Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (29 page)

Ava leaned toward her, their shoulders bumping. “I think we might be off to a good start. Brutally honest conversation yesterday. Me doing a nice thing for you today. Tomorrow you can braid my hair or something.”

That was the old Ava peeking out, always reaching for humor over emotion. But Autumn didn’t miss the softness in her sister’s eyes.

“By the way, you also need to thank Mom.”

A whole new layer of surprise draped over her. “Seriously?”

Ava nodded. “I talked to her when she got home this morning. I honestly don’t think she realized how dire things are here. You should’ve seen her jump into action. She’d be here still except she’s meeting with some state tourism board members—guess Linus Hunziker invited them. She wasn’t too happy about that. But helping you . . . It lit her up, Autumn.”

It’s like someone had flipped a switch in her family, and the joy of it flooded her heart with light. “Mom helped with all this?”

“We hatched the plan together and she got everyone else involved.” Ava stood. “I know you’ve got this hankering to leave Whisper Shore, sis. But boy do you have a lot of people who love you here. Even snarky Harry.”

Yes, so many people.

Hot tears pooled at the back of her eyes, and she blinked them away.
Not going to cry. Not
now. Not when Dominic Laurent will be here any minute
and this is my chance. . . .

Her chance to thank Mom and Ava and everyone else. And she wouldn’t let them down.

“Ten minutes, you said?”

Ava nodded again. “Might want to lose your coat, chug a coffee, practice your speech.”

She’d been practicing in her head for weeks.

“I’ll go wait for Dominic.”

But before her sister left the room, Autumn looked up. “Hey, where’d you put all the stuff that was in here?”

Ava grinned. “Hauled it out to the cottage. Harry said once you leave, it’ll probably serve as storage anyway.”

Her cottage. Storage. Made sense, she guessed.

Didn’t sit well, though.

She shook her head, shrugged out of her coat. Never mind. Time to make her pitch, make her friends and family proud. And save the Kingsley Inn.

16

J
ust finish this tour and then . . . sleep.

Exhaustion trekked through Blake, weighting his limbs and fuzzying his brain. He’d only slept a couple hours last night, folded like a piece of origami in the chair beside Dad’s bed. The lack of rest taunted him now.

“How often do you host events in these meeting rooms?” Dominic Laurent peered into the largest of the Hunziker Hotel’s conference rooms, his voice echoing against the beige walls rimming the spacious room.

Blake’s focus fell to the iPad in his hand, on which Dad told him he’d find everything he needed to know about the hotel operations. So different than the little notebook Autumn carried around in her back pocket.

Even as his finger scrolled and tapped through the documentation, stubborn thoughts of Autumn refused to subside. How hurt she’d be if she knew he was conducting this tour. How angry.

True, he got a kick out of winding her up, watching those sapphire eyes flash and a feisty response bubble from her.

But this was different. This was the stuff of betrayal. Harsh word, yes, but it was exactly what he was doing. After weeks
of helping Autumn prepare her inn for the man who now strolled through the conference room—just a day after kissing her—he was stealing her financial opportunity right out from under her nose.

Never mind it had apparently never been hers to begin with.

“We draw two to three larger events and meetings per month. Smaller gatherings also reserve the space now and then—local groups, civic service clubs, that kind of thing. This room can be divided up into separate spaces, as well.”

The Kingsley Inn had nowhere near this kind of meeting space. But what it lacked in corporate draw, it more than made up for in charm. The inviting den with the oversized fireplace, the comfortable dining room with its lingering welcome, a stunning view of Lake Michigan from every window on its north and west sides.

Stop
comparing.

And stop with the guilt already. What was wrong with helping his father? Was it so horrible to look out for his own family’s business, too? While Dad slept this morning, Blake had glanced through the budgets saved on the iPad, checked out reservations for the coming months. Things weren’t nearly as dire as at the inn, but the hotel wasn’t raking in the income either. Made him wonder how in the world Dad had afforded that plane still sitting in its hangar.

Dom strolled back to his side, a nod signaling his satisfaction. “Very good. I appreciate the tour, especially considering your family emergency. I trust you will keep me apprised of your father’s condition.”

“Apprised. Right. Yes.”

He finished the tour with Dominic less than ten minutes later, reciting the last of the information his father had provided and handing over a packet of financial information.
They stopped in the hotel lobby, where guests milled at the full-service coffee bar lining one wall.

Dominic’s phone rang then, and he excused himself to answer. Only when the man stepped away did Blake’s focus shift to the scene outside the hotel windows, where festival preparations were in full swing.

That was where he needed to be. Helping Autumn. Making sure the festival went off without a hitch.

“Blake, my boy, what are you doing inside with all that’s happening over in the square?” Kip Gable ambled over from the coffee bar, white apron peeking from underneath his winter jacket.

“Better question is what are
you
doing here?”

Kip held up an empty tray. “Guess you all were running short on pastries at your coffee setup and your chef was caught off guard. Hail the hometown baker. I was helping with the festival crew when I got the call.”

“How’s it going out there? Is Autumn overseeing things?”

“You should’ve seen her. Took charge like she was Wonder Woman.”

Through the lobby’s elongated windows, the colors of activity moved against a backdrop of white—clusters of volunteers setting up booths and arranging decorations, the square transforming in front of his eyes.

And somewhere in that organized mess of people, Autumn directed it all.

She’s doing it for you.

The whisper glided in from who knew where, sending shoots of warmth from his core to his fingertips, despite the brimming argument that no, she was doing it for the town. To fulfill her responsibility as the co-coordinator.

She
’s doing it for you.

And here he was, giving a tour to the only man she was convinced could save her business.

“You should see her telling everyone what to do.” Kip was still talking, hands swinging as accents to his words. “Hilarious. And then, of course, soon as we found out the electrical circuits couldn’t handle any more, she got this idea for fire barrels.”

