My relationship with Matthew had taken a negative turn about two months before he dumped me, at the same time my company, a graphic design studio in Buckhead, let several people go. The rest of us were worried we were next up for the pink slip, and I couldn't help but bring that tension home with me at night, which didn't make things any easier between Matthew and me. More people were laid off, but by the grace of God or sheer luck, I wasn't one of them. My job was okay, but my relationship dropped further into the toilet and shortly thereafter, Matthew gripped the handle hard, flushing it down into the bowels of relationship sewage.
"I just don't see myself spending the rest of my life with you," he said, as he packed his t-shirts and video game console. "I don't want to hurt you, but we're just different people. We want different things."
By different things, he meant I wanted a commitment, a wedding, a home and a family some day. Matthew didn't even want to commit to getting houseplants. He zig-zagged from job to job and career to career, and he was between jobs almost as often as he'd had one. While we had often shared beautiful dreams and plans together about the romantic places we'd travel to—Tuscany, Bali, the Costa Rican rainforest—usually while lying side-by-side, naked in bed after some great sex, it was all just pillow talk. Matthew was sexy, charming and elusive as hell, yet I'd always thought that if I hung in there long enough, gave him enough space and supported his dreams, mine would someday come true.
I'd done this for five years, and we'd lived together for almost three of them. But it had only taken the next girl, his wife now, three months to do what I couldn't. Ten days after the break-up, I ran into him at happy hour at our old hangout and barely recognized him. He wore an expensive designer suit, and his shoulder-length brown hair was perfectly cut, coiffed and had even been slightly highlighted in the front.
"What the hell happened to you?" I asked after I realized it was him.
He smiled sheepishly, showing the dimple I'd always been crazy about, and glanced down at himself with a shrug. "I got a new job. I think I've finally found what I'm good at doing."
His smile became vaguely apologetic as this petite little doll of a woman with long, red curly hair that any sane woman would kill for walked up and wrapped her arm around his waist. I recognized her from the Around Town section of the newspaper as a wealthy Atlanta investment banker's daughter. "Come on now Matt, we must get to the club to meet my parents for dinner."
When Matt introduced her as his girlfriend, I almost choked on my glass of wine.
"Sure looks like you did, huh gold digger," I said to him with a wink and a bright smile as fake as the redheaded debutante's perfect boobs. I turned my Miss America smile toward her. "Good luck with him," I said, as casually as possible. As I turned away from them, I guzzled the rest of my wine, and marched straight to the bathroom where I proceeded to barf my brains out.
I'd read the engagement announcement in the paper less than a week later, and I knew that if I didn't get the hell out of Dodge for their wedding date, my friends' and my parents' well-intentioned sympathy would be the death of me. I'd brought home a copy of the paper, opened a bottle of wine, turned to the travel and timeshare classifieds in the back pages, and with my eyes closed, pointed at one…The Inn at Laurel Creek. I grabbed my laptop, checked the pictures on their website to make sure it wasn't a dump, and booked my reservation for the date of Matthew's wedding.
From the looks of the photos, I could tell the Inn was absolutely perfect. Peaceful and quaint with an incredible front porch lined with a row of wood rocking chairs facing endless acres of trees, shrubs and all things that had nothing to do with Matthew and his high-society wedding.
I came to the Inn hoping to forget that Matthew was marrying someone wealthy and unfortunately, attractive, and would have the life he said he didn't want, but apparently just didn't want with me.
"Well look who's at the Inn." The sexy, sultry voice that made my toes curl was only three feet away from me.
My eyes shot open, and I straightened my shoulders, while pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Are…are you staying here, too?"
He nodded. "For another week. Came here to work on a few songs." He sat in the same chair Lou had just minutes before. "It's peaceful here. Perfect place for composing."
"I imagine it is." I glanced at him, and his lips curved into a beautiful half circle, his straight, white teeth sparkling again. I guess it hadn't been my imagination. I stared a bit too long and jerked my head toward the walkway, blushing.
