Up to Me (Shore Secrets)

by Christi Barth

  Seneca Lake definitely came in heads and tails above anywhere else he’d been in the category of warm and friendly. No matter where he stopped to try and get work done, people insisted on talking to him. Offered him food and drinks. Gray also waved off offers of a haircut, a racquetball game, and a horseback ride. Hell, at this point it felt like the whole town was trying to date him. Everyone except Ella.

  So he’d taken refuge on the pier at the Manor. Hidden behind a clump of lake grass taller than Gray, he figured it was the safest place left to him. Even his own room was off limits. The maid, of course, knew and adored Ella. And, of course, had seen them together on more than one occasion and wanted to give her blessing. Because, as the maid so proudly informed him, she’d already given them the green light in the fucking journal.

  The pier wasn’t so bad. The sun-baked boards beneath his legs were smooth with age. He’d been able to push up the sleeves on his black rugby shirt as the air warmed. Behind him, a white bush with white flowers perfumed the air with a scent almost identical to whatever Ella wore. And Gray didn’t think he’d lose his man card for admitting that the six baby ducklings paddling circles around their mom were the cutest thing he’d ever seen. At least, as long as he didn’t admit it to anyone else. Ever.

  Squinting behind his aviator shades, Gray stared back down at the screen. The more time he spent investigating, the more convinced he became of two things. First, that taking over Mayhew Manor could be a really smart move for his company. And second, that the Manor could be a cash cow with just a little more focused management. It wouldn’t take as much as he’d feared for Ella to be in the position to fight a takeover as long as she sold out a few more nights and scraped up enough cash for the needed repairs.

  The surrounding area was great, although the city planner had sure fucked over a good thing when he started fucking the treasurer instead of doing his job. The town needed a kick in the ass, publicity-wise, as much as the Manor did. Again, though, it wouldn’t take much. The sooner Dawn dropped her optimistic naiveté and fired the both of them, the sooner the town could regroup and move forward.

  Which meant he’d hit an ethical logjam. He’d hoped to discover the Manor teetering on the brink of collapse. To find proof upon solid proof that liberating Ella from this giant white elephant full of debt and memories would be good for her. Instead, he had equally strong reasons to urge Ruffano & McIntosh to move forward...and to urge Ella to dig in her heels and not let them do it.

  He was crazy about Ella. Didn’t have any future with her. If they tried to date once he left, his job would come out. It was already almost impossible to keep it from her. And Gray couldn’t see that she’d ever forgive him for spying on all of them, even if he recommended R&M stay away. So if they didn’t have a chance in hell of being together, why did he care so damn much?

  Water splashed his shins. Gray looked out about ten feet to see Joel in a rowboat, slapping an oar back across the rippling water. “Shit, I didn’t even hear you coming.”

  “Means I did it right. Silent and stealthy’s the smoothest way to row.” The oars clattered against the bottom of the boat. Gray pulled up his legs as Joel lashed a rope around one of the pier’s poles.

  “Uh, what are you doing? There’s no ladder here.”

  “Don’t need one.” As smoothly as if pulling himself out of a swimming pool instead of in a straight vertical lift up five feet, Joel hoisted himself in a glorified pull-up onto the pier.

  “Shit. What did you say you used to do in the army?”

  “I didn’t. If I told ya, I’d have to pound the hell out of you until you didn’t remember what I just told you.”

  Seeing as how Gray had no intention of revealing his past or present job, it seemed more than fair to let it drop. That, and catching the deadly seriousness behind Joel’s words. “In that case, how about we forget I ever asked?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Joel looked at Gray with a quizzical frown, then hooked a thumb at the row of Adirondack chairs spread along the edge of the velvety green lawn. “You know, for the price you’re paying per night to stay in the Marshgrass Suite, we let you use the chairs. Any of ‘em. On the whole property.”

  “Very funny. But the chairs, sooner or later, attract other people. I needed a breather.”

