Here to Stay (Where Love Begins Book #2) (7 page)

His laughter bounced through the room. A dimple dented one cheek as she grinned, setting the bowl down. He rounded the counter and came up beside her. He inched closer, she inched away. “What?”

“You’ve got ice cream on your nose.” He swiped it away with his finger. And when he looked down at her, caught a whiff of her hair—something appley and sweet—suddenly he really, really wanted her to say yes to helping him. Last name or no.

“You, um, were saying?” she prodded, left hand now covering the ice pack on her right arm.

Was it wrong to give in to the instant urge to drag out this conversation? Linger in the company of the first woman to pique his interest since . . . who knew when.

He cleared his throat, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You know the Christmas festival?”

She nodded. “Of course. It’s my favorite time of year around here.”

Good. He had that in his favor. “Well, turns out it’s on the brink of not happening this year. The coordinator went off to get married, and—”

“Georgie really did it? She’d been talking about this guy she met on the Internet. Wow.”

“And anyway, they—the city council—want me to take over.”

“You?”

“Me.”

“You.”

“I know I’m not Georgie Snyder, but I’m available and apparently the only willing stand-in.” He’d decided to leave out the part about being a media draw. Because hadn’t his fifteen minutes of undeserved fame stretched long enough already?

Autumn’s eyebrows raised. She was waiting.

“I was hoping maybe you’d be willing to co-coordinate it with me.” He rushed through the request, words tripping over each other.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Me.”

“I think we just had this conversation.” He chuckled. “Look, I know it’s out of the blue, but it was actually Tim Jakes’s idea. He said you helped Georgie sometimes and obviously you run this place, so you’re organized and stuff.”
Just say yes.

Because, media and the city council’s motivation aside, sometime between that basketball game with Tim and now, he’d pushed a few steps past his reluctance. Far enough to realize he’d just been handed the chance to grasp the very thing he’d come home for: a place to fit and a purpose to fulfill. Maybe even the possibility of a full-time job. What if this was God answering his prayer for direction? Plus, what was it Hilary had said after the meeting?

“You’ve got the chance to play
town hero, Blaze. Seriously, if you had any idea how
much our small businesses are struggling . . .”

Town hero. The words tasted sweet.

Only he needed help to make it happen.

Autumn laid down the ice pack and folded her arms. Not a good sign. “Blake, it was . . . nice of you to think of me. And to bring out the ice cream. But between running the inn and trying to keep up with repairs since we don’t have a handyman, I don’t have a spare second. And I’ve got this VIP coming . . .” Her gaze shifted to the window. “All that and I’ve got some other pretty big things on my mind lately.”

He wanted to ask what, but why should she tell him? So they’d shared a few laughs over melted ice cream. It’s not like they were friends. “I could make it up to you. You mentioned repairs. I can help.” Hadn’t he spent a month watching a celebrity DIY guru at work?

“Blake—”

“And I’ll buy you another cone. And books—you said you like books.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip.

She’s thinking. That’s good.

“Why ask me, of all people?”

“Like I said, Tim Jakes suggested it.” A sliver of moonlight now streaming through the window painted streaks of reddish-gold in her hair. “And maybe it would be good. For our families, I mean. Maybe even the whole town . . . to see some closure.”

From the sudden stillness in Autumn’s stance, the way she hugged her arms to herself, he knew he’d hit a nerve. But whether or not it was a good one, who could know? Because she didn’t say anything. Finally, when the silence stretched, he gave into the question that had poked him ever since running into her on Saturday. “Autumn, is Ava still in town?”

“Why?” Her one-word question was barely a peep.

“I always wondered why she didn’t come to Ryan’s funeral.”

She snapped into focus. “Are you kidding?” Anger—or was that hurt?—fueled her gaze. “After your father, the mayor of this town, practically called her out right in the town square, in front of everyone. Blamed her for breaking Ryan’s heart when all she ever tried to do was help him get—” She cut off her own words.

“I remember that.” And he remembered feeling embarrassed for his father. Even worse, devastated by his own guilt. Because while Dad blamed Ava for Ryan’s reckless actions, Blake blamed only himself. “I’m not saying Dad was right. But he’d just lost his son.”

“Yeah, well, none of it was Ava’s fault.”

Her words burrowed under his skin, gnawing and sharp. “I know that.” He could hear the darkness in his own voice. “I know.” And Autumn had no way of knowing how his
heart choked on the truth. Why were they even having this conversation?

He searched for the words to close the topic he never should have opened.

But Autumn spoke first. “I think closure might be a pipe dream, Blake.”

“Maybe.” But inside, his heart and his brain protested. Because if that was true, then his whole reason for coming home in the first place was a hopeless quest.

4

T
he blaring of her phone yanked Autumn from an already restless sleep. She rolled over with a groan, legs tangled in her flannel sheets.

Before she could bring herself to reach for the phone, the ringing cut off. She waited for the trill to signal a voice mail, but instead, seconds later, the ringtone began again.

“Fine. I hear you.” She pulled herself up and grabbed for the phone on her nightstand. “The inn better be on fire, Jamie, or some other disaster for you to be calling at . . .” She glanced at her alarm clock declaring the time in bright red numbers. “Five thirty a.m.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Kingsley. So sorry.”

