With This Kiss (14 page)

And yet, nothing could have prepared her for Charlie. Not just the exquisite pleasure that he gave her on their wedding night, but for the depth of love in his eyes every time he looked at her.

When he finally stopped caressing and kissing her long enough for her to fall asleep in his arms, the last thing she heard around the beating of his heart beneath her ear was his low voice saying, “You’ll have my heart forever.”

Perfectly warm in the comfort of his arms, she fell into a dreamless sleep. She didn’t need her old dreams anymore.

She and Charlie would make new ones together.

But as the dark of night turned into dawn, the warmth leached out of the bed, out of the room.

Out of Celeste.

Because she had woken up alone.

And Charlie was gone.

Rebecca’s teacup clattered onto her saucer.

Not knowing enough about Celeste’s past to know whether Charlie had come back or not, before she could ask, Celeste said, “Would you mind helping me clean this up, Rebecca?”

She flexed her fingers slowly, and Rebecca immediately worried that spending so much time out in the cold throwing pebbles had flared up Celeste’s arthritis.

“Absolutely,” she said, reluctantly accepting that she’d heard all she was going to from Celeste today.

It wasn’t until Celeste was curled up on her couch under a warm blanket with a book and Rebecca was halfway back to the inn that a connection occurred to her: Had Celeste and Charlie celebrated their wedding night in her bedroom? And if so, could that be why it always felt so cold?

Rebecca longed to turn back and ask Celeste those questions, but she felt that she’d worn the lovely woman out enough already.

And the questions would certainly keep.

Because Rebecca had a feeling that if there really was a ghost haunting the inn, he or she wasn’t going anywhere.

I
t was all about holding focus.

Over the past weeks, Rebecca could have easily gone off the rails. First, when she realized her relationship with Stu was nothing but a lie. Next, when he left her to not only deal with keeping his secret but also with running the inn and putting on the maple festival all by her lonesome.

And then, of course, when big brother came in to survey all that was—shockingly—also his.

The thing was, she wasn’t at all sure that she was sorry any of it had happened. Not when she’d learned something about herself in the midst of potential disaster: namely, that she was much tougher than she’d ever given herself credit for.

What’s more, she had almost figured out how to turn twenty-four hours into twenty-five. Almost, but not quite, unfortunately. Which was why she was multitasking like crazy, having just finished dealing with inn business and turning over to final festival details while she manned the check-in desk.

Sean was bound to show up any minute and she could already see the expression bound to land on his face if he saw her festival papers spread out all over the place again.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it. She and Stu had agreed that putting on this festival would be a great thing for the inn. Regardless of what Sean had said to her in her bedroom last night, she had no intention of backing down.

Just as she had no intention whatsoever of ever acknowledging the attraction that had jumped between them in their half-dressed states as moonlight poured into her bedroom.

A gust of cold air blew in through the inn’s front door and she looked up with a smile. A smile that didn’t waver even when she saw who was coming in through the entrance.

She’d never had anything against Mr. Radin. Not until he’d stood up at that town hall meeting last fall and tried to tear Andi apart. Yes, people were entitled to their opinions about building codes in the Adirondacks, but it was the way he went after her friend that was truly horrible. He’d invoked her dead father’s name, told Andi that he’d be ashamed of what his daughter was doing to his beloved town.

Rebecca had always forgiven too quickly. More than once, being able to hold a grudge might have helped her steer clear of personal disaster. But she still hadn’t managed to forgive Mr. Radin for hurting her friend.

“Are you the person responsible for this Tapping of the Maples Festival?”

A warning bell went off in her head. He’d looked much the same that day at the town hall meeting.

“Yes. I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have about it.”

He slapped down a thick folder. “You can’t drill into Adirondack Park trees without the proper permissions. I’ve filed a halt petition with the preservation council.”

Rebecca felt her mouth fall open, but at that moment she was powerless to close it. She stared at the papers, not wanting to touch them.

“I checked everything out with the park’s agency before I started putting the festival together.”

“The young pups at the agency haven’t read the park codes any better than you have. The Adirondack Park is preserved for a reason, so that people like you can’t come here from the big city and rape our trees.”

Rebecca wasn’t the kind of person who called people out on things as a rule. But some things were uncalled for.

“How dare you make some sort of claim that I’m trying to destroy the forest.”

“We don’t need more buildings and machines and people ruining our land. You’re no better than that friend of yours with her condos.”

She was glad for the anger that shot through her, if only because of the energy it gave her to stand up to this bully.

“You could have come and talked to me first, before filing this petition,” she told him. “You should have given me a chance to address your concerns before escalating things to such a high level.”

It had never occurred to her that someone would come in and try to stop her from putting on a small spring festival.

“All that talk just gets in the way of what needs to be done. I believe in taking action first.”

She had to bite her tongue to point out how well that had gone for him. He was alone, grumpy, with virtually no friends in a small town that thrived on interpersonal connections.

“The festival is in two weeks, Mr. Radin,” she said as calmly as she could. “Everything is in place with vendors. People have already made their plans to attend the festival and have booked rooms at the inn and all of the local B and Bs. Pulling the festival now would be a headache and a heartache for more than just me.” She hated begging for things, but her festival was more important than her pride. “Please reconsider this petition. I’m not the only one who will benefit from this festival. It’s not just going to be good for the inn. This entire community will reap the rewards of it. And I will personally make sure that none of the trees are harmed in the process.”

