We spent a good thirty minutes assessing the garden and doing measurements. I wasn’t sure exactly where the gazebo had been before I remodeled the original mansion and gardens. I’d chosen not to put anything out here. I preferred a tidy and sparse garden with manicured shrubs and a few benches. A gazebo had seemed outdated and trite for a modern inn. I wished now I’d had one built after the fire.
Goodness, would I ever stop construction on this piece of property? This had not been what I’d imagined when I dreamed of running my own inn.
Regardless, Darby and I did our best to figure out where everything had been. He was cute, all serious as he jotted down notes in a little pad he’d pulled out of his khakis. The button-up blue shirt paired with the tan pants suited him. He wore his glasses today, and the black frames gave him just a tinge of nerd, which also looked good on him. I’d always loved the way his mouth dimpled at the sides when he smiled. The earnestness in those dark eyes of his had made my stomach do another floppy dive. Darn it all. Why did he have to be so good-looking?
I also remembered the hard muscles hidden under his clothes. I’d felt every inch of them with my fingers that night. Stifling a shiver, I focused on what he was saying. Something to do with digging up the grass and pouring a cement foundation. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He knew what he was doing. “As long as you think you can do all this in three weeks, then do it however you need to.”
“What about your guests? Will it disturb them?” Darby asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose. “I won’t be able to come until after school each day.” He stuck his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, then seemed to realize what he’d done and took them out. His hands dangled awkwardly by his sides. Did I make him nervous? A fissure of pleasure ran through me at the idea. Maybe he liked me just a little and remembered our night together with the same yearning as me? No, no, I warned myself. Don’t even go there. I must stay focused on my inn. Getting distracted by a man was the very last thing I needed.
“To be honest, I don’t have many bookings this week.” I sighed, and the weariness made me feel heavy and discouraged. God only knew what I must look like. I hadn’t slept well for months and the smudges under my eyes proved it. “If I get any, I’ll have to give the guests a discount, I suppose, because of the noise.”
“You said the client’s paying for everything, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Build it into the costs then. I can include it on the proposal.”
“What a good idea.” I let out another sigh and my shoulders lifted to my ears. “This place is nothing but a money pit.”
“You’ve done an amazing job, though. The inside is stunning.”
“That was all my brother. Thank God for Trey. But I’m terrified I’m not going to make this work. We’re off to such a slow start, and I have so many bills.” Why I was confessing all this was beyond me. Really, I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut.
“I get it. Trust me. Maybe if we pull this off, your rich client will tell all her rich friends to come here?”
I smiled at the idea. “Let’s hope so.” For some reason, I didn’t want him to leave just yet. His presence was comforting and made me feel less alone. “You want something to drink or eat before you go?” Some voice in my head screamed, don’t go yet. “I have some wine opened.”
He smiled and shifted his gaze toward the windows of the great room where the grand piano gleamed in the late-afternoon sun. “That sounds really nice, but no, I have papers to grade and a proposal to put together tonight. I’ll email that over to you later so you’re not worried about it. After you and the client approve, we’ll get started as soon as possible.” He placed his fingers lightly on my shoulder. “Try not to worry, okay? We’ll make it work. And I promise not to gouge this rich client of yours.” He grinned and a hint of his playful side emerged. What was it like to have the weight of the world on you all the time, I wondered? Oh yes, that’s right. I knew exactly. We were two people trying to prove ourselves at every turn. We had that in common, among other things. Two English majors making their way in the world.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, meaning it. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad for the work. I keep trying to figure out a way to buy my own house, but expenses pile up one after the other.”
“I know the feeling,” I said.
Our gazes locked for a moment. An unwelcome flutter in my stomach followed. Not good. I had to keep my head. Apparently, my mouth wasn’t listening, because the next thing I knew, I was inviting him to dinner at my apartment. “I mean, if you want to pop by later and show me the proposal. Maisy’s taking the evening shift tonight so I can have an evening off.” I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Since my girls all fell in love, it’s lonely at the apartment. We used to have so much fun, didn’t we? And now everyone’s paired off and I’m…feeling left behind, I guess.”
“I’ve felt the same way since Breck and Huck moved on. We had some good parties and poker nights, and now I’m heating up that frozen pizza all alone watching reruns of Castle.”
I laughed. “I love Castle.”
“The weird thing is—I’ve seen them all but I can never recall who the murderer was, so they’re new every time.”
