Chapter 12
“Is it weird that there’s this internationally known, highly rated resort twenty minutes from where I grew up and still live, and to this day I’ve never spent a night there?”
I was sitting across from Chad Bowman, town councilman and perpetual high school crush, listening as he told me his impressions of Bryant Mountain House. After meeting him at Callahan’s, we’d made plans to get together to talk about ways Bailey Falls and the resort could help each other out. I’d also wanted to pick his brain on how the town saw the Bryant family, and what they could do to win them back around, as it were.
“It does seem strange,” I agreed, scooping up another bite of my blue-plate special. It made sense that we’d meet at the diner since I’d promised Trudy I’d stop by the next time I was in town. And once I found out the special of the day was chicken and dumplings? Heaven. “But surely you’ve been up there before.”
“My family always made a point of going to their Easter brunch, we never missed that, and then when Logan and I moved back here we’ve gone hiking up there a few times, bought the day pass.”
“Easter brunch. Roxie talked about that too.”
“Oh yeah, everyone brought their kids up there when I was growing up. We always did Easter, sometimes we’d go for the Christmas dinner if my mom didn’t feel like cooking, but we never missed Easter. Egg hunt on the lawn, then brunch with those fucking killer hot cross buns.”
I scribbled in my notebook. “Roxie mentioned those too, they must be really good.”
“If I could figure out how, I’d have those buns in my mouth every single day.”
“Watch your mouth, Chad, this is a family establishment,” Trudy said as she sailed by with a tray of drinks. Ten seconds later she sailed by again, this time whacking him on the head with a stack of menus.
“Trudy, get your mind out of the gutter, you’re as bad as your daughter.” He grimaced, rubbing his head. He looked at me. “You knew what I meant, right?”
I blinked innocently. “All I heard was how much you loved those buns.”
“I’d kill to sink my teeth into a pair of those buns right now . . . ow!”
“What did I just tell you?” Trudy asked, leaning over the back of the booth and leaving a bright pink lipstick–stained kiss on his cheek. She winked at me. “How’re those dumplings?”
“They’re amazing, like light and fluffy balls.”
Chad raised his eyebrows, waiting.
Trudy said nothing.
“You’re not gonna smack her for talking about balls?” he asked.
“Now who’s got their mind in the gutter?” Trudy sang out, exiting stage left but not before landing one more good whack on Chad’s head.
“Honestly, I don’t even know why I come in here anymore,” he grumbled, leaning over the back of the booth and making sure everyone heard him say, “the service is terrible!”
“Says you!” came the reply from the kitchen, where Trudy had just disappeared through the swinging door.
“Anyway,” he said, pushing away his now-empty plate, “where were we?”
“Buns.”
“Right!” He rubbed his head absently, no doubt still feeling Trudy’s thwap. “The thing is, other than those holidays, it never really felt like the resort was a part of the town. I mean, don’t get me wrong, almost everyone I know has had at least a summer job at one time or another, but it always felt . . . detached from the town itself. It was always filled with rich families who came up to get away and sometimes they’d come down into town and marvel over how adorable our little country hamlet was, but then they’d go back up there and relax in their rocking chairs and play their croquet and have their fancy afternoon tea. Not that there aren’t rich people here in Bailey Falls. And not that we don’t have fancy afternoon tea, because Hattie Mae’s tea shop over on Elm Street serves traditional English cream tea every day at three on the dot. But I don’t know . . .” He sighed, his eyes going a bit dreamy. “Bryant Mountain House always just felt a little too highbrow for me. I can afford to stay there now, but do I really want to? Eh.”
“Eh?”
“Eh. I’ll get around to it. I must admit, I’ve always wondered how it is at nighttime. All those long hallways. Is it creepy?”
I snorted, thinking back to my first few nights there. “A bit. But we’re working on that. And I’m working on a plan to make it more accessible to townsfolk, as I’m calling you all in my head.”
“Makes us sound like characters in a Dickens classic.”
“There’s something very classic about everything up here, the hotel, the town, the people.” I scooped up the last bite of chicken. “The dumplings.”
“Don’t let Roxie hear you, she and Trudy fought for a week when she tried to change that recipe.”
“Change it, why would she change it?”
“She wanted to add kale.”
“No.”
“Yes. Trudy put her foot down.”
“Listen, Roxie is my girl. But kale does not belong in chicken and dumplings.”
“I hear that.” He laughed. “But I know what you mean about this place, there’s nowhere else quite like the Hudson Valley. Logan and I were both living in the city, that’s where we met. But we knew once we were ready to settle down, we wanted a small town. He came home with me one weekend to meet my family, took one look at the town square and started looking at Realtor sites that very night.”
