Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (17 page)

“You all right?”

Ellie held her arm to her stomach, wincing once more. “Must’ve turned too fast.”

Autumn dropped the bag of Tots on the counter. “You sure?”

Ellie blinked, nodded. “Yeah, just a weird moment.” She slid the picture to Autumn.

Oliver’s smile bubbled from the photo, his reddish-blond cowlick adding extra cuteness. “Oh, he’s so adorable.”

Autumn had gotten used to the stir of longing being around a pregnant Ellie or her son produced.
Someday.

“Ooh, I’ve got the perfect frame. Just a sec. Stick the Tots in the oven while I’m gone, will ya?”

She left the kitchen, trailed past the massive antique table swallowing up the dining room and toward the staircase to the second floor. In her old bedroom, she stepped over a pile of laundry she’d meant to throw in the washer for three days now, and plucked a frame from the overcrowded vanity surface.

Ava smiled at her from the photo. A senior photo, taken on the veranda of the inn. This is how she liked to remember her sister—smiling and wind whipping through her blond hair. Eyes clear, not downcast and sullen like they were in the days after Ryan’s death.

She set to work prying the back off the frame. She slipped out Ava’s photo, then paused when a second photo fluttered to the floor.

Huh, there’d been a picture behind Ava’s? She reached for
the photograph. From the glossy surface shone the Kingsley Inn in all its once-glory. Yellow exterior clean and bright, white-washed wraparound porch inviting and in perfect repair. And on the front steps—Mom, Ava, Autumn . . . even Dad. This photo was
old.

You loved this place,
Dad. I know you did. And yet you were just
going to leave it.

But wasn’t she doing the same?

No. No, this is different. I’m not abandoning
it.
The opposite, really. Everything she was doing now—fixing it up, throwing the Christmas party, helping with the festival, prepping for Dominic Laurent—was in an effort to secure the Kingsley Inn’s future.

And what if Dominic Laurent
wants to buy you out completely? What if he wants
to change the name and the entire feel of the
place?

Did it really matter? As long as everyone’s job would be safe?

“Autumn?” Ellie’s call sounded from the first floor.

“Just a sec. I’m coming.” She set the old photo on the dresser, an uncertain tingle traveling to her heart.

The tingle turned to alarm halfway down the stairs when she heard Ellie’s gasp, a pan crashing to the floor.

9

T
he morning was barely over, and fatigue already clawed at her. Apparently, a toddler did that to a person.

Autumn lifted her head from the steering wheel. She pushed open her door and stepped into muted sunlight, gray clouds shadowing the lot. At least Ellie was okay. The early contractions weren’t unusual, but the doctor ordered bed rest for a few days—to which Ellie had practically filed a court appeal. Poor thing.

Autumn opened the back door of her car and ducked in. “All right, little Oliver. Auntie Autumn has one more hour with you before your daddy gets off work.”

It’d been the least she could do—offer to watch Oliver so Ellie could get some rest after spending five hours last night at the hospital. She’d bugged out of helping Blake map out the festival booth arrangements.

“I wanna see the water.”

Oliver pointed over her shoulder to where Lake Michigan dabbled with the shore, edging in and out against the sand. One look at the sky and she could tell a mix of rain wasn’t far off, maybe even the snow they’d all been waiting for, if
the morning’s unseasonably warm temperatures dropped as predicted.

“I don’t know, Oliver. You’re not dressed for playing outside.” She should’ve grabbed playclothes at Tim and Ellie’s. But she hadn’t been able to resist the adorable corduroy pants and little Converse All-Stars she found in Oliver’s bedroom.

“Pleeease.”

Her gaze hooked on the figures walking down by the beach. Lucy and Betsy. And they weren’t alone. Apparently the warmth had coaxed several of the hotel’s guests outside. She recognized the Hammersmiths, a retired couple who visited the shore every December. And farther down the beach, a younger married couple. Autumn had checked them in yesterday, and if they hadn’t told her then, she’d have known now that they were professional photographers by the cameras and elongated lenses they both held, pointed toward the landscape.

“Please, Num,” Oliver repeated.

It was a gorgeous day for December, but she expected it wouldn’t last long. “Okay, but just for a few minutes.”

