Chapter Forty-Six
Rhys
Nine hours later, I find myself in front of a modest lakeside bed-and-breakfast in New Hampshire. The sign outside says: THE LIBERTY HOME. I park my rental SUV and drag my carry-on out from the back. The air here is crisp, with a bite that carries the chill of the early morning.
I inhale, trying to control my nerves. I’ve executed acquisitions worth billions of dollars, but nothing ever made me this anxious.
When Max returned home with the onesie, the first thought that went through my mind was whether I was going to be allowed to be a part of her and the baby’s lives. I know nothing about babies, but don’t women want to buy baby stuff with their men? At least if they’re planning to stay with them?
Liam said Max would only believe what she can see. I don’t blame her, based on her past. And in retrospect, I didn’t exactly react well when she told me about the baby. It’s just…
I inhale the cool air, but my chest still burns. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what my next move will be. It isn’t like I can pull out my heart and show it to her. Money doesn’t impress her, just sincerity—the hardest thing to prove to someone.
I heave a sigh and walk toward the building, my feet hitting the three wooden steps to the main lobby.
A woman at the counter by the door smiles, revealing lines around the corners of her pale gray eyes, cheeks and mouth.
Her short bob is mostly gray. A simple flannel shirt and well-worn jeans hang on her lanky frame.
She’s five foot five at the most. Flat-soled sneakers on her feet and neatly trimmed, bare nails indicate a woman who values practicality over appearance.
Beatrice Norman looks nothing like the photo Angelo sent, which had to have been taken at least a decade ago. If I’d casually walked past her, I would’ve never imagined that she was Max’s aunt. The only point of similarity is the shape of their eyes.
“Hi. Rhys Kingswood. I have a reservation.” Do you know your sister’s recipe for cheeseburgers, the one your niece loves so much? But the question would be premature. First things first.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Beatrice Norman. Just call me Bea.” She extends her hand, and we shake. A firm, dry grip. Her palm is slightly callused. “Your room’s upstairs, facing the lake. It’s really pretty during sunrise and sunset. Want to see it now?”
“Sure, thanks.”
“The cell reception here can be a little spotty, but our Wi-Fi is great.” She hands me a small card with a QR code. “You just scan that and get connected automatically.”
“Thanks.” I give her my ID and credit card, so she can check me in. “So, you’ve lived here for a while?”
“Born and raised.” Her tone is brisk, no-nonsense, as she clicks around on her computer. The common area of the bed-and-breakfast seems to reflect her personality. Old but well-cared-for wooden chairs and tables dot the area. An oak chessboard sits near a window.
“My dad carved the pieces by hand,” she says, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Do you play?”
“No,” I say with a rueful smile. If I had, Grandmother might’ve approved of me more. She likes a good game of chess.
“Do you need help with your bag?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you. It’s not that heavy.”
I follow her upstairs. The steps creak a little under our weight.
We reach the room at the very end of the wall. “This one has the best view,” she explains, unlocking the door with a key, then walks inside, me trailing behind.
“So this is your room—and the bathroom is over there.” She gestures. Everything is clean and neat with a bit of personality. The sheets aren’t your standard international hotel chain white. They’re pale cream with blue stripes that I find charming and homey.
Bea’s right to mention the view—the lake glitters like a thousand diamonds under the morning sun. The tall pines around the water give the air the crispness I noticed earlier.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
“Yep. Once you get used to it, you never want to leave.” She turns to me. “Are you hungry? I’m about to make some French toast for breakfast.”
“Sure. I’d love that.” Eating something before saying anything would probably be the best course of action.
Getting the recipe from her is a long shot in any case.
So far, it sounds like she hasn’t really left the state, except to maybe attend her sister’s funeral.
She might not have been that close to Max’s mom.
I place my suitcase by the closet and follow Bea back downstairs. “How old is this place?”
“There’s been a building here since before the Revolutionary War, from what I hear. The story is that this place housed the revolutionaries when they needed a place to rest and regroup.”
“Very cool. You don’t normally see this sort of history in California.”
“That where you’re from?”
“Born and raised.” I smile.
Her eyes sweep over me, from my bespoke silk dress shirt and trousers to my polished shoes. “What brings you all the way up here?”
“To meet a relative of sorts.”
“You aren’t staying with them?” she says, her eyebrows raised.
“I don’t think she knows I exist.”
“Huh.” She doesn’t say more.
I sit at one of the tables and check my phone. Nothing from Max since yesterday.
–Me: Arrived safely. Hope you have a great day. Miss you already.
Max doesn’t respond, but it’s early in L.A. I check my emails, but there’s nothing urgent.
Piping-hot French toast with a generous drizzle of maple syrup and fresh berries appears in front of me, along with coffee.
“That’s my secret recipe. Nobody here makes it better than me,” Bea says with a grin.
“Looking forward to it.” I gesture at the empty seat opposite me. “Please. Join me.”
She nods and takes the seat with her own plate.
I bite into the French toast and groan at the explosion of flavor. “Holy cow.” The bread is shockingly soft and sweet, with a good balance of sugar and cinnamon. She didn’t cut the crust. But it’s so crisp, the way it breaks in your mouth creates an amazing textural contrast.
“This is amazing. The best I’ve ever had.” Silas would weep with envy.
“Told ya.” She beams proudly, then starts eating, washing each bite down with a sip of coffee.
