Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (13 page)

“Sand-boarding. And you mean, if I tell you how many bones I’ve broken or how many fires I’ve set, you’re suddenly going to trust me?”

She jutted her chin out. “Maybe.”

“All right then. Six and four.”

“Six bones and four fires or four bones and six fires?”

“That’s for me to know and you to go crazy trying to figure out. But for now, we board.”

“Blake—”

“Pipe down.” He dropped his board in the sand. “Now, this isn’t going to be quite as exciting as if we were at, say, the Kobuk Sand Dunes in Colorado or Alaska’s Great Sand Dunes National Park. Or even better, Egypt. Actually, sand-boarding is believed to have originated in Egypt back in the time of the pharaohs. Supposedly they slid down dunes on pieces of wood.”

Autumn only eyed the slope in front of them.

“Boarding down Michigan dunes is like the bunny hill at a ski resort. Still fun, though.”

“Right. Fun.” Autumn pursed her lips.

“And for the record, this is a waxed Maven 105 centimeter board. I know you were intensely curious about that.” He laughed, stepped into the footpads, tightened the neoprene straps, and straightened. “I’ll go down first, just to show you there’s nothing to be scared of.”

He twisted his ankles to “skate” toward the precipice of the dune. “First time down, it’s better to go on your heels. Pull up your toes to keep it slow.”

It’d been a few years since he’d done this, but the hill was child’s play. Still, probably smart to take the first run slowly, just to test the sand.

“Shouldn’t you wear a helmet or something?” Autumn tucked her hands into the wide pockets of her coat.

“You worried about me, Red?”

“Well, if you break your neck, who’s going to install my new storm windows?”

“Touching.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. If I biff it, worse thing that’ll happen is I’ll swallow a little sand.”

With a flick of his ankles, he started down the hill, easing the pressure on his heels to gain speed. Sand hummed against his board, spewing up on both sides, and the landscape blurred as he angled down. It was nothing like snowboarding down the Alps, but the wind pushing against him, the slick hill moving underneath him as he used one foot and then the other to weave and descend, it was thrill enough for an impromptu afternoon outing.

“Whoo!” Close to the end of the hill he leaned back on his heels and eventually slowed.

He caught his breath at the bottom of the hill, the sound of water slurping at the beach not far away replacing the whir of his board on the sand. He glanced up the hill—it was too far away to see the features of Autumn’s face, but he’d have bet money she didn’t look away once as he slid down the dune. He knelt down to unstrap his feet and made his way back up the hill.

He gave a sweep of his arms when he reached the top. “See? Nothing to it.”

“It did look fun.”

His grin widened. “She can admit it. I’m impressed. Now it’s your turn.”

“Didn’t say I was ready to go down.” She folded her arms. He was about ready to name it her signature move. Honestly, stubborn looked good on her.

“I’m not going to have you go down on the board.” He
reached for the
For Sale
signs he’d modified before driving out to the dunes. He’d attached hefty string to both the fronts and backs of the signs, the ones in front longer. “Saw this on the Web. Never tried it, but apparently it works good.”

“You’ve never tried this?”

Did the woman know she squeaked when she got worried? “Never fear, Red. You’re going to love this.” He looked for the steepest section of hill and tugged Autumn along with him, the signs swinging at his side. “It’s going to be more like tobogganing down a hill than boarding.”

He positioned one board underneath himself, legs out to keep from sliding, and pointed to her sign. “Sit.”

She obeyed, despite the hesitance still hovering in her face.

“That’s a good girl. Now, here’s what we do. Feet go toward the front of the sign. Hold on to the front string with one hand. The back with the other.”

He could almost hear her uncertainty. And yet, she didn’t scoot off the sign. Instead, she peered down the slope as if outlining her path. Same look she got when poring over one of her to-do lists. Finally, she nodded. “All right. I’m ready.” She tucked her feet onto the sign.

“I’ll give you a boost.”

“No really, that’s—”

But he reached out before she finished, pushing the back of her sign until it wriggled in the sand, teetered, and zipped down the slope. The imprint of Autumn’s makeshift sled ribboned down the hill. Her shrieks floated behind her along with her bouncing ponytail.

