Baby It's Cold Outside

by Yardley, Cathy

  Emily looked at it. The strategy was clear, precise, in Joy’s neat handwriting.

  Then she looked at the income expectations. The number took her breath away. She closed her eyes, rubbing them, then read the number again.

  It was still the same. She had thought that fatigue was making her hallucinate.

  “You wouldn’t necessarily see those profits first year,” Joy said easily, as if they were simply swapping recipes instead of discussing a huge change in Emily’s business. “But with the right combination of management, marketing and some key overhauls, you could quadruple your profits in under five years, easy. With that much money, you could start hiring that cast of thousands to help you.”

  With that much money, she might not want to keep working, period, Emily realized. “This is more than I could have sold the house for by itself.”

  “Tall Pines is going places,” Joy said and her voice lit with excitement. “It could be the next big bedroom community for larger cities, and it’s getting a good reputation as a tourist attraction. If you really pursued it, you could help put Tall Pines on the map.”

  Emily’s head swam. In her sleep-deprived state, it was too much to contemplate.

  “I know you think I’ve been patronizing, gushing about this place,” Joy said.

  “But this isn’t a joke, Emily. If I know one thing, it’s how to make a hotel a success.”

  “But…this is my home,” Emily said, feeling dumbfounded. “The changes you’re suggesting…”

  “I know,” Joy said, and her voice was rich with sympathy and what sounded strangely like envy. “It’s a lot to think about. But do you really want to keep struggling at this level for the rest of your life?”

  Emily thought about it. She wasn’t hand-to-mouth anymore, granted, but it was hard, managing the hotel. More money would make her life easier. Wouldn’t it?

  At the same time—did she want to manage a hotel for the rest of her life? She’d only taken it on so she wouldn’t lose the house. On the other hand, giving up the hotel would effectively take the Stanfield house out of her family for good…an idea her father had vehemently disagreed with.

  Realizing Joy was still there, waiting for a response, Emily bit her lip.

  “Sorry. This is all so sudden.”

  “I’m staying through the end of the month,” Joy said. “I know how emotional the whole thing is for you. Think it over, take your time. If you decide to move ahead, I’d be happy to help you plan, get financing, whatever.”

  With that, Joy started to get up and leave the office. Before she could stop herself, Emily blurted out, “Why did you go to the Holiday Ball with Colin?”

  Joy turned. “I was bored,” she said easily. “Trust me, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him.”

  “Known what?”

  Joy’s eyebrow quirked up. “That you two were involved.”

  “We’re not.” Emily felt the burn of the lie on the tip of her tongue. “Not exactly,” she amended.

  “If I knew the two of you were anything, I would’ve stayed away from him,” Joy said. “He’s gorgeous, but this is business. And I’m all business.”

  With that, Joy winked and left the room.

  Emily held up the paper with its imposing financial figures on it.

  The hotel had been her life for years. The house had been her father’s legacy.

  The town was already up in arms about outside business coming in and changing things too rapidly. It would cause enormous upheaval and disappoint a lot of people.

  She folded the paper, unable to bring herself to throw it away.

  What would I do if I didn’t have this place? she asked herself.

  To her surprise, her mind changed one word in the sentence.

  What could I do if I didn’t have this place?

  She’d never thought about that before.

  Sue popped her head in. “Everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Emily tucked the paper into her desk drawer. “Let’s do inventory. It’s sort of early, but I’d rather stay away from the public today.”

  Besides, counting towels and bed linens would keep her mind occupied enough to stop thinking of losing Colin—and now possibly leaving the inn.

  * * *

  Colin was sitting at Heathrow Airport in London, feeling more disoriented than usual. He tried to chalk it up to jet lag, but he’d had jet lag before. It was different than this overwhelming sensation of displacement—that no matter where he was, it was the wrong place.

  He’d only been gone for a day and a half, and as he’d feared, thoughts of Emily crowded his brain incessantly.

  He’d stopped himself from dialing the inn’s number a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours, mostly because he had no idea what he would say. If he had no intention of having a relationship with her, it seemed unnecessarily cruel to both of them to keep intruding on her. Better to simply move on to his new life and let her move on with hers.

  He pictured Mayor Tim and gritted his teeth.

  She deserves to move on to something better than that, though.

  He credited Emily with more common sense than to enter a loveless marriage with a guy who was looking for a “practical” wife. But then, most people probably would have credited Emily with more common sense than to take up with a commitmentphobic drifter like himself, too.

  Instead he jotted down more notes on the office he’d be opening. He’d already done a ton of work on the plane while his fellow passengers had been napping.

  Now he was buzzing on a caffeine high and lack of sleep.

  He’d get to Paris, buckle down and bury himself in blueprints for a while. His work was one thing he’d always loved, and he’d gotten so caught up in the holidays and Tall Pines that he’d practically pretended it didn’t exist.

  Face it—you got tangled up in Emily. And you still are.

  His cell phone was in his hand, and he found himself tracing her number one more time.

  Only this time, as if it had a mind of its own, his thumb hit Send.

  He heard the ringing and considered hanging up—but she’d know he called. By now his number was probably showing up on caller ID. He winced, trying to think of what he’d say.

