Up to Me (Shore Secrets)

by Christi Barth

  It was his turn to say something. Some bridge to steer the conversation back towards a topic that didn’t make Gray so uncomfortable. And Eugene’s bum hip could be the perfect segue. “You’re the manager. Can’t you delegate the stair climbing to someone, oh, thirty years younger? Gotta train the next generation to take over, right?” Gray added a hearty laugh to take the sting out of his words.

  “When you’ve got a, shall we say, guest complication, there’s not always time to wait for the elevator. Between you and me, the couple who checked out of the tower room this morning were as complicated as a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. I didn’t want to foist them off on anyone else.”

  “You must have an assistant manager.” With the lightness of a whiffle ball, he tossed it out there. No need to show just how interested he truly was in the answer.

  “Nope.”

  Gray didn’t need to beat around the bush to hide his experience with hotels. Any corporation, no matter how big or small, required an organizational structure with subordinating levels. Law firms had partners and lawyers and paralegals. There were chefs and sous-chefs and line-cooks. Hospitals had attendings and residents and interns. That particular knowledge he’d gleaned over a weekend locked in an Omaha hotel room thanks to a blizzard that coincided with a Grey’s Anatomy marathon on the one channel that wasn’t wiped out by the storm. Not that he’d ever admit his newfound admiration for McSteamy’s luck with the ladies to anyone. Ever.

  “An operation this size?” Gray tilted his head back and speared an arm out to indicate the breadth of the castle and its spotlessly manicured grounds. “Ella told me there are actually two hotels. How do you do it all without an assistant?”

  Eugene dragged in a long, raspy sigh. “I can’t afford to let Ella think there’s a safety net of an assistant manager. So I do it all myself, and count the days until I don’t have to anymore.”

  Now they were getting down to the good stuff. The sort of thing you couldn’t dig up on a business online. The dirt that had to be carefully finessed, in person. “What do you mean?”

  Another sigh. Then he drummed the fingers of his right hand on the edge of the table, setting the silverware dancing and clinking. “I’ve got a fully trained assistant. Actually, when it comes right down to it, I’ve got a fully trained replacement. Ella Mayhew.”

  The impression Ella gave Gray was that she’d run off to college and massage school without giving the castle and its operations a second thought. If it was true? If she was really primed to take over? It could complicate matters. The rough draft of the report he’d begun last night would need to be tossed. Everything reevaluated. Casually, Gray scratched the back of his neck. “I thought she was just a massage therapist.”

  “Right now, she’s just a masseuse. But her parents raised her to run the place. They taught her everything about this hotel. She spent her summers apprenticing in every section of the hotel. Can she cook a four-course meal at the last minute for a hundred wedding guests? No. But does she know how to pull together the team to do it? Absolutely.” He ticked points off on his arthritis-swollen hands. “Sweet-talk the linen vendor into switching tablecloths at the last minute. Wrangle the wait staff who had the night off into coming back in for a shift. Call the florist for fresh centerpieces, including something special for the bridal suite. Juggle twenty other details that are all moving parts. It’d be second nature to Ella.”

  It’d be second nature to Gray, too. But he’d keep that to himself. Instead, he’d just keep pushing open the conversational door and hope that Eugene kept barreling through it. “It’d be a lot of work.”

  Eugene gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, there’d be some glitches while she settled in. But this hotel needs a Mayhew at the top spot. I just have to wait for her to realize it. So I hide my limp in front of her, try not to complain about my aches and pains. I’ve already put off retirement.”

  Gray gave the manager a longer, assessing glance. Still spry enough. Lots of hair. Also lots of deep creases around the eyes and mouth. Forehead, too. One hand was plastered to the aching hip. Eugene hid it well, but he had to be on the wrong side of seventy. “Really? For how long?”

