Chapter 6

Carys

Hurrying down the street, I nearly drop my grocery bags. I spent too much time talking to CeCe, my friend at the nearby coffee shop, and I told Mary I’d be back to the hotel by noon so she could run her own errands.

I should’ve known better. CeCe and I always find a million things to talk about, and this morning I was so excited about how smoothly the front desk was running that I had to tell her about Maverick and his friend Shep and the magic they worked. It hasn’t worked so flawlessly since I started running the hotel on the daily. I’ve always known it needed upgrading, but that word freaked me out. To me, upgrade equals money, but Shep knew about a hotel management software that’s user friendly, current, and surprisingly cheap. It was more money than I had to spend, but an investment worth making because I can already tell it’s going to save me days of frustration. With Jules coming on to help with the front desk, it’s like I can finally see the light at the end of the very long, dark tunnel I’ve been walking down for the past year and a half.

“Shit!” Just as I make it to the breezeway leading to the front door, the handles of one of my bags rips and groceries start rolling everywhere. Quickly, I get down on my hands and knees and start collecting the items in my arms to save them from the street. Looking around, I realize they’ll never fit in my other bag, so I stuff what I can in there and then take my cardigan off, laying it on the ground to use as a bundle.

I can make this work.

Just call me MacGyver. Carys MacGyver.

A low chuckle catches my attention and slowly I look up to see none other than Maverick Kensington standing a few feet away, arms crossed, leaning against the side of the building with a bag of his own hooked around one arm. The smile he’s giving me makes my knees weak, so for that, I’m thankful I’m not standing.

And with that thought, my mind begins to spin, heading straight for the gutter like it always does when he’s near.

“Need some help?” he asks, cocky grin still in place.

“Nope, got it covered,” I tell him as I begin to tie the arms of my cardigan and stand, dusting off my pants.

“Mess,” he says with another chuckle.

“What?” I heard him, but for some reason, I ask anyway.

He smiles, kicking off the wall and stalking toward me. “Mess,” he repeats and then pauses as he looks down at my feet and then back up to my eyes. “You. Are. A. Mess.” Each word is pronounced emphatically, and it makes my stomach flip.

Now I’m the one laughing, but it’s the result of nerves because his smile combined with the stalking has my breathing labored. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”

“A hot mess, emphasis on the hot, but a mess nonetheless.” Without asking again, he frees me from the makeshift bag and we both begin to walk toward the front door of the Blue Bayou.

“What did you buy?” I ask, needing to say something to fill the space between us, or maybe in an effort to create some space between us, because it feels like he’s coming on to me. I mean, I know he is. I might be blonde, but I’m not stupid. And I might be busy and preoccupied, but I’m not oblivious. At first, I thought it was just my wishful thinking, but last night, before he retired to his room, he asked me if the hotel had turndown service. It was a joke, but I could tell by the way he looked at me, he wasn’t kidding.

The scary part is that I almost took him up on it. I had to force my feet to walk to my apartment, instead of upstairs to his room. I’ve never done anything like that before, never even entertained the thought. But I guess there’s nothing illegal about it. So what if I own the hotel he’s staying in? It’s not like I’m his doctor and he’s my patient, although I wouldn’t mind giving him a thorough examination.

Not helping, Carys.

“Stopped at the hardware store down the street. I was at a bookstore a few doors down and thought I’d stop in there on my way back to see if they had a knob for the office door. I noticed it was missing.”

I pause with my hand on the door and just stare at him. “You didn’t have to do that...or don’t have to do that. George has been meaning to fix it, but he just hasn’t got around to it yet.” I can’t explain what I’m feeling because there’s such a whirlwind taking place inside me. It’s hard to decipher one emotion—fear that I’m doing everything wrong, shame that someone else is coming into my hotel and fixing problems, overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done, and last but not least, relief that Maverick wants to help.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I want to. I saw that it was broken, and I’d like to fix it.”

He smiles and opens the door for me.

He wants to.

I don’t know why, but him fixing things in my hotel does something to me. It makes my insides warm. Since me and the hotel are a packaged deal, when Maverick does something as simple as fix a door handle, it feels personal.

Have I mentioned how perfect he is? He shouldn’t be this perfect. He’s making me want to do things that aren’t good. I shouldn’t want him like I do. He’s a guest. He’ll be gone in a few days, a week at most. But I’m strong. I can resist. I know I can.

“Do you always have to fix things?” I ask, turning to face him once I’m inside.

He shrugs, his eyes fixed on mine. “I like to. My grandfather used to always have a project he was working on, and even though he had enough money to pay people to fix things for him, he wanted to do it himself. I think he must’ve passed that on to me. I like working with my hands, it’s relaxing.” With that last statement, he raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Was he coming on to me again? I think there was an innuendo in there.

Ignore.

Deflect.

Be strong.

“Well, I really appreciate it, but it feels weird letting a guest do a handyman’s job.”

“I want to. Think of it as an amenity—an incentive to stay here. You’ve said it yourself that the Blue Bayou isn’t a hotel with bells and whistles, so let this be something that you let me do because it makes me happy.”

“You’re weird, Maverick. Has anyone ever told you that?”

His strong jaw flexes and I’m worried I’ve offended him, but then he breaks out in a loud laugh, tilting his head back and making me ogle his neck.

