Chapter Five
Night had fallen, and the snow was still coming down by the time Noah found her in the second-floor library. Stevie knew it had turned out to be a hectic day for him, with the cobbled-together brunch barely over before he had to start dinner prep. The girls had pitched in with both dining room and maid service while she’d helped him in the kitchen, which they’d managed to keep smoke and fire free. She’d enjoyed the time with him; they’d talked about everything from their favorite sports teams and how best to locally source a wide range of menu ingredients, to the best ways to propagate rare orchids and whether or not she could be persuaded to bake some of Granny May’s famous sweet potato pie for Christmas Eve dinner. She’d bragged that it was, hands down, better than pumpkin pie any day of the week.
She’d left that last request hanging in hopes he’d use other persuasion tactics when they both weren’t elbow deep in meal prep and he wasn’t being called upon to tend to any one of a dozen or more guest needs or requests.
In all fairness, the guests as a whole had done quite well entertaining themselves with the games and movies, but even so, she’d discovered that running an inn meant there was a steady stream of work to be done. Stevie thought it was a wonder he didn’t collapse in bed, half comatose every night. Dinner was over now, and Melanie and Jenny were the assigned dishwashers while Noah ran inventory and plotted out the meals for the next two days. Stevie had offered to play cruise director with the guests who were still socializing downstairs, but had managed to sneak up to the library thirty minutes ago when Tom Beatty had settled himself at the old piano in the parlor and started an impromptu Christmas carol sing-along.
She’d discovered earlier while helping Jenny with the rooms that she could get cell signal in this tower room and had finally gotten a text out to Sunny to see how things were progressing up at Addie’s place. It didn’t seem possible, but, according to Sawyer, they were getting even more snow up there. Fortunately, one of Sawyer’s friends had snowmobiled out to the greenhouse earlier that afternoon and started up the generators, just in case. Sunny had been more concerned about the weight of the snow on the greenhouse dome, but Sawyer had assured both of them that, with the wind as it was, most of it would blow off.
With that news, Stevie had set aside her worries for the night, hoping tomorrow would bring sunny skies and snowplows, and had thought she might curl up with a book for an hour or so before going down to help Noah set out the continental breakfast items that could be put out the night before. Instead she’d found herself nodding off before making it halfway through the first chapter. It wasn’t even seven thirty, and she’d only played sous chef.
She’d never had reason to consider what an innkeeper’s life would be like, but there was no doubt that Noah Tyler was born to the role. He handled every guest question or request, every obstacle that popped up, with that easy smile of his, endless patience, and not a little charm. In just that one day, she’d observed him dealing with big issues like the sprinkler snafu and lack of chef or full maid staff, along with a myriad of minor issues, like the young couple’s hair dryer in 1B not working, and the clogged toilet in 2C. There was a request for room service from the occupants of the inn’s only suite, which Noah had told her was a converted attic that took up the entire third floor, and required six flights of steps—one way—to reach the double-door entry, with no dumbwaiter or trolley cart to help with the meal tray.
When she wondered why he hadn’t explained to the couple staying in the suite what he was dealing with and how they could eat in the dining room just like everybody else—room service was not offered at the inn—he’d explained that they were newlyweds and how he’d lived in those rooms his first two years running the place, before the big mudroom and his personal quarters had been built onto the back. So, he was used to running up and down those stairs. He’d just been happy to have had two fewer guests affected by the earlier impromptu sprinkler showers.
She knew he’d lived in that attic room with a woman named Carolyn, thanks to the regulars who had been guests of the inn back then, who had felt it their duty to tell her that, while Carolyn had seemed like a pleasant enough person, they already liked Stevie better. Of course, they didn’t know her, but apparently she’d won them over by pitching in during the sprinkler crisis without even being asked. In all the time they’d known Carolyn, they’d never gotten more than a nod or a wave.
Stevie had done her best to change the subject and wave off the stories, thinking those were Noah’s to tell, if anyone’s, but that had been to no avail. She’d learned about Carolyn’s job in Richmond, about the engagement, and about Carolyn’s calling it off and moving to the city, getting engaged to a banker. They all agreed that she apparently hadn’t met the banker until after calling off the wedding, though Stevie got the distinct impression they’d have been happy to learn otherwise. Not because they were unkind, but out of staunch loyalty to Noah, who seemed to be universally loved by guests and staff. Stevie had to admit, she was already leaning in that direction herself.
She’d initially offered to help Jenny out with maid service just to avoid the good intentions of the sweet but gossipy guests, but had ended up enjoying the process if for no other reason than she got to see what all the rooms looked like. Well, except for the suite, and that was probably just as well. She didn’t have an opinion on Carolyn one way or the other. Nobody reached their thirties without having had at least one serious relationship. That said, Stevie really hadn’t wanted to see the cute converted attic rooms Jenny had described and hadn’t examined the why of that too closely.
Seeing all the other rooms had mercifully distracted Stevie from the realization that she might have felt what some would call a flicker of jealousy toward a woman she’d never met, because of a man she was just now getting to know. That was ludicrous. And yet . . .