How many times had she told the college kid who manned the desk at night to call her Autumn? She stood, bare feet padding over the chilled floor, a picture of Jamie’s freckled face prompting reproach at her tone. “Nah, I’m sorry, Jamie.”

She reached for her robe. Ooh, why the ache in her arm when she thrust it through her sleeve? Oh yes, the wasp sting.
And Blake.
A replay of last night came swooping in.

Including the memory of how awkwardly their conversation finally ended. Her stammered decline. His disappointed
nod. Her surprise at her own regret. She had always enjoyed Whisper Shore’s regular lineup of festivals—the Christmas one best of all. Might have been fun to help again.

If not for the timing. And the person doing the asking.

Though, Blake wasn’t so bad. In fact, she’d even had the crazy thought—in a completely platonic, distant observer sort of way—that he’d looked kind of cute standing in the middle of the lobby holding that ice cream cone.

But as she’d second-guessed her decision on the short walk from the inn back to her cottage last night, she’d remembered all the reasons any association at all with Blake Hunziker went on the bad-idea list. The business competition. Ryan and Ava. The fact that just last week she’d heard rumblings about Mayor Hunziker blaming Autumn’s mother and her role on the state tourism board for Whisper Shore’s lack of grant funding.

Hunzikers and Kingsleys didn’t go together. That’s all there was to it.

“So no fire?” she asked Jamie now.

“No, but you gotta get over here.”

She caught her reflection in the full-size mirror attached to her closet door. “Jamie, I’ve already grouched at you this morning. I have no desire to add to that by scaring you with my morning hair.” Which totally had the bird’s-nest thing going on. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s an emergency.” The line shuffled for a moment, and she heard Jamie’s muffled voice, as if he cupped his hand around the speaker. “I’m so sorry. I’m getting our manager now.”

“What kind of emergency, Jamie?” she asked.

“Just get over here.” He hung up.

Another glance in the mirror. Her white-and-pink-striped pajama pants peeked out from under her lime-green robe.
Fuzzy slippers, makeup-less face. Surely she had time to change.
But if it really
is an emergency . . .

With an exaggerated whimper, she pocketed her phone and hurried through her chilly house. She grabbed a knit scarf from where she’d left it on the kitchen table last night, pulled on matching mittens, and stepped outside.

A lazy morning fog drifted from the lake, and frost-covered grass slicked under the soles of her slippers. Times like these she wished she’d rented a place in town. Living so close to the inn meant she was at the business’s beck and call.

She entered the inn from the back door and trailed down the hallway. She found Jamie in the lobby, hands sunk in his back pockets as he faced a disgruntled guest. And what was that noise? A thumping, loud, from outside.

“I really do apologize, Mr. Glass.”

The guest thumbed his salt-and-pepper mustache, rumpled long-john shirt evidence of his disturbed sleep. Jamie glanced over his shoulder, following the man’s focus. “Oh, good.”

“What’s going on?”

Jamie jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “That. It’s waking everyone up. I tried to get him to stop, but he just laughed at me.”

“Who?”

Another thud.

“Some guy who said you knew he was going to be helping out around the place. I asked for a work order, but like I said, he just laughed.”

Who in the world
 . . .

Thump.

Her eyes narrowed. Of course. “Mr. Glass, I echo Jamie’s apologies, and assure you, I’m going to take care of this.”

The man gave a gruff thanks and shuffled toward the open staircase.

“I’m sorry, Miss Kingsley. I tried to take care of it. As soon as I woke up and heard the hammering . . . ” He broke off, sheepish expression taking over.

She held back a chuckle. If Jamie didn’t realize she knew how often he slept through his shift, well, she’d go ahead and let him keep thinking what he wanted. Anyone else might deserve a scolding, but the guy worked five nights a week while keeping up a full course load at a college forty-five minutes away.

One more reason not to give up on her inn. One more reason to secure its future before leaving for France.

“Don’t worry about it, Jamie. I’ll take care of this.”

She marched to the front door, jerked it open, and stomped down the stairs, neck craning for a view of the man she knew she’d find plodding around the porch roof.

“Blake Hunziker,
what
do you think you’re doing?”

His head appeared over the edge, dark hair flopping over his forehead and brown eyes dancing in the light of the sunrise. “Patching your porch roof. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“More like what it
sounds
like you’re doing. Which is performing a jig at the crack of dawn when my guests are trying to sleep.” She crossed her arms, cutting off the morning chill from breezing up the wide arms of her robe.

“Wanted to get an early start. Busy day today.”

“What, you’ve got other inns to terrorize?”

His grin faded just the slightest. “Red, the first big snow of the season is going to cause a flood on your porch. I don’t know how you managed through the summer rains.”

They’d learned to duck the drips falling from leaky spots, that’s how. She’d done as much patching as she could. And . . . Wait, what had he called her? “Red?”

“It fits. How’s your arm by the way?”

“Blake, I—”

The front door opened, and Jamie hurried out. He brushed his fingers through his hair in a worried move as he hustled down the porch steps. “Now somebody called the front desk about all the yelling.”

