Preview of Call It Fate #3
“But maybe enough to get out of school?” he asked; hopeful eyes peeped up at me from where he was sitting on the floor trying to unlace his boots.
“Maybe,” I said. “But never enough to get out of doing your homework and getting your chores done.” I looked up at my mom, who was picking up the pile of gloves, coat, and scarf my little whirlwind had dropped.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’ve got to keep an eye on some food I’m cooking for tonight and am still waiting for a guest to arrive. Would you mind keeping an eye on him?”
“Of course not, honey. You know that. Whatever you’re cookin’, it sure smells good.
Our guests are in for a treat tonight.” She glanced out the window.
“I’m glad you thought of it, honey. I don’t know about a blizzard, but tonight is going to be dicey.
It’s a night to be safe and sound at home.
” She squeezed my shoulder before she carried everything toward the kitchen where the door to our quarters was.
I looked back at my son, his cheeks still pink from the cold. “I left a plate of cookies for you in the kitchen,” I told Iain. “Your favorite. Gramma will get you some milk.”
“Thanks, Mom!” His young arms wrapped around my legs. “Wow. Snow and cookies. This day is awesome!”
I laughed and shook my head, same as my mother a few minutes earlier, as he ran through the dining area toward the kitchen.
Slow wasn’t in his vocabulary, no matter how many times my mama and I had tried to teach him.
But he was an incredible kid who always brought light and joy wherever he went, so I could put up with a few door slams and boisterous greetings.
The guests who witnessed it were usually so charmed by him they rarely complained, although I did try to limit his activity to our quarters whenever possible.
Someday, I’d have the time, energy, and finances to work on my dream of redoing the caretaker’s cottage at the back of our property so he could run and make noise with more freedom.
By the time five o’clock rolled around, I was beginning to worry my last guest wasn’t going to make it.
Already about four inches of heavy, wet snow had accumulated on the road in front of the inn and even more on the grass.
I could hear the wind howl through the breezeway that connected the inn to our residence.
Almost no one was out except for a few kids throwing snowballs and building a small snowman in the park.
Most people would hunker down in their warm homes, and I’d already heard the rumor that the stores and restaurants were closing early, many already having locked up.
I was glad I’d made supper for my guests.
I busied myself in the kitchen making the grilled cheese sandwiches and frying up the bacon for the BLTs.
I heated up a tomato bisque I’d made the day before since I knew it was my mom’s favorite and put together a charcuterie board of various cheeses, fruits, and crackers that guests could help themselves to, along with a plate of more cookies.
It wasn’t much, but I figured it was better than nothing.
I sent a text message to the guests, inviting them downstairs for an impromptu meal, and it wasn’t long before their doors opened, and the small dining room filled.
I opened extra bottles of the wine I kept on hand for my evening wine and cheese hour, and using tidbits I learned about my guests, found commonalities and introduced them to the other guests.
Soon, the downstairs common rooms were occupied by chattering new friends.
I kept the trays full, glad I had doubled my recipes for the soups.
The smiles of the guests as they helped themselves was worth the extra trouble, and all of them promised to leave a positive review on our website.
The hours rolled by, and the guests returned to their rooms. I had done my best to keep up with the dishes and trash, but there was still a lot of cleaning up to be done so the kitchen would be ready to make breakfast in the morning.
When I heard the bell signal that someone had come in the front door, I hollered loudly that I’d be right there.
I quickly rinsed off the pan in my hands and hurried through the dining room.
I was surprised to look up to see a tall man tug off his hat and run a hand through his messy, dark hair and over his cold-reddened cheeks.
It wasn’t the woman I was expecting. I assumed he got caught in the storm and was looking for a place to stay.
That was going to cause a problem since I didn’t have any extra rooms, but I couldn’t send him back out in that storm.
I waited while he finished stomping the snow from his shoes, grateful he didn’t track the extra moisture across the floors I’d recently cleaned.
“Looks like the storm really picked up out there.” The smile I had ready to greet him faded as he looked up.
My hand shook. Dark green eyes crowned by a streak of gold stared at me; eyes that once had been a part of my past but also ones I saw every day. “Zach?”
The hand reaching for his back pocket froze. Those beautiful eyes focused on me. I knew it all clicked for him when they widened briefly before he schooled his features, his eyes looking annoyingly blank, which only heightened my nerves. “Emalee. What a surprise. What are you doing here?”
I swallowed hard. This was my nightmare come true. Things like this only happened in the movies or in the books I liked to read. “I manage this place. What…” I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes continued to roam over my face. I didn’t think he was going to answer when he finally said, “I have a reservation.”
What? That was impossible. My hands wrung each other until I willed them into a grip so tight, they turned white.
“There must be a mistake. We’re booked for the night.
I’m just waiting for my last guest to arrive.
I thought you were her. She should be here any minute.
” I felt like an idiot stammering out sentences like an automated machine, but my brain was firing in so many directions, trying to process the overload of surprising information.
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “Someone else called for the reservation, and this is the address she gave me. Believe me, if I’d known, I’d never…”
I blanched at his caustic tone, grateful he hadn’t finished the sentence.
He’d what? Never come if he’d known I was here?
Rushed to me sooner? I’d long since given up on ever seeing Zach again.
Weeks after I left the hotel, where we’d last been together, in such a hurry, I had tried to find him, only to discover Zach had also pulled a disappearing trick.
Over the years, I thought about searching for him again to tell him everything that had happened, but I couldn’t risk it.
I hurried behind the counter, glad to have a barrier between the two of us.
I opened up my laptop, cursing myself for not double-checking the reservation Shannon had made.
Sure enough, there was the name “Zach Abbot,” scheduled to stay a week.
The soup and sandwich, which had tasted warm and comforting earlier, now sat like a rock in my stomach.
I swayed slightly and grabbed the edge of my desk for support.
“Are you okay?” He sounded more annoyed than concerned.
No! “Yes, thanks. Just surprised by the turn of events.”
He blew out a long breath and ran his fingers through his hair again, the dampness from the snow causing it to wave on the ends.
I hated that my fingers wanted to join his, to play with the strands that were a bit longer than I remembered.
The style suited him better, softening the once clean-cut, preppy appearance to better hint at the boyishly fun charm he'd used to win me over.
I wouldn't be so easily fooled this time, however.
Not that he seemed inclined to win me over again.
Those eyes that reminded me of my cousin Chase’s Christmas tree farm pierced through me. “Yeah, I could say the same. But look, it was a long, hellish drive. Maybe I could finish checking in, and we can talk another time.”
“Oh, yes. Of course!” With shaking fingers, I swiped his credit card and handed him his key card.
“You’re in the blue room, up these stairs, first door on the left.
Breakfast is available between seven-thirty and nine-thirty each morning.
” I didn’t point out my number in the brochure he could call in case of emergency.
Grabbing his suitcase, he stomped up the steps, not even pausing to say thank you.
“Welcome to Sterling Mill,” I called after him, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.
More like welcome to my fresh hell.