Each of the inn’s rooms had period pieces for dressers, and there were wardrobes instead of closets, which had been given up so each room could have a private bath. Each of those had a claw-foot tub, though no two were the same. It was the little details that had truly charmed her, like the salvaged porcelain and brass-knobbed towel racks and hand-milled soap.
The bedrooms were all homey and warm, but each had a unique bed, and the other accoutrements had been chosen to match. One room had a big four-poster queen that needed a footstool to gain entry. Another featured a gorgeously restored sleigh bed, and yet another had twin beds with beautiful brass headboards. The second-floor queen had repurposed rectory doors as a headboard, with the stained-glass windows set into each becoming the wall art for the room.
The décor ran the gamut from oil paintings and watercolors, to artisan weavings and restored musical instruments. Handmade quilts and old chenille bedspreads that had made her smile were spread on top of thick duvets, and there were piles of pillows and throws, each coordinated to match the style of bed and décor in the room. Seasonal decorations had been added to the rooms, but nothing overwhelming. Instead there were whimsical bits of holiday charm, like a small bowl of holly and dried cinnamon, a little sprig of real mistletoe over the doorway, a hand-carved reindeer or an antique St. Nicholas doll. The doors to each room had been hung with a handmade stuffed wreath. And the turndown service included putting candy canes tied with pretty red silk bows on the pillows.
She’d given up on the old Agatha Christie mystery and was looking at the ornaments on the small live tree that stood in the alcove formed by the gabled window when Noah entered the room. It was one of three Christmas trees in the inn. “I was going to ask if you had a decorator for all the Christmas decorations you have throughout the inn, but these look . . .” She lifted an ornament shaped like a toboggan. Sort of. It was made from Popsicle sticks and had what looked like clumps of dried glitter glue smeared on it.
“Handmade?” Noah said with a chuckle. “My nieces and nephews contributed a number of the seasonal decorations in the inn. You should see the turkey centerpieces made out of paint
ed toilet roll tubes.”
Stevie giggled at that. “I’m sure they’re wonderful. Actually, to be honest, I think the holiday décor is very charming.”
“You can thank my mom and older sister for the rest. The first year I opened I had a tree in the parlor with a box of store-bought ornaments hanging all over it—tastefully, I might add. And I put candles in the windows—battery, no fire hazard,” he added with a self-deprecating grin. “I hung store-bought wreaths on the doors and wrapped a garland around the lamppost out back and the one out front. I thought I had spruced up the place nicely.”
“Sounds like it, but I sense a ‘but’ is coming. But . . . ?”
“My family arrived for their first holiday stay, and my mom and sisters were horrified.”
Stevie wanted to ask if Carolyn had helped with the décor, but that was none of her business, and she suspected what she really wanted to know was more about his ex and whether he was really, really over her. Maybe four reallys would do. “Well, your mom and sister have sweet taste then. I like all the little touches,” Stevie said with a smile, still looking at the tree. There were photo frames made of the metal disks from frozen juice cans, hung with colorful pipe cleaners. Toothless grins beamed out at her from the photos that were affixed to the fronts and backs of the lids. Stevie assumed they were the nieces and nephews and couldn’t help responding in kind to the cheery grins. “Pretty adorable tykes,” she said, meaning it.
“Little heart ninjas,” he said affectionately, coming over to stand beside her. “They sneak right up and snatch it when you aren’t even looking.” He glanced at Stevie. “And that was before they’d learned their first word.” His brown eyes warmed with the unquestioning love of family. “Of course, I might be biased.”
“Maybe. A little.” She thought about the day they’d spent together, watching him be Noah the innkeeper, and seeing firsthand all the care and attention he’d put into every corner of the place. She turned in his arms until she was facing him. “You love this inn, don’t you?” she said. “Being an innkeeper.”
He nodded. “The good, the bad, and the occasionally soaking wet,” he said, tightening his arms around her.
She laughed. “Who knew I should have packed my bathing suit for my winter vacation. I’ve spent more time drying off here than I did on my last beach trip.”
“But we have less sand in uncomfortable places,” he said. “So there’s that.”
“True.” She looked up into his eyes, and it was hard not to let herself fall a little more for this man. He loved his family, had created a life for himself that he enjoyed, had made good friends, and had built a beautiful home in a breathtaking part of the world. He was kind, funny, sexy. And heartbroken in the not too distant past, a little voice reminded her.
She wasn’t having any rescue fantasies, not really. Nor did it seem he needed one. But there was that trace of vulnerability, under the easy charm and occasional molten looks. “I feel the same way about my work,” she said, forcing real-world conversation into what was rapidly beginning to feel like one of those made-for-television Christmas romances she binge-watched over the holidays every year. Something she had never admitted to a single soul. Not even Sunny.
But those were fiction. Fun and frothy, but not reality. In the real world she loved her work, her life, every bit as much as he loved his. She treasured her time alone in the greenhouses over Christmas, sincerely never spent so much as a single second feeling anything that could be described as self-pity over her family-less holiday situation. She missed Granny May, very much, but that sadness wasn’t holiday related, so this time of year didn’t make Stevie feel the loss any more keenly than she felt it at any other time of the year.
