Chapter Four
Larkin met Carson’s gaze and held it. Before her was a big, powerful man.
A man she hardly knew. But in his eyes there was a vulnerability that connected her to the boy he’d once been.
They had loved to get on their bikes and explore the network of dirt roads in their county.
Then they would stop and flop onto the grass, stare up at the clouds, and talk about all sorts of things.
They’d talked without filters or fears of being hurt.
They were young and they had so many questions, so many hopes.
He had been her best friend. Also her first kiss, her first love, and first lover.
And to think that one sick, twisted person had taken all that away from them.
Carson reached for her hand, and she let him hold it.
“I still have feelings for you, Larkin. Romantic feelings. I understand you’re not there, and you may never be. But could we start by being friends again?”
It had been ages since she’d felt this flicker of hope, of lightness. But so many years had passed. “We’re different people now.”
“We’ve grown,” he acknowledged. “But deep inside, people don’t change. I wish I’d been a better friend when you needed me most. Now I’m asking for a second chance.”
It was impossible to say no when he was asking so little. Not to mention doing the renovations on her grandmother’s house.
“Friends,” she agreed. “But don’t expect too much from this.”
She certainly didn’t.
*
As Amy carried Robin—all bundled up in his snowsuit, hat, mittens, and boots—down the stairs, she noticed her brother and Larkin having an intense conversation by the Christmas tree.
Carson reached for Larkin’s hand and held it.
When the couple noticed her, they broke apart.
Larkin slipped into the library while Carson strode over to take Robin out of her arms.
“Here’s my buddy! All ready to go sledding, little guy?”
“Zoom, zoom!”
“Don’t let him go too fast,” Amy cautioned. “He’s only one—practically a baby.”
“I’ll be careful,” Carson promised. “And we’re not going far. Just to the park around the corner.”
Amy kissed her son’s pudgy cheek. “Have fun with Uncle Carson.” She watched them go with some trepidation.
This was what she had hoped for, right? That Carson would bond with his nephew.
And he had been helpful with the garburator and checking the oven the other day.
Yet she still had the feeling he had other reasons for booking into Bramble House for Christmas, and after seeing him with Larkin, she now knew what that reason had been.
How had he known Larkin would be here? He must have seen something on her phone.
She remembered being at Whispering Pines the day Larkin had called with questions about the accessibility features in the Mable Bramble room.
Amy glanced through the glass panes in the library door. Ethel was in one of the armchairs by the window, reading her Stephen King, while Larkin sat next to her with her laptop, typing away.
Leaving them in peace, Amy headed for the kitchen.
All was quiet in the big, old house. Chet had already gone to work, the Kettles had left for skating, and Gibson had gone in search of a “real” library.
But when she opened the door to the kitchen, the sound of cheerful conversation greeted her.
Shelley had just arrived and was hanging up her coat in the back closet, while Jo and Kris stood on opposite sides of the island, both in white aprons, laughing about something Shelley had just said.
“What’s so funny? I could use a laugh this morning.”
Shelley pulled out the portable vacuum cleaner.
While Ella cleaned the guests’ rooms and refreshed the towels, Shelley had taken over keeping the common rooms and the stairs clean.
“I crossed paths with that cranky old Gibson this morning. Some neighborhood children were out playing in the snow and one of them hit him square in the face with a snowball. You should have seen him sputter.”
Amy chuckled, then her conscience made her ask, “He wasn’t hurt, I hope?”
“It was a soft snowball. Disintegrated on contact. But it was lovely to see him all flustered. Does anyone else find him a stick in the mud?”
When Kris said, “He’s on my naughty list,” Shelley and Jo laughed again.
Amy smiled but then felt compelled to remind them of one of the B & B rules. “We shouldn’t talk ill of our guests behind their backs—but I agree Gibson is a challenge. Thank you all for putting up with him with such grace.”
Shelley shrugged. “You’re the one who has the most dealings with him. I just try to keep out of his way.” She took the vacuum to the dining room, and soon Amy could hear the sound of the powerful little motor, sucking up all the crumbs from that morning’s breakfast.
Remembering Gibson’s nasty comment from that morning, Amy powered the espresso maker back on.
While she was waiting for it to heat up, she watched as Jo rolled out her scones and Kris added the spices to his cookies.
Cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and then something from a small jar he kept in his pocket.
“What’s that?”
He winked at her. “Christmas magic of course. All my cookies need to have a dash of it.”
Amy smiled fondly at him. “I’m so glad you always stay with us over Christmas, instead of at the Graff.”
“The Graff is too grand for me,” he said.
“Isn’t there more to it than that?” Jo asked. “Back when Mable Bramble was alive it seemed to me that the two of you had a special friendship.”
“Really?” Amy asked. “Wasn’t Mable a little old for you, Kris?”
He laughed. “A decade or two. Besides, I’m happily married.”
He’d told Amy previously that his wife preferred not to celebrate Christmas, for reasons that were tied to her disappointment about never being able to have children.
Instead, she liked to spend the winter months playing golf in Arizona.
Kris usually left right after his gig at the Graff to join her.
“Mable was known for her sharp tongue,” Jo said. “Yet she always had a soft spot for you.”
“Ah well, now that she’s gone, I guess there’s no reason to keep my secret. Back in the day my father used to date Mable. He even asked her to marry him, but she got her back up about something and turned him down.”
“Really? I bet Mable lived to regret that. I didn’t realize your family was originally from Marietta,” Jo said.
“We weren’t. Dad had a summer job here when he finished school.
When Mable turned him down, he took a job offer in Missoula and shortly after that he met my mother.
They were happy together, but when she passed, Dad told me about Mable.
I wouldn’t say he still held a torch for her, but he did remember her fondly.
He told me so many stories of those days that when I took the Santa job at the Graff, I decided to stay at Bramble House so I could meet her. ”
“Have you told the Carrigan girls?” Jo asked. “They always wondered why their aunt never married.”
“One day I may. I could tell Mable regretted not forgiving my father for whatever it was he did that upset her. She used to tell me that pride was the worst of the deadly sins.”
Amy was so fascinated by Kris’s story, she’d almost forgotten what she’d come in here to do. “One of our guests—I’ll let you guess which one—complained about our espresso this morning. I’m going to make myself an Americano for quality control. Do either of you want a latte or something?”
“I’ve got my coffee right here.” Jo pointed to the mug next to her tray of scones.
“And I’m going to have a glass of milk once these cookies are done,” said Kris.
Amy brewed a double shot of espresso, then added twice the volume of boiling water. She inhaled the aroma and then frowned. It smelled flat and unexciting. She took a tentative sip. Waited, then took another.
“Damn it, Gibson was right. This espresso tastes awful. Either we bought a defective batch of beans or Chet accidentally put our regular coffee beans into the espresso maker.”
She opened the canister that fed the espresso beans to the grinder and took out a handful.
She could tell right away that they weren’t the right beans.
Their espresso beans were darker and had a bit of a shine.
These were a dull chocolate brown. Delicious when brewed in their regular coffee maker, but not robust enough for espresso.
“Well?” Jo asked. “Have you found the problem?”
“The wrong beans were in the machine.”
“Chet has a lot on his mind,” Jo said. “It’s an easy mistake to make. And easy to fix.”
“That’s true,” Amy agreed as she went to the pantry and pulled out the bag of espresso beans. But it was annoying to discover that Gibson had been right.
*
At eleven-thirty Amy stacked some of Kris’s fragrant, sugar-studded cookies on a plate, and headed to the sitting room for the interview with Larkin.
She’d already tested one of the cookies and it was chewy, sweet-and-spicy perfection.
Thanks to Kris, no one would complain about their cookies today.
Chet followed with a thermos of brewed coffee and three clean mugs.
He’d come home from work in time to feed Robin—droopy and cranky after a morning of playing in the snow with his uncle—some pasta and chicken before putting him down for his nap.
When she’d asked him about the coffee beans in the espresso machine, he’d been confounded. “I’m sure I filled the machine with the right beans. I did it yesterday, right after breakfast.”
Amy had shrugged and dropped the subject.
Since Robin had been born, she’d noticed times when she did her chores on autopilot, sometimes with funny results.
Just last week she’d found the new box of laundry detergent in the cupboard where they kept the silver and china.
She knew how that had happened. She’d been thinking about the upcoming tea fundraiser while she’d been putting away the groceries and voila. Laundry soap in the china cupboard.