  A confused squint docked beneath the frown. “You’re on vacation. Aren’t these whole two weeks a breather?”

  He’d known since the labeling day at the distillery that Joel didn’t believe a word of his cover story. And been grateful that Joel hadn’t pushed him on it. But apparently his curiosity was getting the best of him.

  “They were till you started hassling me, Chef.” Gray said it in a sardonic tone that he hoped reminded the older man he was a guest, first and foremost and Joel was there, ultimately, to serve him. He fucking hated it. Hated himself for treating a guy who’d been nothing but friendly like hired help. Just another reminder that he hated this job a little more every day. And that he still hadn’t come up with a better option.

  Joel ducked his head. “Fair point.”

  Desperate to change the topic, Gray pointed at the faded blue hull of the boat. “Do you row over every day?”

  “As often as the weather lets me. It’s just a mile to my dock.”

  “Yeah. But then it’s a mile back in the dark, at the end of a long shift.”

  “It gives me a breather.”

  “Also a fair point.” Gray would’ve said more, but something hard and sharp ricocheted off his right leg. He looked down to watch a jagged rock plop into the water. And at the same time, noticed the thin line of blood welling along his calf. “What the hell?”

  Joel whipped around and let out a sharp, piercing whistle that stopped a young boy in his tracks. “Did you throw that rock?”

  Feet scuffing in the grass, the boy hunched his shoulders beneath a red windbreaker and edged closer. “I didn’t throw it at the man. Not on purpose.” He shook his head fast. And his wide brown eyes looked scared shitless. Gray thought that out of the two of them, despite the blood trickling down his leg, the kid probably felt worse right now. “I just wanted to make it skip.”

  Gray got up, making sure to close the cover on his iPad. “You were trying to skip rocks with a jagged shard? The only thing less aerodynamic would be trying to skip that stump over there.”

  “I don’t know how to do it. Just saw it in a movie once.” Coming closer still at a snail’s pace, the boy looked to be no more than maybe eight, his baseball cap barely level with Gray’s waist. “I’m bored. Chucking rocks at the lake is the most fun I’ve had all morning. Except for hitting you. I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “Dad’s golfing. Mommy’s at the spa. I’m s’posed to stay on the lawn here till she’s done. But there’s nothing to do.”

  Matched set of ungrateful idiots for parents. Poor kid. Gray remembered all too well what it felt like, having nobody to play with. “Joel, how long till your shift starts?”

  “I came in early to do some paperwork, but it can wait. I’ve got about two hours.”

  Gray squatted. “I saw a soccer ball in the gym yesterday. And I think Miss Mayhew mentioned a badminton set. Why don’t I go scare those up, and we’ll hang with you until your mother comes back out?”

  “Really?”

  Yeah. Gray had clocked plenty of alone time over the last decade. He could always carve more out later. Right now, he sure as hell couldn’t let this little boy mope out here by himself.

  “While Mr. Locke’s getting the equipment and slapping on a bandage, how about I teach you the right way to skip stones? You know, by hitting the water instead of people.”

  A smile showed off a gap where his two front teeth used to be. “That’d be awesome. I’m Rory.”

  “Hi, Rory. You can
call me Chef.”

  Gray whispered, “I’ll tell Ella to let his mom know.” In his regular voice, he said, “Back in a flash.” He covered the wide lawn at an easy jog, checking his watch at the same time. Just shy of two o’clock. Ella was probably tied up with a client. But Eugene would undoubtedly point him to the equipment. Once inside, Gray hooked right toward the front desk. To his surprise, Ella was there, looking amazing in a tight sweater the color of peach fuzz with matching jeans.

  “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to come to me with your comments, Joanna,” she said in a pleasant, professional tone. Despite the words and her calm voice, Gray could tell something was wrong. Maybe it was the rigid line of her shoulders. Or maybe it was that since he’d heard her voice thrum with sincerity, he now recognized when it was missing. “And I agree. Tradition is a wonderful thing.”