“What are you looking for,” he murmured, bringing her out of her musings.
“What?” she said, wondering what he could have seen on her face to prompt his question.
“You were searching my face, my eyes, as if you were looking for an answer. What is the question? You know you can ask me anything.”
She thought about what he’d said, about risking getting involved with her because he’d regret it forever if he didn’t. She asked herself the same question she’d asked out in that snowy parking lot, under the glow of lamplight, in the arms of a man who kissed her like he’d been born to do that one thing. Had that just been last night? What will you regret more? “I don’t want any regrets,” she told him, “but I also don’t want either of us getting hurt.”
“A broken heart isn’t fun, but it isn’t fatal,” he told her.
“Better to have loved and lost,” she began.
“Than never to have loved at all?” he finished for her. “Have you ever had your heart broken?”
“Recently, no. I haven’t met anyone who’d pose that kind of threat in, well, longer than I care to remember.”
His lips twitched in the barest of smiles. “But you’re a little concerned now?”
She tugged one of the curls at his neck, making him flinch even as he let out a quiet laugh. “You’re enjoying this.”
He pulled her closer, so her body was fully flush up against his for the first time. She couldn’t deny she loved how her soft places fit perfectly against all of his hard ones, and she had to bite the corner of her lip to keep from moaning. Quelling the sudden need to move her hips, just a little, so she could feel the rigid length of him, cost her a goodly part of the rest of her control.
“I’m enjoying you,” he told her. “All of you.”
“I’m going to have to leave, you know,” she whispered against his lips as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Then what?”
“Then we decide if we’re worth a little effort to spend more time together.” He brushed his lips across hers and slid those wide hands of his down over her hips. It was the first time she’d felt his hands on her, really on her, and she wouldn’t say no if he wanted her right there in the alcove, under the adorable little Christmas tree.
She rubbed her lips over his, gratified to feel rather than just hear the little groan of approval that rumbled somewhere deep in his throat. “I’m thinking you might be worth a lot of effort,” she admitted, tipping her head back as he kissed his way along her jaw, then down the side of her neck. “But—”
“But we can’t know what we’re willing to do until we know what it is we’ve got.”
“I thought you weren’t trying to coax me into bed,” she managed, then gasped when he cupped her bottom and nudged her a little closer as he found her mouth again.
“Desperate times,” he murmured against her lips.
“Desperate measures,” she finished, sliding her fingers into his hair and allowing him to deepen the kiss.
Lively notes from the piano down in the parlor, accompanied by the sound of folks singing an exuberant rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” came to an end with a rousing flourish and a round of cheers. When there was no sound of a new song echoing up the stairs, Noah reluctantly lifted his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to play innkeeper again in three, two—”
“Mr. Tyler?” came a call from the stairs.
Stevie chuckled, and Noah merely smiled and shrugged. He slid his hands to Stevie’s waist, then took both of her hands in his as he stepped back from her and turned his head toward the door. “I’m up in the library,” he replied.
“We’re out of wood in the dining room fireplace,” Jenny called out, and he could hear her footsteps on the treads. “Do you want me to—”
“I’ll be right down,” he called out. To Stevie he said, “I was hoping to let the fireplaces go to embers for the night. Encourage folks to start wandering to their rooms for the evening. No such luck, apparently.”
“Duty calls,” Stevie said.
“And calls, and calls.”
“I can put logs on the fire in here,” she said.
“No, this one can go ahead and finish burning out. I’ll go down and see what’s what. You can head on to your room.”
He shook his head. “You’ve gone way above and beyond the call today, for which I’ll offer my proper gratitude at a time when guests aren’t calling and—”
“Bacon isn’t burning?” she finished, and they both grinned.
“That, too.”
“Well, if you let me come down and help line up rows of little cereal boxes and put together trays of bagel condiments, who knows, maybe you’ll find that perfect moment.”
He lifted a questioning eyebrow. “I can’t say I’m opposed to how your mind works. In fact—”
“Hey, boss?” came a shout up the stairs, this time from Melanie. “We’re out of popcorn. Where’s the extra stash?”
“Go,” she nudged him. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips, then lingered for a more thorough follow-up. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Her smile was wide and not a little devilish. “And here I was thinking the same thing about you. I rather enjoyed . . . bargaining.”
His grin matched hers even as he shook his head.
“Boss?”
“Coming,” he called out, and reluctantly let Stevie go.
She stopped him just as he exited the room. “Noah?”
He turned back to her.
“You’re not that rusty. Just thought you might want to know.”
He smiled, and damn if there wasn’t that hint of relief along with the endearing boyish grin. Just when she thought he couldn’t find another way to soften her heart further.
“Good to know. See you downstairs?”
She nodded, and he was gone.
Stevie took a moment to text Sunny and inquire about any updates on the storm or the possible plowing schedule. It was too dark outside now to even see if it was still snowing. That was another thing about being up in the mountains; there was no ambient light at night except from the moon and the stars, and a little glow from the two lampposts, which hadn’t been turned on tonight, she noticed. It wasn’t as though they’d be welcoming any guests, she supposed.
The Inn at Blue Hollow Falls Page 7