  “Too long. Supposed to make the announcement the month her parents were killed. My first grandchild had just been born. Little Bella. What a cutie.” Gray hoped he wasn’t about to be on the receiving end of the wallet photo whip-out. The last thing he needed was a ten-minute ramble down memory lane. “No way I could leave Ella in the lurch. I put it off. She never even knew. And now she won’t hear of anyone taking my place. Every time I bring it up, she hugs me. Says she can’t imagine the place without me. So I stay.”

  Gray gaped at him. The selflessness displayed by Eugene blew him away. Stay on an extra six months to hire and train a replacement? Sure. But to hang in there for three years? With no foreseeable change in sight? That level of loyalty to the Mayhews and to their Manor spoke volumes. And it added yet another layer of complication to his overall evaluation.

  “That’s amazing. No matter the circumstances, most people wouldn’t postpone their retirement for years. It takes a special kind of man.”

  Eugene shrugged off the praise. “Problem is, I can’t wait much longer. Bella’s got a brother now. I promised I’d help look after them when their mother goes back to work in two months.”

  Sounded to Gray like Eugene was pink-slipping himself. And soon. “Does Ella know?”

  The corners of his mouth turned down, creating even deeper jowls. “Not yet. I was waiting for something. The right moment. A sign, I guess. And then you showed up.”

  Oh, that was a sign all right. A sign that big changes were around the corner. Just not the ones Eugene expected. “Look, I like Ella. It’s no secret that I hope to spend more time with her while I’m here. But I’m only here for two weeks.” He said it slowly and clearly, so there’d be no possible confusion. No mixed message from Gray. Not to Eugene, not to Ella, and sure as hell not to himself.

  “She looks so happy with you.” Damn it. Eugene’s comment seemed to ignore Gray’s last sentence. The most important one. The one that flat out told him not to pin any hopes on a future for Ella and Gray. “It does my old heart good to see it.”

  The guilt returned, strangling Gray with a mix of remorse and shame. More than a little self-loathing, too. For years he’d maintained a clear line between mixing his work assignments with women. Gray was smart enough to know it could get messy. There was only one reason he’d given in to the temptation that was Ella. They both knew, from the start, that their time together came with a rapidly approaching expiration date.

  But now the situation was getting complicated. He didn’t like knowing that he held the power to shape her future with his report. Gray disliked even more hiding that awkward fact from her. And now other people were involved in this sticky mess. What if there were more people like Eugene, getting their hopes up over nothing? More friends or employees who saw Gray as the lifeline that could pull Ella up the last few feet out of her well of despair? When in actuality, he might end up kicking her straight back into it.

  Getting involved with Ella was a huge mistake. A Hindenburg sized mistake. A doping in the Tour de France and assuming you won’t get caught sized mistake. One he certainly couldn’t backpedal from with Eugene sitting there grinning at him. Escape was the only answer. He shot out of his chair.

  “Don’t think for a second that I’m going to help you break the news. Or try to convince her to give up the job she loves to take over the one she’s run from her whole life.”

  “She’s told you a lot. That’s good.” Another knowing nod.

  Gray didn’t know how he’d gotten painted as the savior in this scenario. “Eugene, I wish you luck. But for both our sakes, I’m planning to pretend we never had this conversation.”

  With a double-thump of his hand on the table for goodbye, he hurri
ed around the edge of the building. Didn’t want to waste a second opening the door and cutting through the building. That led to the potential of seeing Ella. Right at this second, he didn’t know what he might say to her.

  Unfortunately, it was clear to Gray that this thing between them—unlabeled yet undeniable—had to stop. Even contact as innocuous as their shared breakfasts was now laced with far too much meaning and potential. So he had twenty-two hours to figure out how to back out of their next non-date. Not that he’d be able to shake his attraction to Ella nearly that quickly. God, there were days he hated his job. And those days were rapidly outnumbering the days he liked it. Gray jingled his car keys as he picked up his pace across the wide lawn. This would definitely take more coffee.

  Chapter Seven

  Because he was a thorough man, Gray went back to the Cosgrove General Store for his caffeine fix. His conversation with Eugene had been eight kinds of uncomfortable. God knew he was in no rush to get into another one just like it. But the job came first. That’s how he got the big bankroll—by always putting the job first. A bankroll big enough that it might eventually allow him to walk away. To do a job that meant more to him than just a fat number at the bottom of a balance sheet.