But he had to give the woman credit. She held on as she slid down, squeals turning to giggles until she thudded over a lump in the sand halfway down. Suddenly the sign slipped out from beneath her, and she flew into the sand, rolling.

He was on his own sign in a second, steering down the
hill until he reached her. She still lay in the sand, hair splayed around her and sign out of sight. Was she moaning or laughing?

“Autumn!” He flung off his sign and crawled to her side. “You okay? You hurt?”

She was moaning
and
laughing. “I am going to have a bruise the size of a mountain tomorrow.”

There was sand in her hair and on her face, and one hand held her opposite wrist over her stomach. “You
are
hurt.”

She sat up then, still cradling her wrist. “I’m fine. Just twisted it a bit.”

His heart was still hammering. Not from the slide down, but from the panic. He’d brought her here. He’d coaxed her onto that stupid makeshift sled. He’d pushed her down.

Just like . . .

“Whoa, Blake, you’re going white.”

“I’m fine.” He sounded like her now. Only his voice felt muffled to his own ears, the setting suddenly distant and hazy.

“I don’t think you are.”

He squeezed his eyes closed, wishing away the image of his brother, willing his heart to steady. He shouldn’t have done this. Should’ve realized she could get hurt.

“Blake, talk to me.”

When he opened his eyes, her face was only inches from his, concern written in every feature. “Sorry,” He whispered.

“You scared me. You got pale and your eyes unfocused and . . .” She sat back, legs folded underneath her. “Y-you were remembering, weren’t you?”

She said the words so softly, it was as if the wind carried them away. And all he could do was nod.

Autumn looked over his shoulder, blue-eyed gaze scanning the landscape before returning to meet and hold his. “I can’t . . . I can’t imagine.”

Why couldn’t he find words? Why wasn’t he pushing past
this moment like usual, defying the memory-invoked emotions before they could freeze him?

“It wasn’t your fault, Blake.”

And why couldn’t he argue like he normally would?
I didn’t listen when you tried to tell me
about the drugs. I took him skydiving. I watched him
jump.
The arguments formed in his throat but refused to come out.

Autumn reached out and rubbed his arm, then held out the wrist she’d cradled before, twisting it in front of him. “See? It’s fine.”

He blinked and finally forced words. “Well, maybe a movie wasn’t such a bad idea.”

She squeezed his arm and scooted back. “Let’s go down the hill a couple more times. And then after, let’s see if the hardware store’s still open. I’ve got some hardwood floors to varnish, and you promised to help.”

She stood. He blinked again and rose, realizing as he did, for once, he’d made it through a memory without despair claiming the rest of his day. And Autumn . . . She might be the reason why.

“So come on, tell me.” She tossed the words over her shoulder. “Six fires and four bones or four fires and six bones?”

He double stepped to catch up to her. “Yeah, actually, probably neither. I’m six foot four, so those were the first numbers to come into my head.”

Her glare was as great as her smile.

7

A
utumn smelled her mother before she saw her. Chanel No. 5. And tart disapproval.

“Why is there an orange rug in the entryway?” Victoria Kingsley’s voice pealed through the first floor of the inn. The click of her heels almost drowned out the groan of wood floors desperately in need of replacement, the faint buzz of the lobby’s soft lighting.

“Autumn!”

Don’
t do it, Autumn. Don’t do it.

She did it. Ducked behind the desk before Mom spotted her. She’d known Mom was due to arrive home Sunday night from her latest round of meetings in Detroit. Had guessed she’d probably stop by the inn for breakfast that morning. Promised herself she’d finally spill her news.

Didn’t make the idea an appealing one.

“What are you doing?” Harrison’s hiss sounded from above.

“Your shoes are shiny. Do you get them professionally polished?”

His narrow eyes shot bullets of amusement as he crouched down beside her. “You are insane.”

“No, I’m hiding.” Wasn’t proud of it, but she could admit it.

“Autumn!” The dinging of the front desk bell joined her mother’s shrill tone.

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

Well?
Autumn rose.

“Autumn, what were you doing down there? Didn’t you hear me calling?”

“Morning, Mom.”

Victoria’s white-blond hair—the same shade as Ava’s—was flat-ironed ramrod straight, her makeup airbrushed perfectly. Mom smoothed one hand over her crisp blue blazer. “How’s capacity?”