“I’m the same way.” I stared into his eyes, or rather fell into them, unable to look away. “But to your point, yeah, I hate eating alone now that Tiff moved out of the apartment building and Stormi is busy with Huck. We had a blast these last few years, but I guess that’s all over.” Why had I added that last part? God, I sounded pathetic.
“It’s just you and me left in the apartments,” Darby said. “And our frozen pizzas.”
“Right? I love to cook, but it’s no fun to do for just myself. Everyone keeps telling me that it’s important to learn to enjoy your own company or whatever, but I think I’ve proven myself long enough.”
“I love to eat. You know, if you ever want company.” Again with that adorable grin of his. How did a man possess both sexiness and boyishness at the same?
“Well, if you’re around tonight after finishing the proposal, you could pop over. I mean, we live in the same building. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy a meal together every once in a while, right?”
He nodded, holding my gaze. “I can’t think of any reasons.”
My pulse raced. A shiver of desire traveled up my spine. This was dangerous. I knew it but for some reason, I couldn’t find it in myself to care. “What do you like to eat?”
“Anything. My father was a terrible cook, so I eat whatever anyone gives me.”
“Your father?” He’d never mentioned any family.
“My mother was a terrible cook too. That’s why I had to learn how,” I said. “Or I wanted to learn, anyway. My father was never home, so I made whatever my mom or brother wanted. It was a way for me to show them I loved them.” I flushed, hot in the warmth of the autumn afternoon. “Why am I still talking?”
“I like it when you talk,” Darby said. “Sometimes I’ve worried you clam up when I’m around.”
I looked at my feet, noticing that my toenails were in need of a good polish. Had I shaved my legs? Who cares, you moron, I said to myself. You’re not rubbing them on anyone anytime soon. “I was embarrassed to be around you after what happened, but you’ve always been so nice that it’s silly.”
“Yeah, me too. I couldn’t believe we ended up in the same place. What are the odds?”
“I’ve no idea. I was an English major, not a math major.”
He chuckled, and the shallow dimples on either side of his mouth appeared. “Well, let’s not be awkward any longer. We’re friends who need to stick together now that everyone seems to have abandoned us.” An edge to his voice made me curious. There was weight to the word abandoned. I understood that only too well.
“Right.” I smiled back at him. “I could make pasta and my homemade sauce. Do you like meat or vegetarian Bolognese?”
“Again, whatever you make, I’ll gladly eat.” He looked down at the grass for a second before lifting his gaze back to mine. How had we gotten so close together? I could smell his aftershave and see the beginning of a five o’clock shadow on his chin.
“You want me to bring wine?” Darby asked.
“Make it a red?” I should not be this pleased at his suggestion, I thought, but there it was.
“You got it.”
We agreed on seven for dinner and then he was off, striding across the lawn on those sexy legs of his.
* * *
By seven that evening, my Bolognese sauce was simmering happily and filling my small apartment with the scent of tomatoes, garlic, and oregano. I preferred if it cooked all day, but since I hadn’t had much time, a few hours would have to do.
I’d changed from my black slacks and white shirt into a pair of soft, loose jeans and a light sweater despite the warmth of the afternoon. The temperatures dropped swiftly this time of year. As soon as the sun went down, a chill slid into the air.
My apartment, always neat and tidy, especially now that I was rarely here, had needed a quick vacuum, which I’d done after I had the sauce on the stove.
My windows faced the northern mountain. I was high enough that I could see over the other buildings in town to the ski runs and lodge. Below us, The Sugar Queen, Brandi’s bakery, lent scents of freshly baked bread and sweets starting at 4:00 a.m. I often woke to smells that made my stomach growl.
I’d decorated the apartment with help from my brother. He often had rejected furniture or accessories from his ridiculously wealthy clients and had saved me some choice pieces, including a brown leather couch and two sky-blue chairs. My hardwood floor was covered with a tan-and-blue rug. Books and a few choice pieces of pottery decorated hanging shelves. All in all, I’d created a cozy dwelling for myself. What it lacked in space, brick walls and high ceilings compensated nicely.
A knock on my door came at a few minutes after seven. I opened it to see Darby standing there, smelling way too good. His hair was damp from a shower, and I felt certain he’d shaved. For some reason, this touched me. He was an older-model-type guy from another era, this Darby Devillier.
He had a file tucked under his arm and a bottle of red wine in the other. “I hope you like Spanish wine,” he said.
“Sure. You can get some wonderful Spanish wines for a bargain sometimes.”
“Agreed.”
“Come on in. I hope you’re hungry, because I made enough for a family of ten.” I stood aside so he could enter.
