“She saved the desserts.”
There are a few friendly whistles, and my face flames. I’m so glad it’s dim in here.
“I’m not much of a public speaker, so I’ll wrap this up,” Harrison continues. “Thanks again.”
Harrison steps down the stairs to a chorus of polite clapping. As he makes his way back to me, the final speaker takes the microphone.
The guests begin to wander to the dessert table. The night is dying down, and the band has already taken their leave. I wait for Harrison to bring up whatever it was he was going to tell me before we were interrupted, but there’s always someone here, wanting to talk to him, wanting to congratulate him.
I help myself to a piece of chocolate ganache-covered cake and try to quell my disappointment.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish our dance,” Harrison says from my elbow.
I wave my fork at him. “What are you talking about? I only came for the chocolate.”
He smiles, knowing I’m lying.
Soon, the guests begin to filter out of the ballroom. Some linger in clusters, and Harrison is stopped several times on our way out.
Finally, we step into the warm evening. I pause, breathing in the fragrance of the night-blooming flowers in the landscaping.
“Thank you for bringing me,” I say as we wait for the valet to retrieve the truck.
Harrison’s hands are at his sides, and he fidgets like he’s nervous. Why doesn’t he just take my hand?
“You’re welcome,” he says. “It’s a good thing you were here.”
I nod, suddenly self-conscious. I thought this night would end differently.
Thirty minutes later, we pull in front of the guest house. Disappointment in the evening sits heavy in my stomach. Like a gentleman, Harrison opens my door.
We linger by the truck.
“Well…goodnight,” I say, stalling.
“Thanks for coming with me.”
I clasp my hands behind me. “Of course.”
Why isn’t he kissing me and declaring his undying affection?
Why?
“Okay.” Harrison steps toward the guest house. “See you tomorrow.”
I turn away, dejected.
“How was it, honey?” Mom asks when I walk in the door.
“Good.” I pour a glass of water.
Mom doesn’t seem to notice my listlessness as she takes an apple pie out of the oven. “Do you want some when this cools?”
“No, thanks.” I drain the water. “I think I’m just going to head to bed.”
In my bedroom, I stare at my dress in the reflection one last time. With a sigh, I undo the zipper and let it crumple to the floor.
I should hang it.
Instead, I step over the heap of pink chiffon and shuffle through my drawer for my most comfortable pajamas. After I’ve changed, I flop onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.
What was Harrison going to say? Why did he never say it?
My phone chimes, bringing me out of my melancholy brooding. I scoot down the bed to see who texted.
Come to the guest house.
I chew my lip.
Can’t, I’m already in pajamas, I reply.
I don’t care. Come anyway.
After several moments, I finally tell him I’ll be there in a minute. I slip flip-flops on and make my way down the stairs.
Mom and Dad are watching a movie in the living room, and they don’t pay me any attention as I pass through. I pause when I get to the guest house.
Should I knock? Just go in?
Feeling foolish, I rap on the door and wait for Harrison to answer.
The door slides open, and his eyes wander over me in amusement. “You really are in pajamas.”
“Well…yeah.” My stomach flutters when I see he’s still in his tux.
“That’s all right.”
He pulls me inside, and I freeze.
The lights are off, but he’s lit dozens of tiny tea light candles. There seems to be one everywhere there’s a flat surface.
Music plays in the background, an old song I only recognize from romantic movies.
“I’m not quite as good at the decorating thing as you.” He takes my hand and pulls me toward him. “But we never finished our dance, and I didn’t want our night to end like that.”
My chest tightens. I’m tingling all over, and my mood is bordering on euphoric.
But this is wrong. I look down at my pajamas, horrified.
Harrison reads the expression and laughs. “I don’t care what you’re wearing.”
Trapping a giggle in my throat, I step into him. Just like earlier, we sway to the music.
“You know what was excruciating?” he says quietly.
“Hmmm?”
I can’t believe I’m dancing with Harrison in my pajamas.
“Spending the majority of the last year watching Grant hang all over you.”
Looking up, I say, “Oh?”
“I don’t want to go through that again.”
Harrison’s warm and comfortable, and everything about him feels like home.
“What are you saying?” The words come out all breathy and embarrassing, but I barely notice.
His lips tip in his lop-sided smirk. “I’m saying you don’t have to hide it anymore. We both know you’re still in love with me, and I’m giving you permission to stop fighting it.”
I gape at him, my temperature rising even as butterflies explode in my stomach. “Excuse me?”
Harrison pulls me closer, grinning now. “And it’s possible—maybe—that I’m a little in love with you.”
“Just a little?” My mouth tips in a foolish smile.
He shrugs, his fingers playing in the hair at the nape of my neck. “Maybe.”
“You should stop talking,” I tease.
Harrison laughs, and the sound makes me tingly. “We don’t have to talk.”
My knees go weak the moment he brushes his lips over mine. Standing on tip-toe, I pull him closer, sinking into him, reveling in the sensation. The spark travels all the way to my toes.
“Harrison?” I ask as he deepens the kiss.
His cheeks brush against mine as he smiles. “Hmmm?”
“How do you feel about springer spaniels?”