Mom may have deeded the inn over to Autumn, but she’d never entirely let go.

“We were at sixty percent over the weekend. Christmas week we’re almost fully booked, but we’re looking at a couple potential under-forties until then. How was your trip?”

“Meetings. More meetings. Anything interesting happen here?”

Harry snorted from where he still crouched, and she gave him a kick. “Let’s have breakfast and I’ll fill you in.”

“All right.” Mom nodded. “Might as well let Harrison come out of hiding.”

They both grinned at the gasp coming from down below. Autumn stepped from behind the desk and walked with Mom into the dining room. Though in need of an upgrade, the space was a mix of elegant and earthy—decorated in greens and blues that played nicely with the ornate crown molding. Cream-colored curtains pulled aside allowed morning sunlight to pour into the room.

If only there were more than a sprinkling of guests filling the tables. But if they could just keep holding out, surely the festival would pull the tourists in.
Festival. Dominic Laurent. Festival. Dominic Laurent.
Her dual-sided hope in mantra form.

Mom stopped at a table in the corner, peeling off leather gloves. “You might consider getting rid of that orange rug in the entryway. Thanksgiving is long since over.”

Autumn swallowed the sigh that climbed up her throat. “We plan to put up Christmas decorations later this week. I believe Betsy’s serving cinnamon rolls and fresh fruit today. I’ll grab us some.”

“You really should let your waitstaff do their job.”

Waitstaff? Didn’t Mom remember how much they’d had to whittle down their employee numbers in the past couple years?

“It’s no problem. Just give me a sec.”

The sweet scent of Betsy’s iced cinnamon rolls enveloped Autumn as soon as she stepped into the kitchen.
Heaven.
“Hey, Bets, can I steal a couple plates?”

Betsy stepped back from the glass-fronted refrigerator, fruit tray in hand. “Of course. Breakfast with Vicki, yeah? You going to tell her about Laurent?”

“You betcha.” The only question was whether to share the good news about LLI first and hope it cushioned the part about her move to France, or vice versa.

Autumn grabbed a pair of tongs from a drawer and placed cantaloupe slices on each plate. “Wish me luck.”

She pushed through the swinging door and returned to the table. “Here we are, Mom.”

Mom sighed as Autumn lowered the plates. “My mouth is watering. My waistline is protesting.”

“Listen to the former, ignore the latter.” Autumn sat. “I’ll pray.” They bowed their heads. “Dear God, thank you for this day, the sunshine, the food, and the chance to spend time with Mom.”
And please, please help her not get mad
about France. . . .

The ornate clock hanging on the wall stared Autumn down. She picked up her fork. Set it back down again.
Just get it out.

Fine. France first. “Mom, remember in high school when I had that exchange student friend—Sabine from France.”

Mom closed her lips around a bite of Betsy’s roll, an “mmm” following her swallow. “Yes, of course I remember. You insisted we buy a bread maker. You wanted fresh bread every day.”

“Yes! Because Sabine always made it for her host family.” Autumn could still smell the yeasty smell in the air when she’d hung out with Sabine at her host house.

And she could still taste her own imagined carefree abandon, the dream something as simple as fresh bread had embedded in her. Sabine’s talk of France had enchanted her. She’d begun daydreaming about studying in France her junior year. Started picturing herself strolling down a French village street, sundress swishing around her legs, the cadence of a foreign language humming around her.

But then . . . then she’d overheard the word
divorce
falling from Dad’s lips. And worse, his sudden death.

So, no, she’d never gone. But the hunger had continued tunneling in her soul in the decade since—to see and feel and experience another life, in another place.

“What about Sabine?” Mom sipped her coffee.

“Well, she works at an upscale hotel in Paris now. There’s a job opening there.”

Mom’s coffee mug thumped against the table as she set it down, attention suddenly sharp. “And?”

“And I’ve been offered the position.”

Her words seemed to dangle in the air before thudding down. She waited one second, two, three for Mom to jump in. To congratulate her. Or chastise her. Something.

Nothing.

Why?
Why was it always like this between them? Stilted and awkward.

“I have a plan for the inn. Took out a little loan to spruce it up. And I’ve left a couple messages for Ava. Remember how when we were younger, she was the one who always talked about running the inn someday?”