Blake’s head and shoulders disappeared.

Jamie’s head tipped. “What are you going to do about him?”

“Guess I’m going to go up there and make him come down.” Because that’s what managers did, right? Solved problems.

And Blake Hunziker?
Problem
with the capital-est of Ps.

Slippers brushing through frosty grass, she headed for the ladder. For the second time in less than a week she’d brave her fear of heights and conquer the climb. This time, at least, irritation powered her determination.

Seconds later, she peered over the edge of the roof to where Blake sat cross-legged, eyes on the horizon.

“Hand over the hammer, Hunziker.”

He blinked, almost as if stunned out of a moment of reflection. But he covered it with a lazy smile. “Come and get it.”

With an annoyed huff, she hefted herself onto the roof.
Don’t look down, don’t look
down.

“Nice PJs, Red.”

She looked down.

Her robe gaped open to reveal the flannel pajama top underneath. Lovely. “Has anyone ever told you you’re exasperating?” She scooted to his side, feeling stares from the second-floor windows and the tingle of winter’s approach in the air.

“Has anyone ever told you it’s dangerous to crawl around on rooftops in slippers?”

She stopped in front of him, knees digging into the porch roof. This thing would hold both of them, right? Autumn reached for the hammer at his side, but Blake’s fingers closed around it first. “Not so fast.”

Eyes narrowed, she made another attempt, but he slid it behind his back. In her failed lunge she ended up inches from his face, balanced on one arm and disarmingly aware of the still-wet tips of his hair and the soapy, mint smell clinging to him.

He only grinned at her, flecks of gold twinkling in his eyes.

She gulped, straightening, backing up . . . finally turning to plop down at his side.

“Giving up that easy?”

“I’m on a roof in my pajamas. Give me some credit.”

His laughter floated away with the breeze, and she followed it with her gaze. From the porch roof, the view of the lake was stunning—threads of blue and foamy white weaving up to a fiery sunrise. She’d completely missed the beauty of it in her rush from her house. But now it pulled her focus in a gentle tug.

“Why are you up here, Blake?”

“I told you last night I’d help out around the place. It’s obvious you need it.” He fixed his eyes on her. “And I need you. Please help me with the festival.”

So he wasn’t giving up. The sincerity in his voice, the hint of a plea, was almost enough to push past her resistance.

But how in the world was she supposed to help coordinate an event when she had an inn to run? Dominic Laurent to wow. A move to prepare for.

“Do you have any idea what goes into planning the festival? We’re less than four weeks out. It’s a massive undertaking.” And how were they supposed to work together with the past glaring like a theater marquee between them?

“Georgie already had a lot of it in the works. We’ll pick up where she left off. Besides, I like a challenge.”

Yeah, well, she already had enough challenges staring her in the face. Even so, something about the mix of enthusiasm
and desperation in Blake’s countenance halted an outright refusal.

There was more at stake for him in this whole thing, wasn’t there. She wasn’t exactly sure what, but for a moment there, his goofball exterior faded to reveal a man with deeper layers.

“You know, before you came up that ladder, I was sitting here thinking about how Ryan and I used to go up into our parents’ attic and climb out the little window onto the roof. We did it all the time in the summer, never once got caught.”

She blinked at his sudden shift in topic. “And you’d do what?”

He shrugged. “Nothing really. Just sit there, talk. He’d talk about football, I’d talk about flying. We’d both talk about girls. Did you know he had a crush on your sister as early as seventh grade?”

“I had no idea.” Except it wasn’t that surprising, really. Ava—tomboy tendencies and all—was the family beauty, the one all the boys fell for. And once she and Ryan had braved their way past the barrier of family rivalry, there’d been no tiptoeing. Oh no, they’d practically barreled their way into a relationship, regardless of parental consternation. They’d been so blissfully happy, Autumn had figured an engagement wasn’t far off.

But that was before Ryan’s football injury his senior year of college. The surgery. The end of his NFL prospects. The painkillers.

“Of course, he didn’t get up the nerve to ask her out ’til college, and then—” Blake broke off, fists balling where they dangled over his bent knees. “Anyway, sorry I came too early.” He slid the hammer to her. “Truce?”

She wrapped one hand around the wood handle, the sleeve of her robe flopping at her wrist. Then, still holding on, she scanned the surface of the porch roof, Blake’s quick handiwork obvious. “Truce, and thanks.”

“For the record, I’m happy to help with anything around here even if you say no to the festival.”

“But . . . why?”

His gaze returned to Lake Michigan. “Because I had the chance to help once . . . and didn’t.”

She knew then, he was talking about the day she’d sought him out over spring break. She hadn’t wanted to, but Ava had begged.
“Please, Autumn. I promised Ryan I wouldn’t tell his
family. He’s already mad at me for confronting him
. But I didn’t promise I wouldn’t tell mine
. Maybe if you talk to Blake . . . tell him what I
saw.”

So she’d given in. Told Blake about the orange bottles Ava kept finding in Ryan’s apartment—the ones with someone else’s name in the prescription. He’d brushed her off, disbelieving. It was the last time she’d seen him until his brother’s funeral, three months later.