Chapter Twelve
A WEEK LATER, anticipation quickened Ethan’s steps as he turned into the kitchen before slamming to a stop.
Annie looked up from reading a cookbook, wearing an apron over the same denim jeans and pale pink cashmere cardigan she’d had on all day.
He appreciated seeing her in something other than her black-and-red couture.
Naturally, she could wear what she liked, but once Ivy had been shelved for their remaining time at WillowGlen, Annie had completely changed her wardrobe, changed everything.
Including her hair, which today was worn in a tight, high ponytail accentuating the natural glow of her make-up-free face.
He dragged his attention from her to the ingredients neatly lined up on the benchtop. They were cooking.
His confusion must have shown, and she laughed, the one that was pure Annie. ‘Were you expecting something else to be on the menu when I asked you to meet me in here?’
He raised a brow and looked pointedly at the kitchen island, and she blushed, no doubt assailed by the same memories as him.
The night they’d struck their heating deal, they hadn’t made it back upstairs, not immediately.
Instead, they’d made good use of the kitchen island.
An island he’d never be able to think the same way about.
That he’d sterilised thoroughly the next day and now featured in far too many of his Annie-flavoured fantasies.
‘You’re going to be too busy for that.’ She smirked. ‘We’re making a croquembouche.’
Last night, when he really should have been heading back to his own bed, but he’d justified it was too cold to leave Annie’s, they’d had one of those free-range conversations.
The ones that had become standard practice for them when they’d chat for hours about everything and anything with no schedule, no agenda, just an interest in what each other had to say.
They’d discussed their favourite foods, including his favourite dessert.
How he’d always loved toffee and custard, especially together, and his appreciation of the croquembouche spire shape.
She’d teased him about his sweet tooth and well-known architectural and building lens, which had resulted in a playful wrestle and then another few hours of heart-racing pleasure.
‘Annie.’ He couldn’t stop saying her real name.
And how much he enjoyed not seeing any semblance of Ivy in any of their dealings.
Liked how she could be herself in front of him.
He pushed aside the trickle of unease there was something else, something big she wasn’t telling him that he sensed in moments when a haunted look would come over her, that she’d brush aside whenever he questioned if she was okay.
‘This is a surprise,’ he murmured, his voice thick at how moved he was that she’d go to the trouble of teaching him how to make a dessert he knew would take hours.
She clapped her hands, delight on her face. ‘I love surprises. And really, after last night and this morning, I didn’t think you’d still be…’ She wrinkled her nose.
His lips twitched. ‘Cold?’ The air crackled with an awareness that was never far from the surface.
She tugged at the collar of her cardigan, like it was suddenly too tight, and huffed out a strangled laugh.
Earlier they’d completed their morning planning session, had lunch, and when she’d asked him to meet her, in the kitchen, in thirty minutes, he couldn’t deny he’d been hoping for more of Annie.
He shouldn’t need any more after the night they’d shared, but it seemed neither of them could get enough of each other.
A fleeting flash of unease settled on his shoulders, until he rolled them back.
That was only to be expected, because they were staying here together, alone.
That’s why it felt different, why he couldn’t keep his hands off her, and because they both knew they only had another ten days left, no other reason.
‘Okay let’s get started then,’ she said, thankfully breaking his line of thought, and passed him a hardback French cookbook she’d found years ago in the library.
Two hours later, Ethan stepped back to run a critical eye over the half-constructed dessert.
‘Do you want a calliper?’ Annie teased, not for the first time, as he checked the alignment again.
‘Hmmm, not yet. I’m relying on the naked eye.
’ He moved to the side to check from a different angle.
‘So far so good.’ He nodded with a sense of achievement he’d never expected in a million years to get from cooking, never mind baking.
In the past he’d been all about quick and easy meals, the faster the better.
But now he found he enjoyed it, that it relaxed him in a way he couldn’t have imagined.
Something he’d perhaps continue, no matter how busy he got when he left here. An unexpected twinge of dismay throbbed low in his gut, thinking about the future, without Annie in it.
Her lips twitched. ‘Phew.’ Dramatically wiping a hand across her forehead, she dragged him back to the present. ‘Because I wouldn’t mind eating this before midnight.’