  “Hello?”

  Emily’s voice sounded rough with sleep. Suddenly he remembered he didn’t know what time it was in London, much less Connecticut.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s late, isn’t it?”

  There was a pause. “Early, actually,” Emily said, sounding much more alert. “How are you?”

  He paused, too, trying to frame a reply. “Tired,” he answered honestly.

  “Me, too.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Although I’m glad you called.”

  “Maybe I should call back,” he said, wincing. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “Why are you calling?”

  That one caught him flat-footed. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration. “Yes, I do know. I miss you.

  That’s nuts, isn’t it?”

  She laughed. “No. It’s nice.” The warmth in her voice was clear as crystal even over an intercontinental cell phone line. “I miss you, too.”

  “So what are we going to do about this?” His voice was almost demanding, and he toned it down. “I’ve never felt like this. It’s confusing and uncomfortable, and damned if I know what to do next.”

  “Well,” she said slowly, “it probably would’ve been better to have this conversation when we were, say, two feet away from each other instead of several thousand miles.”

  He chuckled. “I know. That is, I know that now.”

  “So I don’t know what to tell you,” she continued. “You’re there. I’m here. That makes a lasting relationship hard.”

  “But not impossible, right?” He blinked. Had he really asked that?

  She seemed surprised, as well. “Is that what you want?”

  “
I think…yes.” He sighed. The loudspeaker was announcing that his connecting flight to Paris was boarding. “I have really lousy timing.”

  “Sort of,” she admitted. “I really care about you, Colin.”

  “I care about you, too,” he confessed, feeling his heart expand in his chest. “I meant to tell you when I was there, but I chickened out. And I didn’t know where it would lead, anyway. Where it could lead.”

  “I still don’t know that it can lead anywhere.” Emily spoke softly. “The bottom line is, we had some wonderful nights together….”

  “You can say that again,” Colin said, his body going taut at the mere memory.

  “But we only spent less than two weeks together. That’s hardly enough to say one way or another how we feel.”

  “I know how I feel.” I’m falling in love with you. Sudden or not, he was certain of that.

  “Well, no matter how you feel, the bottom line is you didn’t feel strongly enough to stay here and discuss it with me face-to-face.”

  He grimaced. She did have a point there.

  The announcer broadcast his flight again. He’d have to hurry if he was going to make it. “Listen, I have to catch this plane. Can I call you back at a more decent hour?”

  “If you want,” Emily replied noncommittally. “But…Colin, think about what you really want with me before you do. Because I…I wasn’t expecting to feel the way I feel about you. And, to be honest, it’s starting to hurt.”

  He felt guilt crash on him like a wrecking ball. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know,” she assured him. “I know you didn’t.”

  But if he was only going to string her along, he’d be hurting her anyway. Colin heard what she wasn’t saying as clearly as what she was.

  “Listen, I should’ve said all this back in Tall Pines. I know that now.”

  “You’ve got to catch a plane,” Emily said. “Call me when you get to Paris and…I don’t know, Colin. I can’t promise anything.”

  “Okay,” he said weakly. Tell her! Tell her you love her! “We’ll talk soon.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “Good night, Colin.”

  “’Night.” He hung up the phone, then stared at it.

  Minutes later, the announcer was calling out his name. “Is there a Colin Reese? Colin Reese. We’re looking for passenger Colin Reese. Your flight is awaiting departure.”

  Colin rushed up to the desk. “I’m Colin Reese.”

  The flight attendant smiled thinly. “You’re late, Mr. Reese. You’re our last passenger. We’ve been looking for you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Colin said. “But I have to change my plans.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Beg pardon?”

  “I have to get a flight back to Connecticut. How can I arrange that?”

  Chapter 8

  “I’d like a manicure and a facial, please. I’m using your gift certificate.”

  Emily said the words clearly enough to be heard over the chattering of the crowded beauty salon. As she’d expected, the whole place fell silent when they recognized her voice.

  “Certainly, certainly.” Madge ushered her over to a manicure station. “You sit right here. How are you doing?”

  How was she doing? It had been two days since Colin had left, and she couldn’t remember feeling quite this way before. Missing him was like a dull ache, countered only by feelings of foolishness and confusion. When he’d called, she had felt excited at hearing his voice and then abruptly depressed by reality.

  Would that be their relationship from then on? Long-distance phone calls and maybe the occasional transatlantic flight for a weekend of passion? Maybe a whole week if they were lucky? Would that be enough?

  Then again, considering the big, bleak romantic desert of her life, was she being too damned picky?

  She realized Madge was still waiting patiently for an answer and quickly cleared her throat. “Sorry. I’m fine, really. I’ve just been sort of out of it lately.”

  “Oh, no problem,” Madge said easily. “Cynthia? Could you do a manicure for Emily here?”

  Cynthia was about twenty-three. Emily had babysat for her in high school. She quickly started to soak Emily’s nails. “Man trouble, huh?”

  Emily straightened her spine. She’d decided to simply brave the lion’s den rather than hide in the inn. “No,” she said. “No trouble.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Cynthia said sympathetically. “That guy Colin was seriously yummy.”