I polish it off, realizing that I’m hungrier than I thought. I wait until she’s done too before broaching the purpose of my visit. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
My mouth dries. I take a quick swallow of the coffee. “Just going to lay it out, since there isn’t a better way to do this, but…” I exhale. “I’m dating your niece.”
The smile on her face falters. “You mean Max?” Her voice grows flat, without a hint of emotion.
“Yes,” I say, not understanding the abrupt change in tone.
Her gaze grows sharp. She looks me up and down, her eyes lingering on my face, then on my hands. Finally she looks at me again. “So what does a slick city boy like you want with me? I haven’t seen Max in years, not since her mother passed on.”
I nod. “I know…but I really need your help.”
She crosses her arms.
“Max mentioned that her mother had a special recipe for cheeseburgers.”
“Anna wasn’t the best cook, but that was good.” Bea continues to gaze at me warily.
“Max said she tried to replicate it, several times, but something was always missing.”
Bea snorts and moves her eyes to a corner of the ceiling. “That was just like Anna. Probably forgot to update her records.”
“Do you know what the secret ingredient is?”
The eyes come back to me. “Why do you want to know? You don’t look like the type to cook. You even know how to turn on a stove?”
I gesture helplessly. “Not really.”
She pours another cup of coffee and takes a long, thoughtful swallow. “Also don’t look like the type to open a burger joint. Own one, maybe.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Max misses the cheeseburgers, says they were comfort food growing up. So…I want to make one for her.”
“You?” Bea looks skeptical.
“I’m sure I can learn,” I say, not admitting that I’ve never really cooked before. Nearly blowing up a microwave while trying to make cup ramen shouldn’t count. I mean, that was in college.
Her mouth lifts into a lopsided smirk. “I could teach you. But I want to know how serious you are about Max first. Pretty obvious you’re a money guy.”
It doesn’t take a genius to know what she’s thinking. “I’m nothing like Trevor.”
“Know that piece of shit too, huh?”
“Hard not to, if you care about Max. I had the misfortune of meeting the man, although I haven’t seen him in a while. He might be busy getting his knees rehabbed.”
She cocks her head.
“I tripped him.” My tone’s dry, but the smile is genuine.
She slaps the table. “Wish I’d been there to see it.”
“If it makes you feel better, the boy he had with Boobsie Barbie isn’t his real son.”
Bea bursts out laughing. “Boobsie Barbie?” Her eyes glint with vindictive gratification. “Good. That son of a bitch. He had the best in Max, but never appreciated her.”
“She said you and she weren’t very close,” I say, curious why she didn’t remain in touch with Max.
“Wasn’t close to Anna, either, after she got together with Trevor.
” Her mouth purses for a moment. “I was against it from the very beginning. Didn’t think he was good enough for her.
Always trying too hard…nothing he did came off sincere.
But Anna was in love and then she got pregnant.
I told her I made enough here to take care of her and the baby both—she didn’t have to rely on that snake.
But that wasn’t enough. She wanted my unconditional support.
Thought I should be happy, bless her and Trevor, all that.
But I couldn’t pretend, not even for my baby sister.
And when she finally divorced that son of a bitch, she didn’t come back to New Hampshire—her home.
Probably too embarrassed to admit I was right. She was headstrong, you know.”
“So what happened?”
“I called her a few times, and we spoke once in a while. But it got to be strained between us. So, naturally, I never had a chance to know Max as well as I’d like.
When Anna passed away, I went to the funeral.
That was the first time we’d met in person.
She was old enough that she didn’t need a guardian, and she wanted to stay in L.A.
because that’s where her life was. So I left.
” A bittersweet smile tugs at Bea’s mouth.
“I gave her my number and asked her to reach out if she needed anything, but she never did. And stupid me, I didn’t get her number because I thought she’d call at some point and I’d naturally get it.
She’s a stubborn girl, reminds me of her mom.
But I’m also proud, because if she isn’t reaching out, that means she’s doing a pretty decent job living her life.
No matter how obstinate she is, if she was truly desperate, she would’ve reached out,” Bea says.
“I don’t want her to make the kind of mistake that Anna made. ” She gives me a hard look.
“Do you think I’m trying too hard?” If she doesn’t think I’m a good guy, she won’t lift a finger.
“I don’t know. Haven’t decided.”
“I want to give her a sense of security—and the unshakable belief she’s always number one in my life. She’s pregnant with my baby.”
Bea’s eyes narrow. “Okay. And?”
“I want to marry her and have a family with her. And if she’s willing, I’d like to have another child. I think about how amazing it’d be to spend the rest of my life with her and our children.”
“You mean you want an heir?” she says softly.
“For what? This isn’t some dynasty.”
“Yeah, but the way you dress, the way you hold yourself—they say you’re a man who’s got considerable wealth and influence.”
“What does that have to do with how I feel about her? I could become penniless tomorrow, and nothing would change.”
“Except you’d be poor.”
I shrug. “I could just start over, no big deal, as long as I had her by my side. I built my fortune on my own.”
She squints at me for a moment. “I like your confidence.”
“Thank you.”
“For someone with money, you seem pretty genuine. And you’re the first one to come all the way out here to ask me about Anna’s cheeseburger recipe.”
“Because it matters to her,” I say, holding her icy eyes. “It reminds her of one of the most beautiful memories of her life. I want her to experience that joy over and over again.”
She studies me, her mouth pursed. I maintain the eye contact, willing her to see the truth of my words.
She grunts and finishes her coffee. “All right. I’ll help you.”
I sag with relief. “Thank you.”
“I know the secret sauce. But I won’t go easy on you, city boy.”