"Hard not to be inspired by all this beauty," he said. "And the house and land ain't too bad, either." He was leaning back in the chair, his head tilted toward me, that sweet smile and sparkling set of beautiful teeth in full view. It was then I noticed how full his lips were. How they were a light shade of red, almost pink, and so deliciously luscious looking. I imagined what it would be like to kiss him. I was going to need a super-cold shower before dinner.
"Oh, you're funny."
His eyes glistened, and he gave me a smaller version of his previous smile, which didn't stop my body from twitching.
"I wasn't going for funny. I was shooting for cheesy. Guess I'll have to try harder next time."
I laughed. "Oh, you hit cheesy right on the mark, that's for sure."
"Good to know I haven't lost my touch."
My face flushed at the mention of the word touch, and while I knew he wouldn't touch me then, or maybe even ever, my body temperature rose anyway.
We both leaned back and rocked in our chairs. I wasn't sure about Ben's reason, but I knew if I didn't try to relax I would reach over and run my fingers down that bicep of his whether he wanted me to or not.
I swallowed back the golf ball sized lump in my throat. "There's lemonade over there," I said, pointing to the table with the tray. "Would you like some?"
He stood. "Sounds great, actually." He glanced at my glass, and then reached for it, his eyes glued to mine, and his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you like me to top that off for you?"
I tossed back what was left of my lemonade, pretending it was a shot of tequila, and handed him my glass. "Yes, please," I said, choking from the quick gulp. Then I burped. "Oh my gosh," I said, covering my mouth. "I'm so sorry." My face heated up, and I knew it was redder than a tomato. I buried my face in my hands. "Oh my God."
He laughed. My face was still buried in my hands when he came back with a fresh glass of lemonade, and nudged my arm with his. Electricity shot through my body and I shuddered.
"I'm not sure I should have anymore," I said, but took the glass anyway. "I might have reached my limit."
"It's possible," he said, giving me that same smile that made my heart skip a beat before. It did it again, too. He sat back in his rocker. "But I'll tell you what. If you go over the legal lemonade limit, I'll stick close by so nothing happens. I don't want you running off and burping like that for just anyone." He sat in the rocker and leaned toward me once again. "Your voice is incredibly sexy when you're embarrassed."
I buried my face in my hands again. "I'm beyond embarrassed."
He nodded. "I know, and I love it, but seriously, don't sweat it," he said, rocking in his chair. "It was actually pretty impressive. Can you burp the alphabet?"
My eyes widened. "Good Lord, no. I don't think I have the lung capacity for something like that."
He frowned. "Too bad. I always said I'd marry a girl who could burp the alphabet. I was hoping it would be you, too."
I blushed again, feeling something sizzle from my heart and straight down.
"You're cute when you get all red like that," he said, grinning.
I was way past embarrassed, and edging up close to utterly horrified. Thankfully, Stan stepped outside at that moment and saved me.
"Well looky here," he said in his sweet southern drawl. "Me and Lou were hoping you two would meet." He turned back into the Inn. "Looks like the two young'uns met after all," he said.
Ben shifted his eyes in my direction
and whispered, "I think they're trying to hook us up."
I whispered back. "I think you're right."
"Should we play along?" he asked.
I wanted to jump out of my seat and into his lap screaming, Yes, yes, for the love of all that's holy, yes! but I nodded instead.
"Okay, watch this." Ben stood and shook Stan's hand. "Me and Carly, we want to thank you, Stan. We're already in love, after just a brief meeting at the creek." He mimicked Stan's southern drawl. "We might could drop one-a our rooms and shack up together, if you ain't opposed."
Stan's eyes popped and Ben busted out laughing. "Gotcha," he said, hitting the old man gently on the shoulder. "I'm just playing with you, Stan. Figured since you've tried to make a love connection for me for the past five years, I ought to let you think it's working."
Stan laughed, and Lou came rushing outside. "Well lookie here," she said. "A match made in Heaven." She winked at me. "Magical, I tell ya," and then she retreated back into the house.