  Until then, though, the job came first. Was there a chance he’d run into Dawn and get sucked into another weirdly personal conversation? The intrusively caring kind of chitchat endemic to small towns? Oh, yeah. The way his day was going, there wasn’t just a chance. There was a certainty. Gray was just as certain, however, that Cosgrove General was a prime spot to mine for information about the town and Mayhew Manor. If not from Dawn herself, then from the locals sure to congregate there. Might as well start pretending to care about them—and not care about Ella. Fake it till you make it, right?

  Braced for the worst, Gray pushed open the door. A bell jingled. The wooden floorboards creaked with every step. He realized his back teeth were clenched together. Which meant it was time to crawl out of his head. Leave his emotions in a mental ditch. So Gray hit reset. He cracked his jaw, rolled his shoulders and loosened his stride as he headed for the café area.

  Dawn clattered down the stairs. Today she wore another cardigan. This one was tan over an orange top and jeans. Mitzi scampered along right at her heels, long ears flapping against each step. “Good morning, Gray. I knew you’d find your way back to us.”

  “You brew a mean cup of joe.” Crouching, he let Mitzi lick both hands before he gave her a good belly rub. Gray liked dogs. Had always hoped to have one someday. Although in his plan, the dog was about triple the size of the ground-hugging Mitzi. If he threw a Frisbee at her, it’d probably squash her. But more importantly, Gray knew that the way to a pet owner’s heart was through their four-legged companion. Dawn had been so suspicious when she met him. Gray wanted to be sure she felt like she could let her guard down now that he was officially no longer a stranger.

  “She sure likes you.” Dawn rummaged behind the counter for a mug and passed it over. “I hear she’s not the only woman panting a little more heavily around you these days.”

  Yup. Never let it be said the fine people of Seneca Lake didn’t live down to his expectations. In the store less than two minutes and the subject of Ella had already reared up. Denial was futile. After all, she’d written about him in the journal for the entire town to see. Etiquette, however, allowed him to skirt the issue.

  “I’m a gentleman, Mayor Cosgrove. I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Good to hear.” She sighed and laughed, fluffing her shoulder-length blond hair. “Oh, who am I kidding? Your attempt to do the right thing puts the kibosh on my attempt to squeeze gossip out of you. On the one hand, I’m thoroughly disappointed. On the other hand, in my role as an unofficial godmother to Ella, I approve. You’ve put me in a sticky situation, Gray.”

  He shook his head. Turned his back to her to pour his coffee. “Not nearly as sticky as the corner you just tried to paint me into, Madam Mayor.” Crap. Kind of surreal, dodging her question about dating Ella. Since he was simultaneously trying to figure out how to put a stop to their current not-dating dating. Gray couldn’t tell her why. Not without revealing the real reason he was staying at Seneca Lake. But he also couldn’t let Ella think—not for a minute—that he didn’t desire her. That she didn’t thoroughly delight him from her laugh to her smile to her inner strength.

  “Ha! And it’s Dawn.” She joined him at the carafe, filling her own mug. Unlike his green speckled stoneware, hers was delicate and painted blue with yellow stars, like a cut out from Van Gogh’s Starry Night. “I only trot out my title on the off chance it’s needed to wield some influence. Like when I’ve got to convince town council members not to sling mud at each other.”

  He’d far rather discuss the complexity of business than his dating dilemma. Gray hitched himself up onto a stool. A contentious council could translate to a lengthy logjam in the rezoning process. If, that is R&M even went that way. Gray had yet to decide what sort of building would work best at the Mayhew site, if not the castle. Assuming he recommended takeover of it. Which was one of those things he was actively not thinking about. All he had to do right now was gather the information. No decision had to be made for at least another ten days. As if that made it better. As if in ten days, he wouldn’t still be horribly aware of stripping away Ella’s life and memories and her parent’s legacy. As if.