Blake glanced over. “Fire barrels? In the middle of the park?”

Kip held up his palm. “Don’t worry, she checked on ordinances, fire code, all that. Long as the barrels are grated at the top, we’re okay.”

But all that grass, the trees, wooden booths, the gazebo . . .

He shook the silly concern away. This was Autumn they were talking about. Smokey the Bear had nothing on her safety-wise. While he covered for his dad, she covered for him. And gratitude didn’t begin to cover the range of emotions swelling in him.

Dominic returned then and Kip waved a good-bye.

“Thank you again for everything, Blake.” Dom held out his hand and Blake accepted the shake. “I will look through these papers, but I’m confident your father will be pleased at the offer LLI is prepared to make. Please let him know he can expect to hear from me with a final proposal by Christmas Eve.”

Blake’s hand fell to his side. “Really. Christmas Eve.” His words came out flat, more statement than question.

“No rest for the wicked, isn’t that how the saying goes? Anyhow, we’ll be in touch.”

The man was halfway across the lobby before Blake blinked. “Wait, Mr. Laurent . . . Dom.” He skirted around a startled guest, offering a quick apology as he lunged past.

Dominic turned, revolving door humming behind him,
along with the clamor of wheeled suitcases rolling over the metal divider between door and floor.

Blake halted in front of the man, breath tight with hurry and doubt.
Dad wouldn’t like this.
No, he’d hate it.

But the impulse was too strong to ignore—anchored in emotion and the scene outside the lobby window and the realization that Autumn had become as important to him as family. Uncanny, yes, but undeniable.

The woman who opened her home to a friend in need, who couldn’t bring herself to follow her own dreams until everyone around her was secure, who spent her free time volunteering and talked about traveling with the wistfulness of a little kid standing outside a locked amusement park . . . She’d seen him. All of him—not just the Blake who’d early on earned a rep as the wild one, who globe-trotted and graced tabloid covers and flew the plane his brother had jumped from.

She’d crept past the barriers in his heart and taken up residence.

It couldn’t be permanent residence. He’d have to let her go. He knew that. But right now, he couldn’t detach himself from the idea that he owed her this. She’d offered him friendship. She’d given him a peek into her heart. She’d
kissed
him last night when he’d fallen apart in her kitchen.

He couldn’t just sit by while her hopes dissolved.

“Yes, Mr. Hunziker?” Dominic’s folded arms hinted at slight impatience.

“I wondered if you’ve given any thought to investing in the Kingsley Inn. You are staying there, after all, and . . .” He should’ve thought this through before blurting it out. But he couldn’t let the man walk away without at least asking.

“You too?” Dominic’s impatience slid into surprise.

“Me too?”

“The inn staff fairly ambushed me this morning. Pulled me into a meeting in a space they consider a conference room.”

So Autumn had finally gotten to him. Was that pride pooling through him? “It’s a great little place, don’t you think?” Still needed some repairs, sure, but nothing a few more weeks and a good investment couldn’t solve. In fact, he could list off exactly where he’d start with the larger of repairs right on down to the details.

Dom unfolded his arms. “Tell me something. Why ask me this? You are rival businesses, no?”

“Historically, yes. But a town like Whisper Shore can easily accommodate two upper-end lodgings. And Autumn is . . .”
Adorable. Stubborn. Perfect.
“A friend.”

“I find business peers do not often make good friends.”

“I find good friends more important than business.”

“I see.”

Blake doubted it, if the man’s expression was any indication. Still. He hadn’t turned to leave yet. Consideration—or maybe simply curiosity—held him in place.

“Look, I wouldn’t ask this, except that I know how hopeful Autumn is to settle the inn’s affairs before leaving. She wants to insure the Kingsley Inn stays open and is prosperous in her absence.”

Dom’s eyes rounded. “She’s leaving?”

“She didn’t mention that?”

“So she’s looking for a financial investment to secure her own departure.”

“What, no, that’s not . . . She’s had a great opportunity land at her feet.” He could admit it, even if it bothered him.

“Owning a business is a great opportunity. Choosing to leave it behind is telling.” Dominic’s stance firmed. “Besides, I’ve seen the numbers. If I wasn’t certain before, I am now. It would be a horrible investment.”

Shock charged its way through Blake. He hadn’t expected such outright refusal from the man, nor the lackadaisical disdain written in his features.

“And if you ask me, you’d be better off looking out for your own interests and that of your family’s business rather than wasting it on an inn that will close by the end of next year’s first quarter.”

Blake felt the tick in his jaw intensify. He pushed out his question, voice raspy. “Did you . . . tell that to Autumn?”

Dom’s stance loosened and he waved one hand. “Of course not. She will receive a polite letter of decline after I check out.”

“Coward.”

Slick with frustration, the word escaped before Blake could stop it. Heat coursed through him, and if he wasn’t working so hard to keep his hands at his side, he’d be yanking loose the ridiculous tie around his neck.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” The calm in Dominic Laurent’s voice was unnerving. Cold. His eyes narrowed. “I’m sure your father will be sorry as well.”

The slap of the man’s shoes sounded as he made his retreat.

Would it jinx things to call tonight perfect?

Autumn’s gaze traveled across the town square. Christmas classics played over the speakers, and strings of lights hung around the gazebo and from every lamppost standing guard around the square. The rainbow lights ribboning the massive evergreen, though, wouldn’t be lit until the tree-lighting ceremony later in the evening, when darkness veiled the park.

Fire barrels dotted the square and served as gathering spots where townspeople warmed their hands. The streetlights, too, glowed against the almost-dark sky.

And so many people. Families, groups of teens and adults, kids threading through the park. It was . . . perfect.