Stan and Ben kidded for a bit longer, and then Stan insisted Ben sit back down and pay attention to me. I wasn't going to argue. Having those blue eyes darken in intensity while he looked at me made me hot, both literally and figuratively, but in a way I really, really liked.
"So you've been coming here for five years?" I asked Ben after Stan went back inside.
He nodded. "I come here when I'm struggling with my music." He leaned back and rocked. "I grew up coming here with my mom, and something about this place, this town even, it just brings out the song in me."
I laughed.
He stopped rocking and raised his eyebrow at me. "What's so funny?"
"Do all musicians say cheesy stuff all the time? Because that was really cheesy."
He leaned back and rocked again, a slow and steady movement with his right foot that made the muscle in his thigh flex each time he pushed back. That tiny movement made my hands sweat.
"Not all musicians. Just the extremely talented ones."
"So what do you do with your music after you've finished writing it? Do you sell it?"
He clipped his head back and forth once. "I usually record it."
"That's so cool," I said. "So do you have a CD or something? Do you have a music contract or something?"
"Or something," he said. "But I'm just trying to write the best stuff I can. That's what's most important to me." He shifted his head toward me. "So what brings you to the Inn? Looking for places to have your wedding?"
"I see what you did there," I said, smirking. "But no, I'm sure as heck not planning my wedding." I tapped my foot on the porch, speeding up the rocking of my chair. "I just needed a little me time."
"I get it. Recent break-up?"
I shot him a surprised look. "Why would you say that?"
He lifted his shoulders and then dropped them back down. "This is a bed and breakfast. It's the perfect place for romance so I figured if you were in a relationship, you'd have brought the guy along. A girls' weekend would probably happen at a spa or something, but not a bed and breakfast. So you're not on a girls' weekend and you're here alone. Do the math. Adds up to a break-up to me."
I nodded. "Very perceptive for a musician." And then I leaned my head back on the chair, working hard to relax.
"You feel like talking about it?"
There was a sweetness to his tone that made me want to blurt out all of my thoughts and feelings—from my frustration and touch of relief about Matthew to my thoughts on South African coffee farms using child labor. He was just the kind of person I felt I could share my soul with, without feeling afraid or submissive. "Are you looking for material for your music? A good break-up love song maybe? Or do you write more of the head-banger kind of stuff?" I giggled at my own joke, when really I was just covering up my sensitivities about the end of my relationship with Matthew.
His mouth lifted into a half-moon-shaped grin. "Head-banger? I didn't know people still used that expression."
I admired his lips and how they curved upwards, taking my breath away. I didn't even realize he was still talking.
"Carly?"
"Uh, yes, sorry." I shook my head to refocus. "I got lost in my thoughts for a second. What did you say?"
"I said no, I'm not looking for material so your story's safe with me." He crossed his heart with this hand. "Promise."
"Okay then, yes, there was a break-up a few months ago."
"And you've just found the time to deal with it now?"
I fiddled with my hands to avoid eye contact. "He's getting married tomorrow to the girl he started dating right after we broke up."
He stopped rocking. "Ouch."
"Who gets married after only three months?"
"Apparently, your ex."
I flinched. "Talk about ouch."
"I'm sorry. I was just kidding around."
"I know, no worries."
"You know you're better off without him, right?"
I nodded. "I do." I turned in his direction. "You know what's funny? I don't even want to be with him. I honestly don't. I just don't get how someone can fall in love and decide to get married—let alone plan the damn wedding—in three months." I shook my head, my teeth starting to clench. "Unless you can just throw gobs of money out there and people will do whatever you want."
He pushed his foot on the porch to start the rocker moving again. "I think it's possible. I feel like when you know, you know. Sometimes love just happens, even when two people barely know each other. It happens. Probably not to everyone, but it does happen."
I scrunched my eyebrows together and frowned. "You're not helping."