Finally, Mom spoke, her interruption severe. “Autumn, listen to me. Ava’s happy in Minnesota.”

“Yes, but I—”

“Much happier than she’d be here, surrounded by memories of the boy who broke her heart and his family who treated her like mud. I’ll never forgive them for that.”

Autumn pushed her plate away, Friday’s sand-boarding episode with Blake sailing through her memory. Those minutes, sitting in the sand, watching him remember. “Ryan
died
. They deserve our sympathy, Mom.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending them.”

“And I can’t believe . . .” What—that her mother was still angry at the entire Hunziker clan? It shouldn’t surprise her. The angst between their families was like a proud, unbreakable statue standing in the middle of town. She’d only been helping Blake with the festival for three or four days, and already she’d heard at least a dozen times—
“A
Hunziker and a Kingsley working together?”

Ryan and Ava’s fling had only exacerbated the rivalry that had existed before they were born. Going back to when the Hunzikers built their hotel and started stealing the Kingsleys’ guests.

But shouldn’t there come a time when they all bucked up enough to put the past behind them? Move forward. “I heard something about a state grant, Mom. And that you are blocking it just because of Mayor Hunziker.”

“You heard wrong.”

“Shouldn’t you care more about the town than an old grudge? And what about the inn? Helping the town is helping us.”

“I can’t show favoritism, Autumn.” Mom’s fork clinked against her plate. “Besides, you accuse me only minutes after telling me you’re abandoning the inn.”

“Well, I’m not the first one to do so, am I?”

The brash statement escaped before she could stop it, its impact stilling them both.

“I didn’t abandon it,” Mom finally said, voice steady despite the tension rippling between them.

But maybe Autumn hadn’t meant Mom. Maybe she’d meant Dad. Or Ava. All three of them. And she had to wonder why she even worried so much about the inn when all the rest of them didn’t.
Why am I am the last one
holding on to something everyone else already let go of
?

But no answer came in the seconds as she watched Mom spread her napkin over her plate, shake her head as if brushing away the crumbs of this conversation, and stand. “Do what you will, Autumn. But don’t count on your sister to step in and take up where you leave off. She’s got a new life now.”

And I’m still waiting to start mine.

The same old cry of desperation pushed through her. But there wasn’t any point in putting voice to it. It seemed there was no getting over the strain of Dad’s death, Ava’s flight. Worse, the secret they both knew but never talked about. Sometimes Autumn wondered if telling Mom she knew about the planned divorce would open up the lines of communication.

But for all she knew, it’d do the opposite. Wedge them even further apart.

“Mom, there was something else. Better news, actually. Does the name Dominic—”

She broke off at the sound of yells coming from the kitchen. And then, “Fire!” Betsy, frantic, hurried into the dining room. “It’s the cottage, Autumn.”

Where was Autumn?

The conference hall of the Whisper Shore town hall buzzed with impatient energy. Eleven people had shown up for tonight’s meeting—all local business owners and community members Blake and Autumn had recruited to help with the festival.

“We need everyone to feel invested in this,” Autumn had said Saturday as they worked together. “In the past, this was Georgie’s event. Now the rest of us need to own it. Plus, it’s only two and a half weeks away. We need all the help we can get.”

He’d teased her about the light in her eyes, the energy in her voice, when she’d pitched the idea. And yet, he’d loved the fact that she was finally as excited about the festival as he was.

So why was he worrying she wasn’t going to show up?

The scrapes of folding chairs mixed in with chatter and the gurgling of a large coffeepot in back. A woman dropped into the chair to Blake’s right, her elbow pressing into his side. Mrs. Hathaway, the longtime town librarian. She flung her scarf away from her face, its staticy fuzz scratching over Blake’s cheek.

“Sorry, Blaze.” Mrs. Hathaway plopped her purse atop the table.

He might be able to throw a festival together, but escaping his nickname was apparently not in the cards. “No problem, Mrs. Hathaway.”

Blake pulled a box of Tic Tacs from his pocket and clicked it open. He tossed back a mouthful. Nerves jostled his empty stomach.
Where are you,
Red?

And when had he slipped into this unlikely dependency on
her? He could handle this meeting alone. Even if he did have that new-kid-in-school feeling poking at his insides.