thursday night. Where else would he be?
And yeah, that was additional proof his life had fallen into a rut. If he didn’t have the daily challenges of crumbling foundations, uncovering mold behind a bathroom shower, or discovering that an entire house still had knob and tube wiring that would have to be entirely replaced, putting the project overbudget—which would involve an unwelcome conversation with the homeowner—he’d be living his own version of that Groundhog Day movie. But without that happy ending.
“We have something to tell you,” his father-in-law said as he passed Seth a basket of flatbread.
“Now, Dave,” Helen demurred, placing a plate of what Seth had always considered a really good mac and cheese with meat in front of him. “I thought we’d agreed to wait until dessert.” As she served her husband, she flashed Seth a forced smile. “It’s loukoumades.”
Another of Zoe’s favorites. Seth figured if Cops and Coffee got hold of his mother-in-law’s recipe for the fritters with cinnamon and thyme honey syrup with nuts, there’d be lines around the block waiting for the place to open.
“Sounds great,” Seth said. As he always did.
“Might as well get it over with,” the older man said. “Otherwise you’ll be fidgeting all meal long, waiting for the right time to spill the beans.”
They’d gotten Seth’s attention. “Is something wrong?” He looked from one to the other, seeking any sign of illness. They were only in their midsixties, but logging and a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit had undoubtedly taken a toll on Zoe’s father’s health. “Are you both okay?”
“Oh, we’re right as rain,” Helen assured him quickly. Too quickly. As she shook out one of the cloth napkins she always got out for the weekly dinners, and placed it on her lap, Seth noticed her hands were shaking, just a little. “Aren’t we, Dave?”
“I will be as soon as I can eat. So, are you going to tell him? Or should I just pull the damn trigger?”
Now Seth was beginning to get seriously worried. “Tell me what?”
“It’s nothing bad,” Helen assured him. “In fact, it’s a positive thing.” She took a deep breath. “We’re moving.”
“Okay.” If people never moved, Seth would be out of work. Maybe they thought he’d be upset about them leaving the house where Zoe had grown up. Which wasn’t that big a deal, even though he’d spent even more time here than he had at his own house all through high school.
“Out of state.” Dave busied himself with slathering his flatbread with the olive tapenade sitting in the center of the table. Either he was hungry or didn’t want to look his son-in-law in the face when he broke the news. Seth figured it was the latter.
“Oh.”
“You know I have family in Arizona,” Helen said.
“Tucson.” Countless enthusiastic, talkative aunts, uncles and cousins Seth had met at the wedding.
Although Zoe had only spent a few weeks of her life visiting the desert, she’d talked about her mother’s branch of the family often, filling him in on lives of people whose names he couldn’t keep straight, and was always sending off stacks of birthday and Christmas cards. She had told him that she’d seen a certain beauty in the wide-open blue skies over a seemingly endless cactus-studded landscape, yet it hadn’t taken her long to miss the lush greenery of the Pacific Northwest. Yet more irony at her having been deployed to sundrenched, dusty Afghanistan.
“My niece and her husband have taken over my brother’s restaurant,” Helen explained. “Which gives my brother and his wife more free time. Now that Dave’s retired from logging, and I’m taking early retirement from cooking at the high school, we thought it woul
d be nice to spend our retirement with family.” Her cheeks flamed. “Not that we don’t consider you family, because despite not being Greek, you are just like a son to us, but—”
“I get it,” Seth assured her. If her niece and husband cooked anything like this, the Greek restaurant he’d never taken time to visit would undoubtedly continue to be a success.
“It’s not like when my grandmother Stathopoulus took to her bed when I married Dave,” Helen continued. “In her old-fashioned view, any girl who hadn’t married a ‘good Greek boy’ and had her first child by twenty-three might as well be dead. We understand that the heart knows what the heart knows. And Zoe’s heart knew, from that very beginning, when you were both so young, that it belonged to you.”
“It was the same for me.”
“I know. Which is another reason why you’re like my own flesh and blood. But it’s so hard to stay here.” She pressed a plump hand over her heart as her eyes shone with tears. “In this town. And this house. I thought it would be easier. They say it gets easier with time. But whenever I drive past the middle school, I remember worrying that by switching schools midyear, she wouldn’t have any friends.”
“Which didn’t happen.” No one he’d ever met, or would ever meet, made friends as easily as his wife.
“That’s what I assured her. But still she worried. And it’s not just the school. If I go to a movie at the Olympic, I can see her doing pirouettes up on the stage, when the dance studio would hold the recitals there every year.”
No one mentioned the arguments Zoe and her mother would have about those recitals. But she kept on taking those lessons, and dancing on that stage every spring, because not doing it would make her mother unhappy. And Zoe had never been one to make anyone unhappy. Until she went and died on him.
“We had to stop going to Friday night football games because she’d start bawling,” Dave volunteered.
“Because of her cheerleading days,” Seth said. And wasn’t that one of the memories stuck in his head? Because nobody could jump as high or wave her pom-poms as enthusiastically as Zoe Richardson.