I looked out the large picture window in the front of the diner, the late-afternoon sun shining down brightly through the trees. Green was busting out all over, from the tips of the trees to the onion grass beginning to tuft up the front lawns. Crocuses peeked out from behind tree trunks and around a few listless leftover snow piles; daffodils and tulips had begun pushing up through the earth. From the window I could see the four streets that made up the town square, and people were out and about for their afternoon shopping. There was a mom-and-pop grocery just across the square, a dance studio, a jewelry store, and what looked like an incredible dive bar. As I watched couples walking hand in hand, families with small kids, and older couples hurrying home from their shopping, everyone seemed happy. Everyone smiled at each other, and more often than not, they seemed to actually know the people they were passing.
“Roxie calls this place Mayberry,” I mused.
“Correction, she calls it fucking Mayberry.”
I folded my napkin in half. “I don’t know why people always say that like it’s a bad thing, there’s definitely something to be said for fucking Mayberry.”
“It has its moments,” he agreed.
“I watched a lot of Nick at Nite when I was a kid, and I loved reruns of The Andy Griffith Show.”
Chad smiled, and began to whistle the theme song.
“It’s funny that Roxie had to move away to realize what she had here growing up.” What I didn’t say was that what she had here was something I would’ve killed for. Everything about this town screamed happiness, comfort, community.
Safety.
“Sometimes you need a different perspective to see it, though, you know? I never thought I’d come back, but seeing it through Logan’s eyes? It fit. He came from a small town, and he always knew he wanted to end up there. Me, I figured I’d stay in the city.”
“Manhattan?”
“Up here if you say the city it’s just assumed you mean Manhattan. Basketball means the Knicks, baseball means the Yankees.”
I laughed. “I know a bunch of Red Sox fans back home who’d say otherwise.”
He groaned. “Oh man, I’ve been trying to place that accent. You’re from Boston?”
“Born and raised.”
“What part?”
I hesitated for just the tiniest of seconds. “All over, mostly South Boston.”
“There was a guy I went to business school with from Boston, Back Bay, I think?”
I snorted. “Yeah, that was not my neighborhood.”
“Is your family still there?”
My ears burned. “No. Are we getting cake? Let’s get some cake.” I waved at Trudy and mouthed the word dessert at her.
“You are full of mysteries, aren’t you?”
“Who, me? I’m the most boring.” I folded my napkin again.
“Okay, little miss make out in the alley.”
“What alley?” Trudy asked, setting down the dessert menu.
“No alley, no nothing,” I chirped, flashing a “keep quiet” glance at Chad. “How’s the black walnut cake?”
“Roxie says it’s awesome.” Trudy laughed. “Don’t tell my daughter, but I also think it’s awesome.”
“I’ll take the awesome, then,” I replied.
“Make it two awesomes,” Chad agreed.
Trudy headed back to the kitchen, and I shook my head at Chad. “You, shut up with your alley talk.”
“I will if you spill.”
“Oh God, you’re rhyming now?” I held my head in my hands. “Seriously, you can’t tell anyone. No one knows.”
“I am great with a secret. Just ask Homer over at the hardware store—no one but me knows about those magazines he keeps under the counter.”
“And now me.”
He looked crestfallen. “Oh shit. Oops. The point is, though, I can keep a secret. Logan and I haven’t told anyone you’re schtupping the hot hotel guy—”
“I am not schtupping the hot hotel guy!”
“—but believe me, we’ve been talking about it nonstop ever since we saw you in the alley”—Trudy showed up with two pieces of cake and a curious look on her face just then—“alley, alley cat. We want to adopt an alley cat. We’re thinking about a pet, so it just makes sense to pick up one of those alley cats, right?” He nodded at me enthusiastically, which I mimicked vigorously.
“Well, you’re in luck, I heard quite the racket the other night in the alley, almost like a moaning . . . must’ve been one of those alley cats in heat,” Trudy said.
Chad and I both shoved enormous bites of cake in our mouths. She looked at us like we were crazy, and headed back to the kitchen, shaking her head.
“This is fucking great,” I said over the mouthful.
“It is,” he said, “and what else would be great is if you’d tell me the goddamn story before I actually have to get a goddamn cat.”
“Ah jeez, how did we get onto this?”
“We got onto this because you got onto that,” he said, pointing with his fork. “So how long has that been going on?”
“Okay look, there’s nothing going on. Not officially. Or unofficially for that matter.” I licked a bit of walnut off the tines of my fork, thinking back to that night. The way he’d pushed me up against the wall, the way his eyes seemed to glow when he looked at me, when he pressed into me and his fingers dug into my skin. “I will say, however, when you caught us in the alley, thank God you did because holy fuck can that man kiss like it’s going out of style, and if you hadn’t come along . . .”