“I’m super hungry.” He handed me the wine. “I could use a glass of this too. Long day.”
“I hear you. I’ll open this, and you can keep me company while I finish up dinner.”
We went into my small kitchen. I’d often thought they should have torn down a wall and made it into a great room, but Trey told me the structure wouldn’t allow for it because of a major beam that held up the ceiling.
“Your place looks so much better than mine,” Darby said.
“It’s all my brother’s influence.”
Darby sat at the small table stashed in one corner of the kitchen. I opened the wine and poured us each a glass and set one in front of him. From the refrigerator, I grabbed slices of fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil dribbled with balsamic reduction and set it on the table. Then, remembering the bread, I used a mitt to take a baking sheet with thinly sliced baguettes brushed with olive oil from the oven. “Good, I thought I might have had these in a minute too long.” They were toasted perfectly, with a tinge of brown. If they were overcooked, they became too brittle, but these would have the right amount of crunch. “Nibble on these while I cook the pasta?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Darby’s eyes lit up at the sight of the toasted pieces of thinly sliced baguette. He scooped some of the cheese and tomatoes onto a piece of the toast, looking like a child with an ice cream cone. An appreciative half groan as he chewed nearly distracted me from the boiling pot of water waiting for the pasta. I remembered similar noises coming from him in a different circumstance.
We chatted about his work while I put the finishing touches on dinner. “The year’s been going well so far,” he said. “I have a great group of students. Other than a few knuckleheads, but those come with the job. Helicopter parents, too.”
“I never asked you why you became a teacher.” I leaned against the sink and sipped from my wine glass. “Did you always want to be one?”
“Yeah, ever since tenth grade of high school. I had a teacher named Mr. Ferris. He was absolutely phenomenal and watching him in action—the way he could bring literature alive and make grammar fun—I was inspired to do the same. Not that I had much choice. After I finished my work and came out of graduate school as an expert on Dickens, there wasn’t much else to do but teach high school English.”
“Why not teach university?” I asked.
“No way. Too easy.” He laughed. “I’m kidding. I didn’t want the pressure of publication and believe it or not, I love high schoolers. There’s more of a chance to influence them for the better in the high school setting. With college classes, they come and go quickly. I get to keep them for a whole year.”
“Any regrets?” I asked, taking the pot of pasta from the stove and dumping it into a strainer I’d set in the sink. He was totally adorable. A genuinely good person.
“None. I love what I do. If I made a little more money, I wouldn’t be sorry. It’s hard sometimes to have to say no to stuff with the guys because I’m always the only one without the funds.”
“I get it. I’ve been lucky because Tiff and Stormi have been as broke as me. Now, though, everything’s going to change. It’ll just be me on a budget.”
“Yep, I get it. I mean, not that they try to make us feel bad, but there’s no way I’m going to Vegas for a bachelor trip. That kind of thing is hard. I’m complaining. I hate whiners.” He shrugged, looking chagrined. “I sound like a complaining little boy.”
“Not at all,” I said. “There’s no reason to pretend things are perfect on my account.”
“Well, regardless, I’m lucky to live here and to have a steady job and so many nice friends. And my students, of course.”
“What does your dad do?” I asked.
“I haven’t seen him since I graduated from high school.” The firm set of his mouth told me he wasn’t interested in speaking about it further.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. What about your family?” Darby asked, a little too quickly. He wanted to get past his family and move to mine. “I know your brother, obviously, but what about your parents? They’re divorced?”
“Yes, kind of recently, actually. My dad just up and left my mother for a woman my age. So stupid. He’s a mess. I’ve pretty much washed my hands of him. Trey has too.”
“I’m sorry,” Darby said, echoing me.
“Don’t be,” I said. The hardness that accompanied any thoughts of my dad was reflected in my tone of voice. “I’m better off without him. He’s one of these people who only loves you when you do exactly what he wants.”
Darby nodded, a flush creeping up his neck. “Yep, I know all about that.”
“What about your mother?” I had to ask. Curiosity had taken hold. Had she left them? Died?
He took another piece of bread from the platter but didn’t eat it, instead setting it on the small plate in front of him and studying it as if there were words written there. “She died when I was ten.”
“That must have hurt so much.” Tears pricked my eyes. What a tragedy for a little boy.
“It wasn’t the best, no. My dad was…is…a pretty terrible guy. But I had books. They never let me down.”
“No, they never do.”
I put together our plates and then asked him to pour us more wine. I’d completely forgotten about the project proposal. That could wait until after wine and pasta. Priorities.