by Jade Kerrion
“Were the stories as good as the ones you’ve been telling your first grade class?” James chuckled.
Holly jerked. “You know about them?”
“I figured out pretty quickly when your students demanded I tell them stories ‘just like Miss Langford.’ I suspect I was something of a disappointment, judging by the critical slant of their eyebrows when I was done.”
She laughed. “Oops.”
“Hey, don’t feel sorry for me. I told your class you’d tell them better stories to make up for my lackluster ones.”
“Ah, true friendship. What would I do without someone like you to throw me under the bus?”
“We don’t have a school bus. We borrow the high school’s.”
“True.” Holly giggled.
James laughed, a sonorous sound that always coiled a warm tendril of happiness inside her. His laughter faded into a comfortable silence. “Were you close?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, we were. She was my dad’s only sibling, and she never married, so we were the only family she had. I suspect she was lonely. Noelle tried to visit as often as she could, but she was on the west coast until recently, so I did most of the visits—at least once a month, more often, if I could swing it.”
“It probably meant a great deal to her.”
“The visits weren’t hard, not with the commuter trains plying the D.C./New York City corridor. She always had a room set aside for me to stay the night, and I usually did. She had lots of stories to tell and her famous chocolate chip cookies waiting each time I visited.”
James’s smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. “Sounds like you looked forward to visiting her too.”
“We had a routine, but not all routine is bad. It’s comforting to know when you can count on certain people to always be there for you.” Like you. Reflexively, she glanced at James and hoped that the heat rushing into her cheeks was only a figment of her imagination. How odd that she would suddenly attempt to categorize James who had, all this time, been nothing more than a good friend.
Peter. It was Peter’s fault. His intrusion into her life had forced a different lens over her perspective of men. How appalled James would be if he learned that she had, however briefly, thought of him as something potentially more than the good friends they were.
He turned his head to look at her, and the intensity of his gaze made her breath catch.
A moment later, the look vanished. Holly settled back in her seat, her thoughts whirring and her heartbeat skittered like a frisky calf in spring. She had to have imagined it; James was nothing more than her friend and her boss.
CHAPTER FIVE
At 4:50 p.m., Holly pushed open the door of the Coffee Beans café and stepped into its cozy warmth. The aroma of ground coffee and freshly baked bread filled her lungs and gently eased away the stress of the school day. It had been no better and no worse than usual. Aidan, in fact, had been rather subdued and had not done anything to warrant a rebuke, let alone a visit to the principal’s office. On the other hand, he had not been participative and had delivered his limited responses in a monosyllabic monotone.
She despaired of ever reaching him, although, considering their history, she often wondered if she was trying hard enough. She made it a point not to favor the other children with more attention than she did Aidan, but she struggled with the concept of equality when the children’s needs were clearly different. Was equality giving the children equal attention, or giving them the right amount of attention they needed to achieve equal results?
It seemed like such a fundamental question, but eight years into her career as a schoolteacher, she still didn’t know the answer. She hoped that, like many things in life, good intentions made up for lack of absolute certainty.
“Miss Langford?”
She glanced up sharply and blinked in surprise as a man in a dark gray business suit left his seat by the window and walked up to her.
“I’m Brandon Smith.” He extended his hand.
“My aunt’s lawyer.” Holly’s throat was unexpectedly dry. She had expected a white-haired genial gentleman, someone who might have been her aunt’s peer and friend, not this handsome, dark-haired young man who appeared scarcely older than Holly but who exuded the mature sophistication of a seasoned man of the world.
“May I get you something to drink?” Brandon offered. His curve of his lips was polite, but the directness of his gaze betrayed both depth and intensity beneath his professional demeanor.
The tiny, piercing claws of sexual attraction clutched at the base of Holly’s spine and raked up her back. It was dreadfully inconvenient. Oh, damn. “Yes, a hot tea, please.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Brandon gestured at the table he had occupied before heading to the counter to order her drink. Holly drew a deep breath as she sat. Her pulse fluttered erratically; she hoped he would not notice. Perhaps if she sat on her hands, he would not realize they were slightly damp with sweat.
Oh no, wait. Sitting on her hands would make it hard to sip her tea.
Oh, stop it, she told herself. Brandon was here to execute her aunt’s final will, and as soon as it was done, he would return to New York City and take with him the rather inconvenient fact that he was good-looking, sexy, and capable of doing weird twisting things to her gut with just a glance.
He returned to the table and set in front of her a large mug of tea and several packets of cream and sugar. He had, in fact, returned with multiple options of cream and sugar. Talk about covering all his bases. Holly smiled as she picked out the packets of brown sugar and poured the contents into her tea.
She looked up, mustered a steady smile, and met his gaze. “It’s a long way for you to travel for a business meeting.”
“Some meetings need to be conducted in person instead of over the phone.” He reached for his briefcase. His movements were both graceful and economical. “You left Manhattan before the reading of her will.”