As they approached, she saw that Lucy had abandoned her shoes in the grassy knoll that faded into sand and rock. The frothy scent of the water engulfed Autumn as she reached Lucy and Bets, sandy wind pricking her skin.

“Hey, girls. Barefoot in winter, huh, Luce.”

“I love the feel of sand.”

The weight of Oliver pulled on her arms, and he jiggled in an effort to get down. She let him slide down her side but held on to his hand. “What happened to making Christmas cookies?”

Betsy held up a bandaged hand. “Word to the wise: hot pads were invented for a reason.”

Lucy was kneeling down now to smile at Oliver. “Can I have a high-five, buddy?”

Autumn released Oliver’s hand so he could play patty-cake with Lucy as another windy howl chugged through the water, sending it closer to where they stood. The swirls of gray and white in the sky tinged her with unease.

Or maybe those were simply leftover feelings from last night. The doubt, circling around in the back of her mind like a seagull that couldn’t decide where to land. Causing her to question, for the first time since receiving her Paris job offer, whether she really wanted to leave Whisper Shore.

Of
course, I do. I’ve been dreaming of this forever
. Sure, I love the inn and my friends and this
town.
And she’d miss them, yes.

“Again.” Oliver giggled from where he plunked in the sand.

“Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man . . .” Lucy’s voice lilted.

“Can you believe this day?” Betsy’s voice poked into her thoughts. “Thermometer hit fifty degrees at noon. Yet they’re saying by midafternoon, it’ll be snowing and . . . Hey, look who it is.”

Autumn followed Betsy’s bandage-wrapped point. Past the Hammersmiths and the photographers, another couple roamed the beach, hands held. Dylan and Mariah.

“And on that note . . .”

Betsy patted her arm. “Let’s go inside, guys. I’ll make you some of my homemade hot chocolate. It’s like a Hershey bar sliding down your throat.”

“Not yet. I want to go wading.” This from Lucy.

“Brr, seriously?” Autumn shivered just thinking about it. “Your feet will turn blue. Lake Michigan is nippy enough in the summer, but in the winter it’s downright biting.”

“I want to.”

Betsy shrugged, an impish grin breaking out on her face. “Well, in that case . . .” She kicked off her shoes and bent over to peel her socks off.

Autumn lifted Oliver once more. “You two are crazy.”

“Me too! Me too!” Oliver called as they watched Lucy and Betsy toe the water.

“I don’t think so, kiddo. I have a feeling your mom would not be happy about it.”

“You wade in while holding him, Autumn,” Betsy called.

“Uh-uh. No way. I have no desire to freeze my feet off.” But even as the argument climbed up her throat, a distant memory floated in. Cloudy at first, but clearing until she could almost hear his voice. Dad’s.

“
Come on, girls. I dare you.”

She couldn’t have been older than eight or nine. Ava, ten or eleven. They stood on the shore, cold breeze flickering through their pigtails as Dad coaxed and laughed. “
I double-dog dare
you.”

Dad used to try to get them to swim in Lake Michigan in the winter. Drove Mom crazy. She’d tell him it was asking for pneumonia, and he’d wave her off and promise her they’d take hot baths after.

The memory tasted crisp and new. Dad stripping off his coat, running in. She could still feel her own reluctance, the pull of fear as Ava rose to the challenge . . . and she shrank back, standing on the shore with Mom. Watching as Dad and Ava floated in the water on their own private adventure.

She locked gazes with Oliver. “All right, buddy. But I’m only going in as deep as my ankles.”

His eyes lit with delight, as if he understood.

She ditched her shoes and socks, rolled her jeans, and picked up Oliver. Her feet sank into squeaky white sand, its quartz content causing it to gleam in the sun. In the distance,
dunes rose like tiny mountains sprinkled with beach grass and sand cherries.

“Hurry, hurry.” He clapped.

Lucy and Betsy were already shrieking as they skipped through the water. “Okay, here we go.”

Cold, wet sand squished between her toes as the first lick of foamy water over her feet prompted shivers. “Brr.” Oliver giggled at that. Two more steps and the chill reached to her ankles. Her squeal pierced the air. “More, Num!” To the tune of Oliver’s laughter, she splashed around for a few minutes before tiptoeing out of the water.