Startled, he pulls back and gives me the oddest look.
“Never mind.” I laugh and draw him back. “There’s plenty of time to talk about all that later.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Epilogue
Four Years Later
“We’re not going to paint the table.” Harrison crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, trying to be stern.
“Just the top? A nice cherry red, maybe?” I tease.
Of course I’m not really going to paint the table he’s getting ready to stain, but he still doesn’t trust me after I glittered his lamp.
He shakes his head and goes back to sanding.
We’re in Harrison’s new garage, which is attached to his new house, which just happens to be in the same subdivision my parents and I live in. Two houses down, in fact. The lot is huge, and even though he doesn’t have a guest house, there’s something better…a pool. I know where Riley and I will be all summer.
I sit on a stool, still in the dress I wore under my cap and gown from my graduation this morning. I now hold a bachelor’s degree in hospitality, and I’m working full time with Carla. She’s even given me a few events of my own.
Harrison finished his master’s, and, genius that he is, he’s now working his way to partner. Which, according to Mr. Fredmont, probably won’t take that long.
I still do my craft blog, but now it’s centered on events, as that’s what my life revolves around these days.
“What about a little glitter?” I give him a smile. “You could sprinkle a light dusting over the stain.”
He pauses, and there’s something slightly mischievous in his expression, like he’s been waiting for me to bring it up. “The chemical makeup of the
glitter would react badly to the stain.”
“What?” I laugh, protesting. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“It’s true. It’ll say it right on the bottle.” He motions to a shelf where I left some of my craft stuff the day before. “Check for yourself.”
A jar of hot pink glitter sits with the paints.
I scrunch my nose, thinking. “Did I bring that over?”
“You must have,” Harrison continues sanding. “What would I be doing with it?”
What indeed?
I pick up the bottle and look it over. There is absolutely nothing that says anything about adverse reactions to the chemicals in stains.
“Nope,” I say.
“Hand it here,” he says. “You must have missed it.”
He stands as he takes the bottle and unscrews the top.
I set my hands on my hips and grin at him. “What? Are you going to tell me the warning is inside the bottle?”
“No.” He laughs. “But it sounded like there was something clinking around in there. What is that?”
He peers in the jar, and then he hands it to me.
Looking at him like he’s lost his mind, I poke around the glitter with my finger. “No…nothing here.”
Then I freeze.
Harrison sinks to his knee in front of me, and I suck in a breath.
It’s a ring—a diamond ring in the bottle of glitter.
“Lauren Louise Alderman, will you marry me?”
I’m so flustered, I end up dropping the bottle.
Glitter goes everywhere. It’s on the floor…on the table he was sanding…on us.
Actually, it’s mostly on him.
Harrison cringes, groaning as he tries not to laugh.
“I’m sorry!”
“It’s all right,” he says, still on his knee. “Do you think you could give me an answer, though?”
Realizing I’m still standing here, I throw myself at him. “Yes! Of course, yes.”
We tumble to the ground. Harrison slides the ring on my finger, and then he kisses me, ignoring the fact that we’re on the garage floor and completely covered in sparkles.
I pull back slightly. “If the table is going to be half mine, that probably means we should paint half of it.”
“It’s already covered in glitter.” Harrison gives me a look. “What more do you want?”
Nothing.
There is absolutely nothing I want more than Harrison’s ring on my finger and the two of us covered in glitter.
Turn the page to read the first chapter of Just the Essentials, the first book in the Cabin. Coffee. Love. Series.
CHAPTER ONE
Precious coffee sloshes out of my mug and pools on the counter before it drips onto the floor.
I frown at the mess. “So you’re sending me to summer camp?”
My mother gives me “the look”. In the time it’s taken to raise three girls, she’s perfected it. Now it’s a flawless combination of disdain, irritation, and snarky amusement. It makes me feel like I’m twelve instead of twenty.
“Kinsley, you’re the only one of us who doesn’t have a job.” She holds up her hand, cutting me off as I open my mouth to protest. “You know what I mean, so don’t pretend to be offended.”
I wipe up the spilled coffee and then pour a healthy amount of cream in my cup. “Writing is a real job.”
“Are you making money?”
A smile plays on my lips as I meet her eyes. “No.”
She shrugs, already knowing she’s won this argument. To appease me, she nudges the whipped cream my way.
Since I didn’t jog this morning, I really shouldn’t. Well…maybe just a little. I add a dollop or four to the top of my mug.
“I didn’t know Grandpa still owned the cabin.” I take a sip of my concoction and lick the whipped cream off my lip. “We haven’t been there since I was little.”
Mom’s smile dims, and she stirs her coffee. “He didn’t want much to do with it after Grandma passed.”
And now they’re both gone.
“Okay,” I finally agree, just to ease the pain in her eyes. “I’ll do it.”
She offers me a small smile. “It’s only for the summer. We just need you to check out the place and spruce it up a bit so we can get it on the market.”
The idea of cleaning up an old cabin doesn’t do much for me. Especially one in the middle of nowhere. Why couldn’t it be somewhere closer, like Vail or Breckenridge?
“Where exactly is this place, anyway?” I ask. “It’s mostly sagebrush over there, isn’t it?”