"I didn't know I was supposed to help. I thought we were just discussing it." He winked at me. "I'm not saying that's the case for your ex—what's his name?"
"Matthew."
"Matthew." He nodded once. "I'm just saying it's possible."
"I don't disagree with you on that, but you'd have to know Matthew to understand why it doesn't make sense to me. We were together for five years." I shook my head, still shocked by the fact that he was getting married. "For five years we talked about the things I wanted and the things he wanted and I thought we were moving along, you know? Well, sort of anyway, but then one day he tells me he doesn't see himself spending the rest of his life with me." I rocked harder in the chair. "I let myself believe he just wasn't the marrying type because he wasn't mature enough, but it turns out he was. He just didn't want to marry me."
"I'm kind of glad he's marrying someone else," Ben said. "Otherwise I wouldn't have met you." He showed me his sparkling whites again and my bones turned to jelly.
"And I'm a barrel of fun at the moment, aren't I?"
He tilted his head and smirked. "I have a feeling you're gonna let loose any second."
I held my lemonade out and twisted the glass in my hand. "Maybe if this had a little vodka in it, but otherwise the chances of me letting loose are pretty slim."
"Vodka can be arranged. So what do you do when you're not holed up in a bed and breakfast with a musician who's making you talk about the one thing you came here to forget?"
"I'm a graphic designer. I work in Atlanta."
"Graphic designer, eh? So what exactly is a graphic designer?"
"We're visual thinkers." I pulled my back away from the chair. "We create messages through visual mediums. You know, things like ads, presentations, you name it. I have three accounts I manage. You might know one of them if you're from the Atlanta area."
"That I am," he said. "Been there my whole life."
"Me too."
"So what's the company I might know?"
"Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority."
"What's that?" he asked.
"You know, MARTA? The transportation company? They run the buses and trains and stuff."
"Oh, MARTA," he said. "I thought that stood for moving armed robbers through Atlanta." He laughed.
I laughed, too. "I hadn't heard that one before."
"I'm pretty sure I
just made it up."
"Got it." I nodded. "Anyway, I'm the lead on their account."
"That's cool," he said. "So what do you do for them? Their advertising?"
"I work with their advertising company, yes, but I do a lot more than that. I handle all of their internal marketing pieces and stuff. I also designed the format for the messages on the buses and I'm in the process of creating a mural piece for the inside of their new railway bus. I'm really excited about that."
He tilted his head. "Look at you. You are excited. Your eyes are sparkling and your face is flushed. Clearly you love what you do."
I touched my cheek. "I go a little overboard when I talk about work sometimes. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It looks good on you." He leaned over and brushed a hair away from my face. His lips were less than six inches from mine, and I had to force myself from tilting my head to kiss him. "You have a beautiful smile."
His touch caused the butterflies sleeping in my stomach to wake up and dance. I desperately wanted to set them free, but knew the only way to do that would involve physical contact and I didn't want to force myself on him. "Oh, thanks." I stood. "Well, I guess I'd better go and get ready for dinner."
He stood too. "Yeah, me too. So, I'll see you in the dining room then?"
"Yup," I said walking inside. "That's where they serve dinner, so I'll be there."
He shuffled from one foot to the other. "Okay, great. See you at dinner," he said, walking toward me.
I backed up into the house, my eyes locked with his. "Okay. See you at dinner."
He stepped closer, his body not even an inch from mine. His fingers just barely grazed my hips, sending sparks sailing directly into my skin and throughout my body. "Dinner then," he whispered in a deep, sexy tone.
"Uh huh. Dinner," I replied, and then quickly turned and walked up the stairs to my room, my heart racing the entire way.
I shut my door behind me, leaned against it and sank to the floor. "Holy crap, Ben is hot." I pressed my hand to my chest. "Slow down little one, you don't wanna go and have a heart attack right when things are gettin' good, do ya?" I inhaled deeply through my nose and blew it slowly out through my mouth. "Wow. Wow. Wow."
The Inn at Laurel Creek Page 2