“Yes, I had to get back to school. I couldn’t impose on my colleagues any longer than I’d already had.”
Brandon slid a thick envelope across the table to her. “You should read it in detail in your own time, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to summarize it for you.”
“Yes, please,” Holly said as she tugged from the envelope a plastic-encased binder.
“After settling her debts, of which there were few, and the distribution of gifts—mostly jewelry—to close friends and other relatives, including your sister, Noelle Langford, Ms. Rachel Hunter’s entire estate has been settled on you.”
Holly’s mind froze. “Her entire what?”
“Her entire estate.” Brandon leaned across the table and opened the binder to a page in the appendix. “This is an approximation, based on the net worth of her investment accounts as of this morning and the estimated market value of her townhouse in Manhattan. If you choose to sell the townhouse, it will have to be officially appraised, of course. There are, unfortunately, death taxes that have to be paid, and here—” He pointed to a shockingly large number at the bottom of the page. “—is roughly what’s left once the government takes its share.”
Holly’s lips moved without sound. She couldn’t find enough air in her lungs to give voice to her words.
Brandon glanced at her face and slid the mug closer to her. “Here, drink. Slowly.”
The sip of tea burned her lips and scalded her throat, but it yanked her whirling thoughts back into coherence. She stared at the number and blinked hard. It didn’t change. She counted the number of digits in front of the decimal, and to be sure, she checked the number of commas.
Her voice emerged as a choked whisper. “It’s so much money.” Eight…no, almost nine million dollars.
“Ms. Hunter owned prime real estate in New York City. Her townhouse is worth a great deal, and fully paid off. My next step would be to put you in touch with her financial advisor so that he can officially transfer her retirement and investm
ent funds to your bank account. Of course, you’ll need to decide what to do with her townhouse—sell, rent, or move in. I’d be happy to put you in touch with real estate agents if you chose to sell or rent it out.”
“My aunt didn’t have any stipulations?”
“No. The inheritance is yours, free and clear, to do as you wish.” Brandon smiled then. “You didn’t expect it, did you?”
“No, I mean. I hoped she would leave me something, like her little porcelain decorations in her curio cabinet—”
“She did leave those, and everything in the house, to you.”
“It’s the everything I didn’t expect.”
“I have something else for you,” Brandon said. From his briefcase, he took out a much smaller envelope and handed it to her. “Your aunt wanted me to deliver this in person.”
The sealed envelope was addressed to her in her aunt’s shaky handwriting. Tears stung Holly’s eyes, and her hands trembled as she turned over the envelope.
“I’m going to get more coffee,” Brandon excused himself tactfully, leaving her to the privacy of the letter.
She extracted a single piece of paper from the envelope.
My dearest Holly,
You have been such a joy and delight to me, and my only regret in leaving all this to you is not being able to see your reaction when you receive it. I know you’ll wonder why you. Why didn’t I leave my wealth to a charity, or divide it evenly between you and Noelle? The answer, my dear, is simply that I love you and I know the money will ease your way. Noelle has found happiness with her darling Connor, and he will take good care of her. You’re still searching, and I fear that life—with its worries—has distracted you from love.
Money can’t create love, but it can buy you time to find it.
With all my heart, I pray you will find that love has always been waiting for you.
Your aunt Rachel.
Holly swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She had to press her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her eyes still moist, she looked up at Brandon as he returned to the table. “Thank you,” she murmured. “This has been incredible.”
“I’m just the messenger,” he said. “I realize nothing compensates for the fact that you’ve lost your aunt, but I’m honored she asked me to execute her last will and testament for her.”
“Thank you.” Her voice caught, and she could say no more.
“You’re most welcome.” Brandon glanced away, the first hint of less-than-professional ease. “If you have no other plans for this evening, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
She gaped at him. “I…of course, it would be wonderful.” It’s no big deal, she told herself. Professionals do this all the time, right, take clients to meals?
“Would you recommend a restaurant?” he asked.
“Someplace casual?”
“Someplace with good food.”
Holly sifted through the restaurants she knew. Very few, she suspected, would meet Brandon’s New York City standards. “What about the Vineyard Wine Bar?”
“I’ll go by your recommendation.”
The smile Brandon flashed made her heart accelerate. Perhaps professional was not quite the right word for the situation they had gotten into; his smile—and the impact—seemed awfully personal. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and even then scarcely managed to keep her voice even. “It’s a tapas place; not quite fast food.”
“I don’t have any place to be tonight. I’ve a reservation at Vandiver Inn.”
“Oh, an excellent choice.” Holly stood and picked up her book bag. “It’s one of the best B&Bs in town.”
“I’ll have to thank my assistant when I get back to New York. She made the reservations.” He held the door open for her. “Shall we take my car?”
“Yes, please.” She flushed. “Mine’s with the mechanic.” She reflected briefly that her worries over paying her upcoming car repair bill were effectively over.