My parents grew up in Grand Junction, Colorado. For some reason, Mom’s always wanted to move back. Because who wouldn’t want to leave the city for a desert valley on the edge of Utah? I know it’s my idea of paradise.
“You’re thinking of Aunt Diane’s place. The cabin’s near Silverton, in the mountains.”
I start to take another sip but pause to peer at Liv over my mountain of whipped cream. She’s just dragged herself out of bed and flopped on one of the stools. Her hair is everywhere, and her mascara is smudged. She sits with her cheek propped against her palm, looking like she’s about to fall back asleep. Despite all that, she’s still gorgeous. If she wasn't my baby sister, four years younger than me, I’d probably hate her.
“Where’s Ginger?” Liv yawns and her sleepy, green eyes blink like a doe’s. “Isn’t she supposed to be here by now?”
Just as she says it, the front door opens.
“Good morning,” my older sister chimes. She flicks her designer sunglasses off as she enters the kitchen. With a toss of her glorious, golden hair, she narrows her eyes—which are also a bright, summer green—at me. “You’re not wearing that, are you?”
This sister I hate.
Ignoring my glare, Ginger digs into her purse, producing a notebook. “You left this at Dan and Barb’s place last night. I picked it up before they could read it. I know how you are about your notes.”
Did I mention I love Ginger?
I snatch the notebook and hold it close to my chest. I have poetry in here—really awful poetry. Some of it may or may not be about my boyfriend’s parents, who also happen to be Ginger’s boyfriend’s parents. Dating brothers has its perks. The downside is I’m constantly being judged against my marketing manager-in-training sister. I don’t even know what a marketing manager does, but apparently she’ll make a lot of money eventually.
Good for her.
In four years, she’ll be raking in a six-figure salary, and I’ll be eating canned soup and boxed macaroni and cheese. Actually, that’s not true. I’ll still be living with Mom and Dad, and there is no way Mom would allow either of those in her kitchen.
Ginger boots me out of the way of the cabinet and reaches for her favorite mug. “I’ll have a cup of coffee before we go. There’s time for you to change and do your hair.”
I glance down at my jeans and T-shirt and then at pajama-clad Liv. My baby sister smiles behind her coffee cup, and I turn to my mother, silently giving her my own look.
“Kinsley is fine, Ginger.” Mom motions to Liv. “But you need to get dressed.”
Liv slumps out of the room, taking her coffee with her. In fewer than five minutes, she walks back in with her hair pulled up and her makeup flawless. She also wears jeans and a T-shirt, but Ginger gives her an approving nod.
As the oldest, Ginger slides into the passenger seat of Mom’s car. Liv and I scoot into the cramped backseat, which we share with Ginger’s purse. I love my older sister—I honestly do—but sometimes she’s a real pain in the tail.
Ginger twists in her seat. “Mom says you’re spending the summer at Grandpa’s cabin?” She turns back to my mother. “What’s Kinsley supposed to do? Take her tool belt and do a little home repair?”
I would like to point out I don’t own a tool belt, and the word “home repair” is about as foreign to me as “fast food”—excluding drive-thru coffee, of course. Everyone knows that’s perfectly ac
ceptable.
“The cabin doesn’t need repairs.” Mother sounds a little exasperated. “Grandpa had a friend keeping up the place, but a few months ago he moved into a nursing home. Kinsley just needs to give it a good shine.”
Both Ginger and Liv grimace. What have I gotten myself into?
Ginger turns back to me. “Do you remember the toilet paper holder that looked like a fishing reel?”
I ignore the wicked glint in her eye but Liv cringes beside me.
My little sister pauses, her lip gloss wand hovering over her bottom lip. “Seriously?”
Ginger nods. “And the artificial grass rug on the deck?”
Somehow I forgot about that.
“I only remember the ice cream Grandpa used to buy us from the lodge.” Liv swipes the gloss over her lips and checks the results in her mirror. “Oh—and Grandma’s skillet pies.”
I eye her. “How are you so skinny?”
She shrugs and digs in her purse for gum.
“It’s beautiful,” Mom says, cutting Ginger off before she can list anything else. “Your grandfather laid all the hardwood floors, and your grandmother sewed all the curtains. Diane even made the stained-glass window in the front door.”
Despite her reassuring words, visions of fishing reels and artificial turf dance in my head.
We pull into the mall and find a place to park. Ginger looks at clothes, Liv drags us to makeup—squirting samples of perfume on us all—and I drool over stationery.
On our way out, we walk past a section of new swimwear.
“Oh, this is cute, Kinsley!” Ginger holds up a skimpy, black bikini I wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Judging from the look on Mom’s face, Ginger better not be caught in it either. Ginger laughs at the looks on our faces and hangs it back on the rack.
“What about this?” She chooses a tankini that’s actually pretty cute. “You can stretch out by the lake. Hudson would be happy to work on his tan—though I’m afraid his is already better than yours.”
Mom’s narrowed eyes dart to me. “Hudson will not be staying in the cabin with you.”
She doesn’t have anything to worry about. Hudson’s hands like to stray a little too much on their own. I’m certainly not going to invite him for more.
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