9. Lydia
9
LYDIA
M iles sat on the edge of the bed. He was posed like a piece of fine art, all cut marble muscles and a contemplative pose.
I watched him from my cocoon of blankets. My apartment was warm enough, but in comparison, the air was cool, whereas I was enjoying being toasty and warm. Bright light around the edges of my pitiful blackout curtains hinted at another day full of springtime sunshine to melt the snow. It meant this lovely blip in time was over. Miles was going to leave me now. He had a life in the city to return to.
He rubbed his face, scratching his short nails into the growth of his beard. He glanced over his shoulder in my direction. I don’t think he noticed I was watching him from under the blankets. He reached out and ran his hand over the swell of my hip before standing.
“You awake?” His voice was thick with sleep. It rumbled deeply.
The sound was sexy and twisted my insides. I didn’t want to be sad right now. I didn’t want to be some killjoy because the fun was over. Miles needed to walk away thinking how wonderful our time together was, not remembering how I turned into a whiny bitch the second the fun ended. I moaned an affirmative noise.
“I need to get going. I should probably check out, right?”
I pushed the blanket off my head. “Check out? What do you mean?”
“Pay for the room. You know, check out of the hotel.”
I sat up and gathered the blankets around me. “It’s an inn, and I cleaned your room yesterday. I’m not charging you for a room when you’ve been sleeping in here with me.”
“What about the first night of the storm?”
I shook my head. “I’m not charging you for that.”
“You’re supposed to charge people for staying here. You know that’s how it works, right?”
“Yeah, well no one ever accused me of being a successful inn owner. You more than paid for your stay with the help around here. Guests don’t fix locks or shovel snow,” I pointed out. “Guests complain about my grilled cheese sandwiches and how I should have more menu options available when I don’t have a commercial kitchen or a restaurant on site.” I reminded him of the guest I had who had been stuck with us the day after the storm hit. That guy hadn’t been happy about anything. He sure as hell hadn’t offered to help me out with things around the Sweet Mountain Inn to keep from being bored.
“You’re certain?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I’m going to take a shower. I’ll see you later, okay?” He gathered his clothes from where they were draped over the side chair and stepped out of the room.
Part of me was tempted to follow him. But there was part of me that wanted to beg him to stay and knew I couldn’t. The part that wanted to burrow under the blankets and wish the real world would go away won out. Somehow, I fell back asleep.
When I woke up hours later, Miles was gone. I didn’t even have a phone number because he never finished filling out the registry.
With a groan, I sat up. The past few days, being snowed in like we were the only two people in the world had been magical, but reality was calling. Fine, let it call. That’s what voicemail is for . I didn’t feel like doing anything. I had no guests at the inn. All the rooms were clean and ready for occupancy—or closed up, waiting for warmer weather—because I'd spent the morning cleaning while Miles had shoveled snow.
There was no reason I couldn’t continue to sleep in. Decision made, I pulled the covers back over my head. I wasn’t going to participate in the rest of the day. I hunkered down into my burrow and waited for Morpheus to return me to dreamland.
And then my phone rang. “No! Shut up!”
I tried to ignore it until a tickle in the back of my brain made me think it was Miles. I scrambled to find it on the bedside table.
I looked at the caller ID. Evie.
“I’m asleep,” I said as I answered it.
“Bullshit, you’re talking to me. Where are you? The door’s locked.”
“The door is locked because I’m in bed with plans on staying here all day,” I said.
“Lydia, get your ass out of bed and let me in.”
“Fine.” I tossed back the covers and rolled out of bed. “Why are you up so early?” I asked.
“It’s hardly early. It’s lunchtime. You’re usually the one up and functional by now.”
“I know, but I don’t have any guests, and everything is clean. I’m indulging.” I opened the front door and turned around, continuing the conversation on the phone as I shuffled to the coffee maker and started a fresh pot.
Evie reached up and pulled the phone from my ear.
“Indulging? Self-pity?”
I shook my head. “Just tired of it all.” I thought about telling her about Miles, but then I decided to keep him to myself.
“You haven’t been on your own for the past three days, have you?”
“No. I was up late expecting people the Quality Suites over on the freeway wanted to send over, but the road got closed. Of course, I didn’t find that out until I had slept on the couch in the lobby. I had a guest leave early yesterday. And I managed to get everything done that needed doing.”
I poured a cup and offered one to Evie.
“Thanks. Part of me is sorry you aren’t packed with guests, but part of me isn’t. We have work to do,” she said eagerly.
I shook my head. “I’m not shoveling anything. The snow can melt.”
“Not that, silly. We have got to set up a historical register and get our properties authenticated.”
I blinked at her a few times. I still wished I were back in bed. Mentally, I think my brain was still there.
“We have to do what?”
“I was doing some research. If we can get the historic buildings like this place and the library officially registered as historical locations, we can keep that developer from buying up the town to build whatever nonsense they want.”
“You mean it would protect Sweet Mountain Inn?”
She nodded. “And from what I could find, it will open you up to lots of grants so you can get some help fixing this place up.”
I let out a long sigh. “I want to do more than fix it up. I want to renovate and restore. Mom was really headed in that direction. Aunt Sylvia barely maintained this old place.”
“Precisely,” Evie said. “You did volunteer to help out. Remember?” Mary from the Post Office wants to have a planning dinner tonight. So get your butt dressed.”
“Is Mary cooking or are we all bringing our own?” I asked.
Mary was a fantastic cook. There had been times in my youth where I ended up at potlucks with her, and I always loved what she made. After Mom died, she had even brought over a casserole. When Mom died, a lot of people had tried to help out. People loved my mother.
When Ruth died, I had been left on my own, pretty much. Ruth had alienated so many people, including me. But she couldn’t get rid of me, not when I knew I would finally have ownership of the inn.
“Potluck in the community room. Mary is bringing spaghetti. You need to bring a side dish or a salad.”
“What are you bringing?” I asked.
“Side dish or a salad. I don’t know about you, but I have to go to the grocery store. I swear, I ate everything in the house while I was snowed in,” she said. “And I had at least a week’s worth of food.”
Evie certainly didn’t look like she had eaten a week’s worth of food in only a few days.
I needed to go shopping too. I had plenty of prepackaged pastries. I bought them in bulk. But I did not have anything to make a decent side dish for a spaghetti dinner.
“Does garlic bread count?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Go get dressed, and we can figure stuff out when we get to the grocery store.”
“Fine,” I said with a sigh. “Go scrounge up something for breakfast, will you? This is going to take a minute. I need a shower.”
Evie headed off toward the kitchen while I went in the opposite direction and took a quick shower and got dressed. I was bundled up in a thick sweater and flannel lined slacks when I found her again. She was still in the kitchen, sitting in front of a plate full of cheesy scrambled eggs.
“You’re dressed like you think it’s cold outside or something,” Evie said.
“Oh, ha-ha, you’re funny,” I responded. “It’s been freezing for days.”
“I know, but it’s positively balmy out there right now. Didn’t you notice what I was wearing?” She looked down at her outfit. Evie was in her standard non-work clothes of jeans and a T-shirt. The hoodie she had been wearing was draped over the back of her chair.
“So this is too much?” I asked, gesturing at my own clothes.
“You’ll be dying of heat exhaustion. It’s in the fifties out there, and getting warmer. Eat something, and then go change.”