Chad practically wiggled out of his seat he was so jubilant. “I knew it! I always knew that guy had it in him, he’s always so together and serious and buttoned-up, but secretly you just know guys like that are wild in the sack. Tell me he is, even if he isn’t, lie to me. But just make it a good lie, lots of details.”
“Okay, slow down there, Councilman. I barely know you.”
“By proxy,” he said, although it was muffled by more cake.
“Pardon me?”
“By proxy, you know me by proxy through Roxie. Hey look, I am rhyming.”
“I can’t believe this conversation.”
“The point is, I’ve known Roxie practically my entire life. And Natalie, I’ve got that girl wrapped around my little finger. They’re your best friends, right?”
“Right?” I frowned, trying to follow the logic.
“So there, you and me, by proxy, are besties too. So gimme the dirt.”
“Oh my God,” I said, dropping my fork with a clatter. “If I had one wish, one wish in the world, it’d be to go back to that night and make sure you never saw us.”
“And if I had one wish it’d be to go back five minutes earlier so I could see more of that super-hot make-out session.” He grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “So give it up, girlie.”
I folded my napkin, making it into a tight little origami-style ball. “Okay, you got me. I was making out with my boss, or boss’s son, I don’t honestly know which is worse. And it was hot. Crazy hot. And crazy stupid, which is why you can’t tell anyone. Like, this is really bad, I’ve never done this before, I’m breaking literally every rule in the book. So please, you can’t talk about this outside this table, right here, right now.”
“Are we really back to that? I promise you, mum’s the word.” He patted my hand. “But come on, gimme something.”
I sighed, then looked him dead in the eye. “He’s got the softest lips.”
His eyes widened. “I love it.”
My eyes narrowed. “And very large hands.”
“Stop it.”
“And he’s still wearing his wedding ring.”
“Hmm.”
“But that’s not weird, right? I mean, they were together a long time.”
“They were, they really were,” Chad said, nodding. “He’s older than I am, we weren’t at school together, but even I knew about them. They were prom king and queen, they were literally high school royalty. And then when she died, Jesus. Everyone felt so bad for the guy, I mean, can you imagine? Losing someone like that?”
I winced. I could. Maybe not in the same way, but I knew what it felt like to be the one left behind.
“Anyway, if this is happening with you two, whatever it is, I think it’s great. You both clearly are into it, can’t you figure out a way to make this work? He needs it, in so many ways. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you need it too.”
“You don’t even know me,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
He raised one right back. “Honey, a stranger could see you need to get some.”
Chad’s words stuck in my head on repeat the entire way back up to the resort. I mean, it had been a while, but long enough that you could see it on my face?
I started ticking off months on my fingers, and when the number of months exceeded the number of fingers . . .
“Holy shit, I do need to get laid,” I mumbled to myself. And just like that, I came around that last bend and lookie lookie who was in the road.
Archie. Trench coat. Standing next to his car, the last bit of golden afternoon light shining down directly on him like some kind of divinely handsome intervention, an answered sexual prayer, as it were.
I pulled up alongside him, rolling down my window. “What the hell are you doing in the middle of the road?”
“A branch came down, I was moving it so those guys didn’t have to come down and do it,” he said, nodding over his shoulder at the entrance shack. “What’re you up to, heading in for the night?”
I looked up the mountain to where the warm, cozy hotel was waiting for me. Short ribs were on the menu tonight, my favorite. And they were showing Deliverance in the movie room as entertainment, which was tempting. And I did have about a hundred emails to answer, a stack of paperwork to proofread, and a book I’d checked out from the local library, Hudson Valley: A History.
Then I looked at Archie.
“You feel like doing something?” I asked. “Maybe get a drink?”
A slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded. “I’m just heading home.”
“Great, pick a bar in town and I’ll follow you and—”
“Or,” he said, and everything on my body that could stand up straight did so immediately. “We could just have drinks at my place, Clara.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
Reflexively my right foot stepped down hard, revving the engine, and if it wasn’t for already putting the car in Park, I’d have driven right off the cliff.
Shaking my head a little, I said a little bit dazed, “That’d be nice.”
“Excellent.” He chuckled, and jumped behind the wheel of his BMW. He waited for me to turn around, and with me following closely behind, he drove us to his home.
Every bump in the road, every stop sign, I kept hearing Chad’s words echoing back to me . . . Honey, a stranger could see you need to get some.
Good God and how.