When he didn’t reply for a long while, a small flicker of hope rose up in her chest. Maybe the miracle of miracles was going to happen and he was going to be reasonable for once. Maybe, just maybe, he was going to think about someone other than himself.

“The preservation council will make certain of that,” he said smugly.

The real shock didn’t set in until he left, her festival spreadsheets still lying on the counter top.

Having no other choice, she picked up the petition and started reading.

Across the lake, Elizabeth and Bill were down on their hands and knees in opposite corners of their bedroom. He was sanding by hand while she worked to carefully finish the already sanded planks with a paintbrush.

Honestly, even though she’d practically had to beg Bill to let her help him with the bedroom floors, Elizabeth had never cared for work like this. Painstaking, patience-bending work had always been Bill’s forte. Like his mother, he wasn’t one to be rushed, and Elizabeth knew that was why his construction work was in such high demand. Elizabeth, on the other hand, liked seeing something go from idea to hear-and-see-and-touch reality as quickly as possible.

That was why she was so good at graphic design. There was a clear start and end to every project and loose ends didn’t dangle forever. She heard what her clients wanted from a design, got a fairly clear image in her head, put it down on paper (now the computer, which she liked more than she’d expected), and then it was on to the next project. She supposed Bill’s job wasn’t all that different, but the day-to-day held so many tiny little details that everything hinged upon, and one big house around the lake could take him a year to see through from start to finish. She shivered at the thought of having to work on something for that long.

Still, she’d wanted—needed—to be in the bedroom with Bill, on the floor with a paintbrush, listening to the steady scratch of sandpaper. She dearly hoped working together on something they’d both wanted would bring them closer together. That they’d lie in bed when it was done and know that they could still be a team.

Perhaps it didn’t make any sense to tie house renovation to a marriage, but their relationship felt so shaky lately that it scared her.

It wasn’t just the thought of Bill slipping away that frightened her. It was all the thoughts that surrounded it. The thoughts she couldn’t control, ones that had nothing
to do with love and everything to do with irritation and annoyance.

Funny the things one didn’t realize about someone when one was still in the first flush of new love. She’d loved how considerate Bill was, how seriously he thought about everything she asked him, rather than just giving her whatever answer she wanted to hear, like most men would. And if his mother, Celeste, drove her a little crazy in those early years, with the way she never seemed to answer a question directly, or even give a full answer until she was good and ready (which could take weeks, depending on the question), Elizabeth was content to know that her son was different.

But more and more, she’d come to see just how similar they were. Stu was like that, too, but he was her baby and therefore exempt from the rules Elizabeth expected everyone else to live by.

Whether he realized it or not, Sean was the most like her. She was glad he was coming to dinner tonight. She was making his favorite meal, pork loin and butternut squash. She looked down at her watch and saw that it was time to pull the cherry pie out of the oven.

Her back was stiff as she began to stand up. Before she could prevent it from happening, the can tipped over and lacquer poured out all over the boards Bill had worked so hard to sand to perfection.

She bent down to grab the can, but as she did so she accidentally stepped into a puddle of goo that had slid by her shoe. Slipping, she managed to catch herself on her palms before she could go down on a hip, thank god, but that was about the only good thing she could say about the whole situation.

“Betsy!”

Her husband was there before she could get her breath back. He had his hands on her, running them down her arms, checking for places she might be hurt.

It felt so good to be touched by him. When was the last time she’d felt his warmth? When was the last time she hadn’t pushed him away because she was tired or grumpy or just plain preoccupied with something else?

“Does anything hurt?”

Just her pride. But she couldn’t admit that, not even to her husband. Especially not to him, it seemed.

“No. I don’t think so.” She started to get up, but his hands were firm, holding her right where she was. A strange thrill shot through her at the proof of his strength, something she’d somehow forgotten, just as she’d forgotten his warmth.

“Stay put for a little while. Give your body a chance to recover from the fall.” He finally looked from her to the mess she’d caused. The huge mess. “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

It was pure instinct for her to bristle, even though he hadn’t outright blamed her for screwing up. She could hear it in his voice, the resignation that letting her help had been a bad idea right from the start.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He didn’t look at her, just shook his head. “I didn’t say you did.”

“But you were thinking it.”

His chest filled with a deep breath, one that he let out before he said, “No, although I thought I was pretty clear about needing to close the containers before you went anywhere.”

“What was I thinking? I should have known working together would be a bad idea.” She pushed out of his arms, getting to her feet as fast as she could in the glop that covered her.

Bill was up on his feet just as fast. “Don’t try and turn this around on me, Elizabeth.” The moment where he’d slipped and called her Betsy like he used to was clearly long gone. “You’re the one who’s been pushing me to do the floors. You’re the one who demanded to help. If you’d just let me do it the way I planned, none of this would have happened.”

“You know what? We never should have started this renovation. We never should have tried to pretty up the past and make it look new again.” Words flew from her mouth, one after the other. “You can’t sand down and refinish something that’s fundamentally broken and expect it to be like new again. To go back to the way it used to be.”

It wasn’t until she was done that she realized she’d said too much. Far more than she’d ever meant to say. Perhaps if she was more measured, like Celeste, she could have stopped herself in time, but Elizabeth had always been trigger-happy.