  “Does that happen often? That sort of squabbling?” he asked.

  “Not so much as you’d think. We had a kerfuffle last year over whether or not to name the corn maze at the Fall Festival.” She slipped off a loafer to absently run her foot back and forth along Mitzi’s spine. “I didn’t want sponsor banners plastered all over it. Looks messy. Ed and Archie, they own the liquor store, and they made a big stink. Wanted a ‘piece of the action’. They’ve been sore ever since the barbershop sponsored the Little League team. Ed claims that a barbershop doesn’t need that sort of advertising. His reason being that everyone gets their hair cut. Well, between you, me and the doorknob, everyone ends up at the liquor store, too. But the Fall Festival’s for families. Kids don’t need to see a logo of a dancing vodka bottle waving above them as they enter the maze. Sends the wrong message.”

  When she paused to sip her coffee, Gray jumped in. “I agree.” Only two words. But Gray hoped they’d stop her. Normally he reveled in digging up tiny details about a town. What made Gray so good at his job was that he didn’t take anything at face value. A seemingly innocuous piece of information could be the difference between a site being a prime location for a resort or a business park or luxury condos. It was all about perception. And Gray was an expert at perception. He’d gotten a crash course in it growing up. Or rather, being on the negative, receiving end of it.

  Today, though, he wasn’t in the mood. Even though it was exactly the sort of thing he’d come to Cosgrove’s to learn. Gray suddenly couldn’t bear learning one more intimate detail about the town. So he lurched to his feet. Lifted his mug in a question. “Can I take this outside for a few minutes?”

  In response, she bent down and clipped a leash onto Mitzi’s collar. “I’ll come with you. Going to check the journal?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s my family’s job to watch over the journal. I check it every day. Plus, the whole town’s talking about what you two wrote in it.”

  “Great.”

  “Want to see what they think?”

  “Yes. And no. I think the whole thing’s idiotic.” As she preceded him through the store, Gray hastened to add, “No disrespect intended.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m well aware our custom may seem odd to outsiders. But it works for us. Some people send in questions to advice columns in newspapers. Call in to talk radio. Email to bloggers. Really, is this any different? I don’t think so. In fact, it’s more pure. Friends reaching out to friends.”

  The scre
en door clacked shut behind them. Gray thought about mentioning that she hadn’t locked up the store full of merchandise. Then he remembered Ella barging in to the empty store to serve herself. That was just the way of things at Cosgrove General. A level of trust and acceptance and, well, community. Pretty much what Dawn had just said. Which he had to admit, appealed to a deeply buried part of himself he’d completely blocked off over the years. Seneca Lake had a feeling of unification and caring that would absolutely play into his recommendation. Whatever that might be.

  Dawn yanked open the mailbox and retrieved the journal. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to him.

  His momentary hesitation was stupid. What did it matter what a bunch of strangers wrote? He never should’ve written the question in the first place. Gray paced the line where the grass met the sandy lakeshore. “Read it to me.”

  “Okay.” She sat on the bench and let Mitzi off her leash. “Hmm. In answer to Ella’s question whether or not you two should start canoodling—”

  Gray cut her off. “Canoodling?” He paused, midstep. “The 1930s called, and they want their word back.”

  “Very funny. Here’s the first response: ‘No. If you have to ask, you’re not ready’.”

  Despite Ella’s excellent recounting of the journal tradition, Gray hadn’t actually expected people to answer. And he sure as hell hadn’t expected to be rejected, sight unseen. “That’s...not what I anticipated to hear. Is there another?”

  She snorted. “The entire page is full.”

  Christ. His fingers tightened around the mug. “What’s the majority say?”

  “It’s split about sixty-forty. Where you scratched out ‘take me to dinner’ and changed it to ‘romance me?’ That went over well with the ladies. One woman wrote ‘go for it’, and then drew a heart around it. Of course, she also dotted her I with a heart. There’s a good chance that one’s either annoyingly cutesy or not even old enough to vote.”