He didn’t live far from the resort. A few turns here and there, down a quiet country lane, and the house appeared out of nowhere. I wasn’t really sure what Archie’s house would look like. You could usually get a better idea of someone by seeing their house, it told the story people didn’t. Was it messy? Clean? Modern? Traditional?
Huh. I wonder what mine said about me.
Single girl who is never home.
True. But Archie’s, on the other hand . . .
Set back from the road in a thicket of trees was a cottage. Two story, gray cedar shake, bright red shutters and door. Long porch, complete with swing. Flower boxes under each window, naked now but easy to imagine spilling over with summer blooms. Gravel driveway, flanked by old-growth elm trees.
Beautiful. Charming. Archie’s. And once upon a time . . . Ashley’s.
I sat in the car a moment, staring up at this fairy-tale home, drumming my fingers on the wheel and wondering if I should turn around and head back to the hotel. But then he got out of his car, all slow grin and freckle and I couldn’t resist smiling back.
He came to my door, opening it for me like a gentleman, and extended his hand to help me out.
Get out of the car, Clara.
I got out of the car. Slipping my hand into his and feeling that little butterfly jolt I felt each and every time I touched him, I let him lead me toward the house.
“It’s lovely,” I said, and I meant it. You couldn’t look at this house and not think wow.
“It’s old, turn of the century. It was part of a farm that the brothers bought when they created the preserve. Not technically part of the hotel but part of the original grounds. It was used as the groundskeeper’s cottage for a long time—my parents lived here when they were first married, grandparents too.”
“Keep it in the family,” I said quietly, heading up the driveway.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing, just, your family, it’s just . . . is it ever . . . what’s the word . . . overwhelming?”
“How so?”
“Just, Bryant family this, Bryant family that, does anyone ever go off the reservation and do something else? Did you ever want to do anything else?”
“I don’t know,” he said, tilting his head as he considered. “Maybe? It’s just all I’ve ever known.” He unlocked the front door and held it open for me. “As far as anyone doing anything else, there’ve been a few who have gone and done their own thing.”
“Traitors,” I teased, and he chuckled.
“We stick them on the sixth floor when they come to stay.” He winked. “West wing. Your wing. Some of them are still rattling around up there.”
“I knew it!” I laughed, setting my purse down next to his briefcase in the entryway. He helped me with my jacket, hanging it on the tree next to his trench coat. “Oh. Wow.”
The entryway opened up to an enormous living room, soaring high to the loft above. Fireplace, comfy-looking couches and chairs, and what I could already tell was a gourmet kitchen peeking around the corner.
“This is incredible.”
“We did a major renovation about eight years ago, ripped out walls, added space on the second floor, made it our own, you know? My wife used to say that . . .” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. He stared at the mantel, which I could now see was covered with pictures of Ashley.
He looked so confused, so clearly at war with what he wanted to say but felt like he shouldn’t. I walked up to him, and slipped my hand into the crook of his arm. “What did she used to say?”
He smiled down at me, relieved. “That this place smelled like mothballs and it was about time some young people lived here.”
“Ha!” I said, and more of that relief washed over his face. Relief that he’d been given permission to talk about her? To acknowledge that this was weird for him too? We were here, together, in the house he’d shared with his wife. Maybe coming back here wasn’t such a good idea, maybe this place was too full of memories, too full of the past.
“Is this weird?” he suddenly asked, and I immediately began nodding vigorously.
“Glad it’s not just me,” he said, chuckling. “I’m kind of in untested waters here.”
“Oh, I think we both are,” I replied, looking around. “I’ve never gone home with the boss before.” I chewed on my thumbnail. “What the hell are we doing? I mean, this can’t possibly go anywhere, there’s literally a laundry list of reasons I shouldn’t be doing this.” I counted them off on my hand. “One, I work for you. Technically your father, but still, bad idea. Two, I’m leaving as soon as this job is done, off to the next hotel, off to the next project, likely never to return. Three, I don’t get the sense that you’ve dated anyone since your wife so, holy shit, do I want to be the girl who gets to break you back in? No pressure there. Four, I don’t even like you that much, you’re kind of an asshole who just happens to be ridiculously good-looking, but that shouldn’t outweigh the whole aforementioned asshole thing.”
Five, reasons one through four pale in comparison to the real reason I can’t do this, because you are exactly the kind of man I’ve dreamed of spending the rest of my life with and if this didn’t work out it would break me.
“So you see,” I whispered shakily, every part of me dying to touch more than just his blessed elbow, “what the hell are we doing?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, looking down at me. “You’re incredibly rude, a know-it-all wrecking-ball girl who is more than a little bossy.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “What lovely things to say, coming from a pretentious, snobby, incredibly rude himself hotel boy who’d rather rattle around spooky hallways and spend time with antiques than listen to reason.”