  Emily cringed. She remembered when Cynthia used to watch Sesame Street

  , for pity’s sake. Hearing her call Emily’s lover “yummy” was disturbing.

  “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

  “So dish.” Cynthia’s youth and enthusiasm bubbled through her like some high-sugar, high-caffeine soda. “What was he like?”

  “Um, I don’t think I’m comfortable discussing my love life in graphic detail,” Emily said. “He was a dear friend and we…considered having a relationship, but the reality is, he’s living in Paris and I’m living in Tall Pines and it simply wasn’t feasible, so…”

  She let the words trail off. She’d been crafting that careful public announcement for two days. Now she understood why celebrities sent out cautiously worded press releases when they had high-profile breakups. It made things easier all around.

  Cynthia made a face. “You sound like a banker. Wasn’t the sex any good?”

  Emily goggled. She’d expected questions but nothing quite this blunt.

  “Good grief, Cyn,” Madge said, smacking her lightly on the shoulder.

  “What?” Cynthia looked bewildered. “Don’t tell me you’re not wondering, either.

  A guy that gorgeous you don’t dump unless there’s a big problem.”

  “And the fact that he’s living a whole other continent away isn’t what you’d consider a big problem?” Emily asked sarcastically.

  Cynthia shrugged. “There are planes, aren’t there?”

  Emily blinked.

  “So you dumped him because he’s not living here in town?” Cynthia made a tch-tch sound in her throat.

  “Who’s saying I dumped him?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be here acting all mopey if you hadn’t.”

  It was hard to refute the logic of a twenty-three-year-old, Emily thought with a wry smile. After all, they knew everything. She certainly had when she was twenty-three.

  “We parted amicably,” Emily said, remembering the party line.

  “Yes, but was it his idea?” Madge pressed.

  Emily realized that, for the moment, she was the center of attention at the salon. Women had even shut off their dryers to hear her commentary. She sighed.

  “No. It was my idea.”

  They collectively gasped at that bit of news.

  “Well, what was I supposed to do?” Emily finally broke down. “He lives in Paris, for pity’s sake. If I’m lucky, I could see him, what, a couple of times a year?” She shook her head. “I don’t think that would work.”

  “I guess you’re right. I mean, long-distance relationships have, like, a twenty percent success rate,” Cynthia said sagely, buffing Emily’s nails. “I read that in Cosmo.”

  “There’s also more of a chance that you’ll get cheated on,” Madge interjected darkly. “All that temptation, and you’re miles away.”

  That comment hit Emily like a fist in the gut. She focused on the tray of nail polish colors as if her life depended on it, trying not to picture Colin with some other woman—probably some stylish Parisian woman with no body fat and a fabulous wardrobe.

  The more she tried not to see it, the more vivid the picture became.

  “Well, at least you got back up on the horse,” Evelyn said…then promptly burst out laughing.

  “Oh my God.” Emily tried to cover her face with her hands, but Cynthia had already applied the base coat of polish, and they were still wet. Cynthia giggled.

  “I think she meant that more figuratively, hon,” Ma
dge clarified helpfully. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back, apparently, because the entire salon joined in, laughing raucously.

  If Emily’s face got any hotter, they could toast marshmallows in front of it.

  Brave the lion’s den, huh?

  This was such a bad idea.

  “Come on, come on,” Evelyn said, and she gave Emily a small half hug around her shoulders. “If you can’t talk to the girls at the beauty shop, then you can’t talk to anyone. Besides, I think a big part of your problem is that you bottle things up, sweetie.”

  “I didn’t know I had a problem,” Emily said. Boy, could this get any worse?

  “Hmm. That’s also part of the problem.” Evelyn seemed to size her up, then nodded, as if making a decision. “You know what? We ought to get you drunk.”

  Emily choked. “Excuse me?”

  Cynthia clapped her hands together. “Ooh! And hire a stripper!”

  Madge poured herself another cup of coffee. “Just tell me when and where,” she declared, “and I’ll be there.”

  Emily glanced around. Mrs. Rutledge, who had been at the mayor’s Christmas dinner and was seventy-four if she were a day, was placidly reading a People magazine, her hair covered in foil from her dye job. “Mrs. Rutledge, I’m so sorry,” she said. “This is so inappropriate.”

  Mrs. Rutledge didn’t even look up. “That’s all right, dear,” she responded.

  “Considering my neighbors are swingers, I suppose I’m harder to shock than most.”

  Emily’s eyes bugged out. “The Carltons are swingers?”

  “Not those neighbors.” She sounded appalled. The Carltons were somewhere in their eighties and pillars of the community. “The Smiths. Good grief, girl, they’ve been wife swappers for years,” Mrs. Rutledge said disdainfully. “Where have you been?”

  “This is what happens when you don’t make your regular hair appointments,” Evelyn added.

  Within the next hour Emily went through an eye-opening epiphany. She also became best friends, it seemed, with every woman in Tall Pines. Or at least every one that was a customer at the Magnifique Beauty Salon…which was actually pretty much every woman in Tall Pines. By the time she’d gotten herself talked into a haircut and style and a pedicure, she’d divulged her entire brief sexual history and relationship woes.