She hadn’t lasted long . . . but she’d done it.
Wonder if Dad could see. . . .

Betsy flustered over. “I think my internal organs are turning to ice.”

Still giggling, and now on dry sand, Autumn set Oliver down and rubbed her hands over her arms, settling the goose bumps trailing her skin underneath her jacket. Chills beat through her body, but watching Lucy kick through the water was worth it.

And knowing she’d gone in satisfied a curiosity about herself she hadn’t even known she had.

Betsy picked up her shoes. “I’ll take Oliver inside and start heating up that cocoa. Stay with Lucy ’til she’s ready to come in?”

“Sure thing.”

After Betsy left with Oliver, she knelt down to brush the sand from her toes and unroll her jeans.

“Wading in the winter. A surprising Kingsley hobby?”

Autumn jumped at the voice behind her. A shadow joined hers in the white sand, and she spun.

Blake stood with arms folded. His fitted military-style jacket didn’t hide the knot of his muscles. Curiosity danced with amusement in his dark eyes. And for a moment, she was
back in the doorway of the guest room she had hid him in, every nerve standing at attention.

“Uh . . . hey.”

Blake looked behind her. She turned, saw that his gaze had landed on Lucy, now back at the end of the shore, peering into its aqua translucence. “Are you two still staying at your mom’s house?”

She stood up, bare feet turning numb. “Yeah. Until I can get an electrician out to check out the wiring, I’m not comfortable moving back in.”

He nodded, not quite looking her in the eye.

“So . . . did you stop out here for any particular reason?”

He looked tired. Why did he look so tired? Sure, he’d been running around on festival errands for days, in between helping her at the inn. But today he seemed . . . worn down.

“I got some news yesterday.” He ran his fingers through dark hair tousled by the wind. The scent of his aftershave mixed with the cold.

“What kind of news?”

“The kind that . . .” His lips closed around the finish of his sentence. “Listen, you free tomorrow night?”

“Well, I’ve got the Christmas party in just a few days and . . . ” Now she was the one to cut off, the puddle of hope and sadness in his expression stilling her.

His stare was intent. “I was thinking that—”

But Lucy’s piercing voice interrupted. “Miss Autumn!”

Both Autumn and Blake spun at the panic in her tone.

And then a scream from down the beach.

Blake could sense the swelling of Autumn’s panic.

It nearly matched his own. Lucy was frantically pointing to the water. Not far away, Mariah yelled Dylan’s name.

Autumn’s fingers hooked around Blake’s arm. “He can’t swim. Dylan can’t . . .” The wind whipped through her hair. She stood so close loose strands tickled his cheek.

The low grumble of dense clouds tracking overhead fed his own worry. He’d heard snow and wind were on the way today. Was the storm setting in already?

“Dylan!” Autumn matched Mariah’s call, plowing her way to the lakeside, alarm anchored in her voice.

Mariah was running toward them now.

Autumn fought with the zipper of her fleece coat. “Drat this thing.”

“What are you—” He dropped the question, and instead took over for her. He pried her fingers away, then loosened the zipper from where it had stuck on the fabric. “There.”

Autumn’s breath came in warm, rapid puffs. “Thanks.” The second he removed his hand, she jerked the zipper the rest of the way down and floundered out of her jacket.

And then it dawned on him, what she intended to do. “No, Red.”

Mariah reached them then. “My hat . . . the wind . . . He went in after it, and then . . .”

Blake scanned the lake, hurried gaze finally landing on the bobbing figure a ways out from shore.

“I’m going in.” Autumn looked frightened but determined.

“No, you’re not.” He was already peeling off his own coat, kicking off his shoes. “I am.”

“I’ve had lifeguard training. I’m a great swimmer.” She stepped into the water.

Blake sprang toward her. “Stay with Luce and Mariah.” Fear puddled in her eyes and she attempted to push past him, but he caught her in his arms. “Trust me. I’ve got this.”

And before any more precious seconds could tick by, he pushed her away and plunged into the water. Water stung
through his clothes, icy and sharp. He plummeted under, heading the direction of the flash of color he’d seen before pitching into the lake’s sudsy blue.

Cold sliced over and into his body, and the force of the water battled with his determination. With strained strokes he pushed his arms forward and back, kicked his legs with every ounce of strength in him.