He led the way to his rented car, a sleek white Audi, and handled the manual transmission with careless ease as he followed her directions to the Vineyard Wine Bar. The previous night, Peter had winked and flirted his way to a table, making her feel like an awkward third-wheel in the process. In sharp contrast, Brandon’s professional demeanor was apparently the norm for his social interactions. His polite inquiry secured him a prime table with a view of the open kitchen, and his discussion of wines and tapas with the female waitress, although animated, did not come close to flirting.
Surprisingly, she found herself relaxing in Brandon’s presence. There was no second-guessing his focus and attention, and when their orders were placed, she settled back in her seat and offered him a smile. “You’ll let me pay for dinner, of course—”
He shook his head. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. A gentleman always pays for dinner.”
“It’s a wonder the women aren’t lining up and beating down your door to date you.”
“Maybe they are, but certainly not here in Havre de Grace. It’s a beautiful town. I had about an hour to drive around prior to our meeting.”
“Did you get a chance to see the promenade?”
“No, I didn’t, but I have some time tomorrow before I head back to D.C. I’ll check it out then. Is there any other place you’d recommend for first-time visitors?”
“The lighthouse, perhaps? Fantastic views from the top.”
“Not sure I’ll have the time for it. I’ll save it for my second visit.”
“You’ll be coming back to Havre de Grace?”
“Perhaps.” He smiled.
“What will it depend on?”
“Tonight.” His smile dug a dimple into his cheek and made her heartbeat skitter.
“Do you date clients, Mr. Smith?”
“Brandon. You’re not a client, and to be perfectly clear, I’m not a fortune hunter.”
Holly flushed. “You’re blunt.”
“Sometimes it helps to get the awkward assumptions out of the way. I’d be surprised if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.” He paused as the sommelier came by with the bottle of white wine he had ordered. After the man departed, he raised his filled glass to Holly. “Your aunt told me about you, but here’s to reality exceeding imagination.”
“Really?” Their glasses tapped. “What did you expect?”
“From the way Ms. Hunter described you, I expected a saint, halo included. I’m glad to find you quite human.” His appreciative gaze also told her he found her attractive.
Holly’s cheeks warmed under his attention. “You know about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Wife? Girlfriend?”
“Neither.” A shadow appeared in his eyes.
Holly frowned. What was he hiding?
He continued, “It appears I’m not the only blunt person at this table.”
“Sometimes it helps to get the awkward questions out of the way. Relationships would fall into that category. I’ve just come to the realization that I’ve spent eight years avoiding deep conversations on relationships. I’m not proud of myself.”
“So you’ve decided to swing to the other end of the pendulum?”
“It’ll take me a while to find a good balance, I suppose. Tell me about your family. Do they live in New York City, too?”
He shook his head. “I was born and raised in Westchester, north of New York City. My mother, however, now lives in Italy. My sister, too, with her husband.”
“Do you visit them often?”
“Not as much as I’d like. My sister owns a vineyard in Tuscany.”
“She makes wine?”
Brandon laughed. “Her rustic farmhouse is a retreat when she gets tired of Milan, where she lives and works. She designs and models for one of the Italian fashion houses.”
Holly’s face lit with a smile. “That’s amazing. What’s her name?”
“Marguerite Ferrara.”
“Her h
usband’s Italian?”
“Ferrara is my mother’s maiden name. When my parents divorced, Maggie took my mother’s last name. I kept my father’s.” Brandon shrugged. “Families are complicated things.”
Her thoughts flashed to Aidan, Debra, and Peter, and she had to agree with Brandon. “Are you close to your sister?”
“Close enough, considering the ten-year gap. About a year ago, she ended up marrying a great guy—my classmate, actually. I’m looking forward to seeing them next month in Tuscany.”
“I’ve never been out of the country. You must think me terribly provincial.”
“Hardly, but international travel is amazing. With your resources now, I’m sure you’d be able to travel as you wish.”
“It’d be fun, wouldn’t it?” Holly said. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”
“I’d start in Santorini, Greece, the fabled site of Atlantis. Whitewashed buildings against the blue of the Aegean; the contrast is blinding. Rhodes is great, too, especially the old city. I loved walking on cobblestone streets beneath the draping bougainvillea.”
“Have you traveled much?”
“Forty countries. I keep trying to add to the list, but I’m running out of safe countries to visit. On my last trip, I hitchhiked through India and Nepal.”
She stared at him.
He laughed at what must have been an incredulous expression on her face. “Is it so hard to believe?”
“It’s just, you look…” She shrugged.
“Like an over-privileged New Yorker? I am. I’m privileged to live in New York, to be able to explore the world, and then return to New York. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of returning home—the sense of completeness, of contentment.”
“I wish I could say the same. I hadn’t been contented for a while, but it came to a head after my father passed away two years ago. I think seeing Noelle settle down with Connor pushed me over the edge. There’s nothing quite like seeing your baby sister get married to make you wonder what you’re doing with your life.”
Brandon chuckled, but it was an ironic sound. “Quite so. I know the exact feeling.”