“Spend time with antiques?”
“Yeah well, you like them so much,” I huffed. Great comeback.
“I like you so much,” he replied, “more than I ought to.” My head and my heart heard those words at the same time and everything inside me liquefied. He reached down and traced a path along my jawline, pausing to gently brush against my bottom lip. “And you are bossy.”
“So kiss me, Hotel Boy,” I breathed, not caring about any of those perfectly thought out and completely true reasons.
He put his hands on me. He put his lips on me. And it was all I could do to still feel the earth underneath my feet. Because when this man kissed me, I forgot everything. And reasons one through five waved bye to the fucking bye.
“This is, and I hate to admit this, the best damn martini I’ve ever had.”
“Is the fact that I made it the reason you hate to admit it?”
“It really is.” I sipped. “But very nice.”
We’d kissed for longer than I can say, and when we finally pulled apart, lips swollen and hungry for more, we both decided it was time to come up for air and have that drink.
It was precisely because we were hungry for more that we stopped—somehow knowing that taking it beyond the exploration we’d already indulged in would be going too far. And I think we both knew we weren’t quite ready for that.
A stiff drink, however, that we were ready for. And Archie could mix a mean drink. Set into a cabinet in the living room was a fully stocked bar, complete with shakers and tongs and monogrammed glasses.
“Wedding gift?” I’d asked, as he tumbled ice into the shaker along with vodka and a kiss of vermouth.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondered,” I said, watching as he expertly carved a lemon into two twists. “That’s usually where people get this kind of stuff.”
“Actually, it’s a set I liberated from the hotel.” He laughed, pouring the martinis into the tall-stemmed glasses etched with the letter B. “An old set from the forties, but Ashley was the one who had the monogram put on. Monograms are very important in my family, you might have noticed.”
“Yeah, it’s been hard to miss the giant B on the towels in my room, or on the coasters, or on the sheets.”
“Family name, family business, gotta keep up appearances.” He smiled, handing me my glass.
We’d moved onto the couch, getting comfortable.
“Did you ever want to do anything other than this? I mean, inherit the family dynasty?”
He raised an eyebrow, but then grew thoughtful. “I don’t think so, not really anyway. The last generation of my family has been a bit slacking in the heir department.”
“Literally, and I mean this literally, I have never heard anyone use that phrase in my entire life.”
He shook his head as though trying to convince me. “It’s true, my father only had one brother who died before he was eighteen, and I’m an only child. There are a few second cousins here and there, a few who still work for the hotel, you’ve probably met them, but when you look at our family tree, which used to be expansive, there’s really only me left.”
“So you’re pretty much locked in,” I said.
He nodded with a faraway look in his eye. “I suppose so, but I never really thought of it that way.”
“So even when you were a kid, or in high school, or in college, even, you never thought about, I don’t know, running away to join the circus?” I turned toward him on the couch, curling my feet underneath me.
“Oh sure, there were a few circus moments here and there. I thought, for about five minutes, about going to medical school. I thought, for about seven minutes, about becoming a teacher, I’ve always loved history.”
“That actually makes perfect sense,” I said. “I could totally see you on a college campus, rattling around with your pipe and your busted briefcase.” And I could too. “I bet all the young coeds would be fighting to take your class.”
He let out a laugh. “I hardly think I’d be the type that anyone would fight over.”
I looked at him, warm auburn hair glowing in the firelight, those freckles peeking out from beneath his twinkling eyes. “I’d probably throw an elbow or two.”
“This elbow?” he asked, reaching out and gently brushing against my arm.
“Mm-hmm,” I breathed, once more the touch of his fingertips sending shivers out all over my body.
We both sipped our martinis, eyes meeting over the rims. Jesus, this guy.
“But,” he said, breaking the spell as well as the eye contact, “once those seven minutes were over I remembered how much I loved this place and I wasn’t about to let someone else take it over.”
“Until I got here.” I laughed.
“Yes, until this tiny bossy person showed up and started acting like she owned the place.”
I sat up on my knees, fist-pumping. “Worst day ever for you, Hotel Boy.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not the worst day,” he said softly.
My gaze flashed down to the ring on his left hand. We sat in silence for a moment, other than the crackling of the fire, and when the clock in the hall began to chime, I sighed. “I should go.”
Part of me wanted him to say no. Stay. And I think part of him wanted to say it too. But instead, he just reached for my hand, squeezed it, and said, “I’ll walk you to your car.”
He kissed me before I drove away, this time crazy soft and sweet. When I crawled into bed later that night, I could still feel the whisper of his lips on mine.