  “We honor our past by recreating it.”

  That came out weird. Like the tall twig of a woman in lime green bike shorts planned to throw on her great-great-grandaddy’s Union blues and wield a musket for a couple of hours down in Gettysburg.

  “I’m all about honoring the past. But I made this decision in order to preserve my future.”

  “I call it selfish. Ignoring it is a slap in the face to all who came before us.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Joanna. I hope you’ll still find it in your heart to attend, though.”

  “Of course I will,” she snapped. “Not showing up would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. I just had to tell you first what a horrible mistake you’re making.” With a nod, she jammed her helmet on her head and strode off, her bike cleats making a hollow clank against the lobby’s mosaic floor of grapevines at their peak.

  The moment she cleared the doors, Ella collapsed in on herself a little. She dropped into the wing chair with a huge sigh.

  “Who’s the snippy bitch?” Gray asked.

  A stack of pink message slips circa the turn of the millennium flew up in the air as Ella twisted around. “Gray, hi. I didn’t see you.”

  “Because you were busy juggling ten tons of attitude.” He squatted to gather her messages.

  “Oh, you heard my conversation with Joanna?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a conversation. The Duke of Wellington had a conversation before he kicked Napoleon’s ass all over Waterloo. This woman was out to draw serious blood from you. What’s her problem?”

  She took the pink slips from him, then shook them. “The same as all the rest of these people. I’ve got seven angry phone calls to return. That is, after I deal with the parade of angry men and women who’ve tromped through my lobby for the past four hours.”

  Shit. Gray had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what had them fired up. He also knew he was to blame. “Is this about the big party?”

  “You get a gold star. After we worked on the wording over breakfast to change the save-the-date, I sent it out before my first appointment.” She dropped her hands to the armrests and tipped her head back. “I then had to ask Brooke to fill in and finish a facial, because there were three people insisting on speaking to me immediately. Gray, I never walk out on a client. Not ever. Not until today, anyway. I feel horrible.”

  Part of Gray wanted to drop to his knees and stroke her hair until her smile returned. Instead, he went right into crisis mode. Focused on what he could fix. The best way to move forward with the least damage. “Did you comp her?”

  She looked at him blankly, as if he’d asked if the lake was still big and blue. “Of course.”

  “Then stop with the guilt trip. She still got the full service, and the bonus of a freebie. Your client’s more than satisfied. Let’s tackle the real problem.”

  Ella wrinkled her nose. “You mean how pancake-flat Joanna’s ass looks in those bike shorts?”

  Atta girl. The snarky humor indicated she wouldn’t let these people walk all over her. That she was ready to fight. “That is a vision I’d like to bleach from my brain. Wanna explain exactly what her objection is to moving the party by a week?”

  “Joanna’s the self-appointed historian of all things Seneca Lake. She’s got a shed in her back yard full of notes and photos and clippings. Excel spreadsheets about events in town as detailed in the journal and cross-referenced by who made the entries.”

  “Really? She’s lumping confessional entries in the damn journal in the same category as genuine, fact-checked newspaper clippings? Have I mentioned how nutty your whole town is to put so much weight on a glorified diary?”

  She tapped her chin, as if giving the question weighty consideration. “Almost as often as I think about how sexy your smile is.”

  “So, a lot then?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Then Ella laid a smile on him. One that could melt the polar ice caps in under thirty minutes. One that promised things for the next time they were alone, in a dark room. Or heck, even a well-lit room. “I shouldn’t make fun of her. Chronicling what happens at Seneca Lake is her passion. Unfortunately, I’ve just thumbed my nose at her precious traditions by moving the party.”