He checked his watch, surprised how quickly the time had passed. A natural teacher, she’d been the perfect blend of hands-on and instruction, interspersed with an easy flowing conversation. He’d miss their chats. Her.
What? No. All the sex was addling his brain. They were having a good time in and out of bed, nothing more. When they left WillowGlen there’d be no regrets, no backward glances, no dramas. Just like all his previous relationships, which always had an end date. Always.
With a determination bordering on zealous, he quickly assessed the remaining number of profiteroles and calculated the timing based on what they’d already assembled.
Then playfully flicking the tea towel he’d been instructed to keep over his shoulder at her thigh.
‘Before you pass out from hunger, I’m pleased to say we’re going to finish on time and within budget. Like all good builds.’
‘Hey!’ she said, with a face-splitting grin before flicking her own tea towel back at him.
‘Do all your hotels finish on time and within budget?’ she asked after a few minutes of companionable silence while they returned to the rhythm of her managing the toffee and him placing the profiteroles on the spire.
‘Depends on the location,’ he admitted. ‘I have a specialist team, who are extraordinary, but I also like to use local tradespeople and materials as much as possible. Sometimes there are variances, things that don’t go to plan. But overall, yes.’
‘Where’s your next hotel going to be, after Sardinia?’
He hesitated. ‘I’m not sure.’ He’d been strangely reluctant to even think about the next location, and not only because Ruby had asked for them to take a break. Another idea had been niggling at him.
‘I’ve been thinking…’ Did he want to share this with her? Yes, he did, because ultimately, he valued her input. ‘Of turning one of my existing hotels into a retreat for elderly carers, specifically those who wouldn’t have the funds to get away and have a break.’
‘Like we’d discussed for WillowGlen?’
‘Yeah, like that.’ It was one of the ideas they’d volleyed back and forth and had been high on their list, but the layout wouldn’t have suited without some major modifications, which would have presented other issues due to its heritage listing.
‘You could do that? Would do that?’
He nodded.
‘That’s brilliant.’ The approval and respect shining in her eyes hit him straight in the chest. He hadn’t done it for her, but still it made him feel ten feet tall.
‘Have you got a property in mind?’
‘There’s one in Cornwall, a former farm.’
‘I know the one you mean.’
She did? Although she’d never stayed there, or at any of his hotels.
He didn’t keep tabs on guests who’d frequented them, but he knew she never had.
Because he wouldn’t stand for her turning any of his properties into a backdrop for her publicity.
That’s what he’d always told himself, because there’d be no other reason for him needing to know, as he wasn’t involved in the day-to-day running of any of his hotels.
He’d never set out to build one of the most exclusive boutique hotel chains in the world.
The first one had been purely the challenge of restoring a property on the edge of demise, soon after he’d finished his architectural degree.
After that success, he’d purposely chosen more complex properties each time.
The accolades and awards they’d won along the way, although satisfying, had never been his driving force, nor the celebrities who’d frequented them.
It had been about saving old buildings and seeing them transformed with a new purpose.
Once a hotel was built and ready to be operational, he moved on to the next, never wanting to meet nor mix with the guests, no matter how high-profile.
But after being here for almost five weeks, he could admit that for the last couple of years he’d been getting restless in a way he couldn’t describe, no matter how challenging the build, how often he moved.
Now, after working with Annie on WillowGlen’s remodelling into a retreat for grieving children, he could picture how his hotels could service those in need, and it seemed fitting she was the first person he’d discussed it with.
‘I’d have to scope it out when we finish up here, do a full assessment, but I think I can make it work.’
Like a clock running fast, the countdown to the end of their time together here sped up. He rubbed at his chest to extinguish the sudden ache. It was like he was losing another part of Ruby, even though he knew it was about Annie as well, despite refusing to admit it.
* * *
Annie stared at Ethan; she’d wanted to surprise him, but instead he’d surprised her.
‘That’s incredible! Ruby would be so proud of you,’ she said, feasting on the sight of him in jeans and a jumper, a tea towel over his shoulder.
‘Thanks, Annie.’ The way he said her name, like no one else, made her want to purr like Mr Tabitha.