CHAPTER NINE
Becca
As always when I left The Gilford House Inn, I felt a certain wistfulness as I descended the stairs and smiled up at the familiar pictures around me on my way to the front desk. It was like saying goodbye to an old friend every time I left the inn, and I hated saying goodbye more and more each time.
I spent the morning quietly relaxing in my room one last time, along with enjoying one more luxurious bubble bath. I laid on my bed without making it, a treat I reserved only for vacation times, and had been perfectly lazy. It was a proper goodbye to a place that made me feel more relaxed and at ease than any other place I had ever been in.
Mandy, the young woman I’d seen every day that week at the desk, smiled at me and started the process of checking me out. “Did you enjoy your stay with us here at The Gilford House Inn, Miss Fox?” she chirped.
I smiled politely and nodded as I answered, “I always do. I often feel more at home here than I do in my own home in the city.”
“Are you from New England?”
“No, New York City.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just a lot of people who are city folks and come here are from Boston. It’s a shorter drive than coming all the way from New York. Don’t worry, though. I’m a Yankees fan!” she said a little too enthusiastically.
I chuckled and shook my head, waving her off. “No need to apologize. Between you, me, and the lamp post, I don’t really watch baseball. Just don’t go telling anyone from New York that. They’d have me shamed in the streets for even mentioning it. I can’t even remember the last game I watched. Probably one my dad took me to as a kid. Now, James Fox, there’s a Yankees fan for you. That being said, I am a proud New Yorker, baseball notwithstanding.”
“Well, your secret is safe with me, Miss Fox. Once again, thank you for staying with us here at The Gilford House Inn. We look forward to having you come back and rejoin our little family soon. Is there anything else I can do for you before you go?”
“No, thank you, Mandy. I appreciate it,” I said as I smiled and turned from the check-in desk, allowing the elderly couple behind me to approach and handle whatever business they needed to attend to.
I looked around and felt that same stirring of emotion that always came with the knowledge that I was returning to the real world. Being at the inn, even with the drama that had accompanied that trip, was always preferable to being back in the city.
A rush of emotion nearly overwhelmed me, and I looked around me, trying to take everything in just one more time before my gaze settled on the dining room. In the corner at his usual table, I saw Zane sitting there. It struck me that even when he was alone and had no one to impress or scold, he looked profoundly unhappy. I hated seeing someone look like that, even if I firmly believed that they brought some of it on themselves with their behavior, so I walked over to him and tapped him on the arm.
He turned to look at me, and his gaze went from the bag in my hand to my eyes. “Time to go?” he asked with a pang of sadness in his voice.
There wasn’t a sexy gleam in his eye or the body language that said he was more interested in any other activity my mouth could engage in other than speaking. He didn’t look me up and down and make me feel like he was having sex with me in his head.
I nodded. “Yeah. Time to get back to the nine-to-five rat race.”
As I answered him, the sadness that had been in his voice reached his face, and he frowned. “Must be nice to get to go somewhere else. What did you end up doing in that rat race? Whatever it is, I bet you’re kicking ass at it.”
It was hard to see that much sadness on his face. Even though he wasn’t always the kindest person, he was still human, and I hated to see anyone so forlorn. It wasn’t often that I’d seen Zane Gilford of all individuals looking like a kicked puppy, but that was the feeling I got from him now.
I forced a smile and answered, “Advertising. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s given me everything I have. I actually enjoy it, to be honest. I’m good at it, so that helps.”
There was an awkward pause as he sadly stared up at me, and I finally had to break it. “I hope things work out for you, Zane. You’ve got a great place here. I hope you can see that sometime. I think that when the day comes that you do realize that, you’ll be much happier here and with yourself.”
He didn’t answer me, so with a final nod, I left him there at his table in the corner staring out into the dewy morning. As I walked out onto the front porch and let myself hazard a glance back at him through one of the side windows, I saw that his sadness hadn’t been some kind of act or a way to get me to feel bad for him. He just sat there, staring out into the woods like a man who had lost his sense of purpose or direction. I hadn’t often felt that way, but I knew what it was like to think that life didn’t mean much. It made me feel even worse for him.
As I got into my car and drove way, The Gilford House Inn fading away in my rearview mirror, I couldn’t shake the feeling of my own sadness that accompanied leaving that place. I didn’t relish going back to the city, or my life, one bit. For all its ups and downs and the arguments with Zane, I enjoyed my time at the inn. I loved getting up late and having breakfast without rushing and watching the people who would join me for their morning retreat in the dining room. I liked walking through the woods and exploring my thoughts in a way I could never seem to do when I was in the city. More than anything, I enjoyed the sense of freedom that came from being there and away from all my troubles.