What? I don’t even pay attention to guys’ necks. So what if his is strong, without being too muscular? So what if my insides do funny things when his Adam’s apple moves? So what if I’ve wondered if the scent—the one I can only describe as pure Maverick Kensington—originates there, right at the base, between his neck and his shoulder? So what if I’m now having fantasies about nestling myself right in the bend...right there in the perfect spot, where you can feel a person’s heartbeat.

“Pot meet kettle,” he says when he dips his chin and shakes his head.

“Please let me repay you, at least for the knob,” I tell him, redirecting this conversation back to the matter at hand.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“Good.” I set the bag down and reach for the one he carried in for me, setting it behind the counter. As I’m going to the cash box behind the counter to get money, he stops me.

“I don’t take money.”

Pausing with my hand on the metal lid, I stare down at the bills and change, afraid to look up at him—afraid of what I’ll see or what he’ll say next...afraid of the resolve I’d made just a few minutes earlier. “Oh?” I ask, unable to think of anything else.

“Yeah, see I was thinking I’d take you to dinner,” he says in a low, husky voice. “I’m sure there’s a great place somewhere close. Jules comes in at six, so let’s say seven?”

He’s thought about this—taking me out to dinner—like before now. Maverick wants to take me to dinner for replacing my broken door knob. Shouldn’t I be the one to take him out to dinner if it’s to repay him for his help? This man has knocked me off my rocker, I swear. Nothing about this seems logical, but everything about this feels right.

“Okay.” I actually can’t believe the word leaves my lips. I planned on putting up a fight, forcing him to take the money and telling him I’m way too busy to go out to dinner, but the truth is I want to. I have to eat. Why not eat with Maverick? Also, something else, call it fate or the universe or whatever, brought him into my hotel. So, who am I to get in its way? Besides, it’s just dinner. We’ll eat. We’ll have a nice conversation. We’ll come back to the hotel and I’ll tell him goodnight. My repayment will be made. No harm, no foul.

“It’s a date,” he beams. “I’ll see you right here at seven sharp.” Running up the stairs, he calls back over his shoulder. “Don’t be late, Carys.”

A date?

Is it a date?

How long has it been since I’ve been on a date?

“It’s a date, huh?” Mary asks quietly, startling me so bad I nearly scream. I was so caught up in my mental deliberation I kind of forgot where I was for a second.

“Uh—it...it’s not a date,” I stutter, scooting past her with the groceries. “Just dinner. He wants me to go to dinner with him to repay him for fixing the office door knob.” I say it out loud with heavy questioning in my tone, more for me than Mary. “So, it’s more of a business dinner.”

“Business dinner. He’s taking you out for fixing your knob.” She bobs her head with placating smile. “Whatever you say, honey. Sounds like you’re definitely getting the long end of this stick.”

My eyes go wide at her words. “Mary!”

She laughs, swatting at me. “Oh, hush. I just meant you’re making out like a bandit—a fixed door knob and dinner with a fine young man. Can’t complain about that.”

I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “Dinner. That’s all it is. And apparently, he likes to fix things, so—”

“Let him.” Turning her back to the counter, she leans against it and crosses her arms, leveling me with her motherly stare. “You’ve been meeting yourself coming and going for the last year and a half, we all have. If Maverick Kensington wants to step in and fix a few things.” She pauses for effect, tilting her head to the side. “Let him.”

“No harm, no foul, right?”

“None that I can see.”

“And it’s not unprofessional?” I question, needing her approval more than I realized.

She laughs again, shaking her head. “Girl, the stories I could tell.”

My eyes go wide again. “What?”

“Oh, honey. They’re not my stories to tell,” she sing-songs, but cracks a conspiratorial smile. “But don’t forget how long Miss Mary’s been around.”

“Mom?” I ask, when she goes quiet. “Did Mom date guests from the hotel?” I try to wrack my brain, digging through my memory. My mother was never engaged. She always seemed like she was married to the hotel, like me. She spent her days and nights here, taking care of everything, even when my grandfather was still alive. They were quite the team. I sigh, wishing so badly I had that—someone to share the load with. Mary and George are wonderful, but they’re getting older. The mere thought of something happening to either of them sends me into a deep, dark spiral. I don’t know what I would do.

“Your mama was a beautiful woman, just like you. She had admirers. And she might have been all business, but she had needs.”

“Mary!”

“What? Do you think she only had sex once, the day you were conceived?” she asks with a scoff.

“Oh, my God! How did this conversation go from dinner to sex?” I ask.

Mary laughs again. “Well, you weren’t an immaculate conception, even though we all thought the sun rose and set with you.” She smiles and swats in my direction. “All I’m saying is there’s nothing wrong with going out to dinner...or whatever else Mr. Kensington might offer.”

“Okay.” I turn toward the back door. “Thanks, Mary. Good talk.” I feel my cheeks heating up and I don’t want her to see it, so I retreat to my apartment to put up my groceries and get ready for my date.

Yeah, I said it. Date. Because, damn it, it is. I haven’t been on one in ages. The last time I was with a man was over six months ago on my birthday, when Mary and George covered the hotel while I went out with CeCe. She took me to a bar, and I ran into a guy from college while we were there. There was nothing special about it. We drank. We danced. We hooked up. I did the walk of shame five blocks back to the hotel at four in the morning, where George greeted me with a disapproving shake of his head. It wasn’t my best moment.

So, even though I don’t want to admit it, this is a date and I’m a little excited about it.