  “But it’s your party. Your family’s tradition, Mayhew Manor’s—not hers.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that not everyone thinks of it that way. When something’s been around long enough, people see it as an expectation, rather than a privilege. According to,” she riffled through her papers, “Ernie Jones, Cathy Franklin and Rebecca Stalking-Horse, they’ve looked forward to this for a whole year. On top of looking forward to it every year for their entire lives. Memorial Day won’t be the same without it.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure for a couple of hours of nonstop burgers and brats.” Gray set his tablet on the marble mantel and propped his elbows on it.

  “Mmm-hmm. Apparently I’m responsible for maintaining people’s happiness on an annual basis by making sure this party happens on the same day every year.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe that?” Over the past few days, Gray had come to have a grudging respect for this community. The way they pulled together, cared so much about everyone. But whatever respect he’d built up would disappear in a flash if they pulled together against Ella. He wouldn’t stand for it.

  Ella toyed with the ends of her scarf, which started at pale yellow then shaded all the way up to deep orange. “I believe they look forward to it. There’s such a wonderful sense of coming together. Almost like a reunion. In fact, lots of extended families who’ve moved away do come back for it.”

  “But, Ella, take a second here to dial into reality.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not finished. I’m quite aware all those people can change their plans and come a week later.” She beckoned him closer. Gray sat in the matching wing chair and leaned over the end table until she could whisper in his ear. “I’ve even thought about canceling the party entirely.”

  That took him by surprise. Gray jerked backwards to see her eyes. To gauge just how serious she was. And she appeared quite solemn, with a hard set to her jaw. “I thought it was important to you.”

  “I thought so, too.” Ella fisted her hands in her lap. Mindful of the couples chatting at the door to the wine shop across the lobby, she kept her voice low. “But then Sarah and Levi Bachmann barreled into my treatment room in the middle of a deep tissue massage. How dare they! I don’t think they’d greet me with open arms if I waltzed into their bathroom during shower time tomorrow morning. Raquel, my poor client, was stark naked under just a thin sheet.”

  Gray bit back a grin at the thought of Ella carving out a little surprise retribution. Maybe going with the classic cold water over the shower curtain prank. “Did they get an eyeful?”

  “No, thank goodness. And Raquel was quite understanding when I rescheduled for tomorrow, a ninety minute instead of the sixty-minute treatment she originally booked.” But her hands remained in those tight, white-knu
ckled fists.

  “So, another full comp?” he guessed. It was what he’d do to keep the clients happy. For all her denial and dislike, Ella had hoteliering in her blood. When the chips were down, she knew customer service inside and out.

  After all, it was how she’d charmed him into that chair massage five minutes after he walked in the door. Okay, maybe Ella’s smile had something to do with it. And—to be honest—her breasts. God, what red-blooded man wouldn’t hope that they’d brush against him as she rubbed?

  Ella nodded. “Of course I comped her. And she’s getting a bottle of wine on the house at dinner tonight.”

  “Which means that in addition to however much burgers and beer for the entire town at this party costs,” he shot up an index finger for emphasis, “with your budget already scraping the bottom of the barrel, now your beloved fellow townspeople are taking a chunk out of your bottom line?”

  Another sharp dip of her head. “Yes.”

  Gray breathed deeply. This close to the fireplace, the air still held a faint, smoky whiff of apple wood. Last night they’d sat right here in front of the fire trying to stump each other on music trivia. Until he couldn’t stand watching her pink, glossy lips move any more, dragged her onto his lap and kissed her until the fire died out. The laughing, the teasing, the touching had been just about perfect. That’s what Ella should remember when she sat in this chair. He’d be damned if he let a few self-centered, clueless, mouth-running douchebags spoil it.

  Covering her hands with his own, Gray said, “You know this has to stop.”

  “Yes.” She shook her head, sending the end of her scarf flying into the air like helicopter blades. “Yes, damn it. Of course I know that. We live in an internet society. One bad review is all it takes to scare people away from Mayhew Manor. Or ruin the reputation of luxurious excellence I’ve worked so hard to build in this area for the spa.”

  She’d summed the problem up perfectly. “Go on.”