As I merged onto the highway and began the drive back to my real life, I realized I still had feelings for the bitter man in the mountains, feelings I hadn’t acknowledged in a long time or had even thought existed. I didn’t like admitting it to myself, but I had the urge to turn the car around and go back to the inn, calling sick into work for a few days, and seeing what I could do to get Zane out of his funk. I supposed it was the savior complex I’d always had when it came to men.
Besides, what could I do for Zane to help him if he wasn’t interested in helping himself? I shrugged and drove on. If there was an answer that involved me, it wasn’t one that I could find. Better to return to my life, however much that reality didn’t really thrill me much anymore.
* * *
Life back in New York City was as it always had been, hectic and full of hassles both in my work and personal life. It was like the second I stepped out of my car and back into the city, all my problems came flooding back. Work became drudgery as I struggled with a nightmare client who seemed to fight me on every single idea that I had. Add to that the constant wondering how long I would get to stay living in my townhouse and the occasional calls from Dustin and I began to wish I had never left that wonderfully quaint inn on the mountain.
Weeks went by, and I found that every single day made me more and more miserable. Dustin never seemed to let up on hounding me about the townhouse. Usually, I could find my escape in my work. Unfortunately, even that didn’t help anymore, though. I tried to bury myself in what I normally found to be a motivating and enjoyable work day, but every day just got worse and worse.
It got to the point where I felt like staying in bed all day, something I had never experienced before in my whole life. I had sincerely hoped that taking a week off to recharge my batteries would help, but it hadn’t. Instead, I found myself longing to be back in the mountains, far away from the rat race I normally thrived on.
For the first time in my adult life, I was wholly and totally unhappy. I didn’t know what to do. My mother suggested seeing a therapist, but that was always her answer for everything ever since she’d gotten hooked on those daytime talk shows that pander to people who should just get out of the house.
Night after night, I laid my head down on the pillow, hoping and praying that the next day would bring some shining light of happiness to my life. Hell, I would have even taken Dustin just deciding not to torture me with his calling about the townhouse. Unfortunately, day after day, I woke up disappointed.
Then one morning, I woke up to hear my phone ringing. I looked at the screen, surprised and strangely happy to see The Gilford House Inn number there.
“Hello?”
A male voice came through loud and clear, startling me for a moment. “Hey, Becca? I hope I didn’t wake you,” Zane Gilford said in an oddly polite tone I had rarely heard him adopt.
I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes as who was speaking to me settled into my brain. “No, you’re fine. I was awake anyway. What’s going on?” I asked, confused and more than a little curious as to why he’d called me.
“Oh, okay. Everything is fine. I was actually interested in doing some advertising for the inn. I know you’re based in New York City, so I was wondering if you could suggest a firm I could go through that would be good up here closer to me.”
I thought about it for a minute, and while I knew of a few firms in Boston that could do a great job for the inn, I decided to offer my help instead. “My firm can do it, and I’d consider it a privilege. Consider it my way of honoring all the wonderful things your mother did for one of my favorite places in the world.”
“That would be great, Becca. Thank you. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I can come up there this weekend, and we can talk about all the details.”
“It’s okay. I can drive into the city. I am the one hiring you, not the other way around,” he said with a chuckle.
“No, better I come up there. It will give me a chance to get away.”
“You were just here. You need to get away again?” he asked, sounding confused that I would want to leave the city for Vermont so soon after my last vacation.
“Well, you know how it is,” I said offhandedly, hoping he didn’t ask any more questions. I really didn’t want to explain why someone who seemed to have it all in the greatest city in the world couldn’t wait to leave it all behind, even if just for a weekend.
“Sure. Okay, this weekend sounds good. Do you need me to have anything for you when you get here?”
“A piece of that cherry pie your mother always seemed to have for dessert would be great,” I said, smiling as I remembered the plump, sweet cherries and flaky crust of that delicious pie.
“I meant figures and details on any previous advertising done for the inn, but I can work on that pie too,” Zane said with a smile in his voice.
“Good. I’ll see you on Saturday morning. Can you get me a room, or should I make the reservation?”
“I got it. It’s the least I can do for an advertising exec who’s willing to drive out here to the hinterlands to meet with a client. See you Saturday, Becca.”
We ended the call, and I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t the kind of project I had worked on in ages, but I figured it might be just what I needed to get out of my funk and get back to loving what I was good at. Something about doing advertising for big corporations felt so draining and impersonal. It would be great to do something for a small place, especially one I adored so much.
As I got dressed and ready for the day, I felt that happiness I’d wished for creeping up inside me, but was it the opportunity to get back to my professional roots or something else? Zane had sounded different on the phone. Gone was the miserable and disappointed man who hated his birthright, and in his place the person I spoke to seemed like the guy I’d known all those years ago.
I couldn’t deny that for whatever reason, I liked the idea of Zane Gilford being genuinely happy. That I could help be part of that change in him made me wonder if he’d taken what I’d said to him about the inn and his staff seriously.
And if he did, why had he listened to my opinion at all?