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He abruptly ceased the kiss and took my hand. “I don’t want an audience.” He led me to a darkened corner of the huge balcony near the built-in gas grill. As soon as we were out of sight, he picked me up. I wrapped my legs around his tall frame before he pushed me up against the side of the cabin. He took a moment to peer into what I was sure were my wanting brown eyes. “I feel like I should be trying to talk you into staying, but I know you need to go home and figure things out.”
I couldn’t stand the thought of him despising me. “Will you hate me if things don’t—”
“You were honest with me from the beginning,” he interrupted.
Was I? Was I really confused, or was I just scared? I placed my hand on his angular cheek covered with dark stubble that contrasted with his caramel hair. My thumb brushed across his skin. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but I couldn’t find the words. Or was I just not brave enough to say them? Deep down I knew this was an important moment in my life. I had come to a crossroads, and the choice I would make would affect the rest of my life. That I knew. My heart pounded relentlessly, begging me to listen to it. But all I could say was, “Thank you for ... well ... everything.” I knew that sounded lame. What I really wanted him to know was what the last few weeks meant to me. What he meant to me. Someday I would tell him, I promised myself. I knew without a doubt I had to.
He smiled that sexy, playful smile of his. “I feel like I should thank you.”
“For what?”
“The chance to know you.”
My heart caught in my throat. No one had ever said anything so sweet to me. “It’s been my pleasure,” I choked out with emotion, inching my lips a little closer. “All I know is that no matter what happens to us, whenever I see you again, even if it’s twenty years from now, I will throw my arms around you and kiss you until neither of us can breathe.” I tried to add some levity to the moment.
“Is that so?” He rubbed his nose against mine. “What if I’m married? Or you are?” He sounded like he hated the thought of it.
“I suppose that would be awkward.” I smiled, not too thrilled to think of him being married to another woman. As in, I wanted to claw this imaginary woman’s eyes out. I hated the thought of not seeing him for the next twenty years even more. “Okay fine, if we’re both single, I will kiss your face off, even if we are in a public setting.” That was real mature. In what could be one of the most important moments of my life, I sounded like I was still in junior high.
“I like the sound of that. Very much.”
I was glad he didn’t make me feel stupid for my immature comment. I knew I wasn’t as sophisticated as him. This entire vacation I’d felt a little self-conscious around the über-wealthy people, living a lifestyle I could only dream of. Although Patrick never made me feel like I didn’t belong. If anything, it was the opposite. At least when I was with him.
“Well, it’s settled then. Next time we see each other, I’m kissing your face off,” I laughed.
“Perfect.” He closed the distance, his lips landing on mine.
I soaked him in, memorizing how supple his lips were and how he tasted like vanilla and French-roasted coffee. I touched his face, hoping to commit to memory the way it felt to touch his skin. It was like I was playing with fire, the way it filled me with such a burning desire, one I wanted to be consumed by. But something kept holding me back. I swore I would figure out how to unleash it. In the meantime, I let him kiss me slow and like he meant it. Every prod of his tongue seemed to be begging me to give him a chance. I wanted to. Truly, I did.
When Patrick was done exploring my mouth, he pressed me harder against the cabin while trailing kisses down my neck. I ran my hands through his thick hair, listening to the party inside. Everyone was counting down to the New Year.Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one ... Happy New Year!
Patrick lifted his head, his impassioned eyes owning mine. “Happy New Year, Isabelle. I hope this is the first of many days we spend together this year.”
Oh, me too.“Give me your number.”
Present Day
“HAPPY THANKSGIVING!” CHARLOTTE EXCLAIMED WHILEsetting a huge platter graced with a golden-brown, baked-to-perfection turkey in the center of the table among a plethora of side dishes. Sage and thyme wafted through the air as well as Charlotte’s fiancé’s spicy cologne. She beamed at Drake, the fiancé, a.k.a. thorn in my side. Or asPeoplemagazine called him a few years back, the “Sexiest Man Alive.” Sure, I would not deny he was good looking. But sexiest man alive? How do you even judge that? And why did you need to be a celebrity to be considered for the honor? If you asked me, the entire thing was rigged. Unless it was Jude Law or Paul Rudd—those selections I could get on board with.
Regardless of Drake’s sexy status, I had to come to terms with the man becoming my brother-in-law in the very near future. I supposed I could give him a little credit for helping Charlotte’s and my dream come true. By little, I mean atinybit. So, he paid for painters to finish the upstairs rooms of our quaint inn so we could open on schedule. And I guess his fame had people flocking to book a vacation here just to see if they could catch a glimpse of the arrogant man who made my sister and nephew ridiculously happy. Okay, so perhaps he wasn’t as arrogant as I’d made him out to be, but I wasn’t willing to admit that quite yet.
“Dad, I want to help you carve the turkey,” Jameson, my six-year-old nephew and the cutest kid on the planet exclaimed as he jumped up and ran over to Drake. Jameson had taken well to discovering he had a dad and that his father was one of the most famous men in the world. It was hard to believe that was only ten months ago. I could only blame myself for it all. I had invited Drake to come spend the night here. I thought for sure he would take one look at Charlotte and Jameson and skedaddle. Fun side note: Charlotte was Drake’s assistant once upon a time and they got snowed in at our very lovely inn seven years ago, well before we owned it, and as they say, one thing led to another. Charlotte thought Drake used her. Drake thought he was protecting her. In the very large misunderstanding, Charlotte ended up keeping Jameson a secret. But this place, our inn, called to Drake. Drake, who is madly in love with my sister and had never forgotten her. Now here we are.
It was all very soap opera–ish if you asked me, but somehow we were getting a fairy tale ending. Or as the media loved to call it, the wedding of the decade. Seriously, who comes up with these cheesy, broad terms? For all we know, Susie Jones from Akron, Ohio, could be having the real wedding of the decade. Regardless of what anyone was calling this wedding, all I knew was it was going to make me lose my ish. Believe me, no one wanted to be around when I lost the ish.
But could anyone truly blame me if I did? Do you know how hard it is to try and keep a wedding secret when you have photogs watching you buy yeast infection cream? For the record, I proudly displayed that MONISTAT to make sure they got a good picture of it. The problem was, the media was told the wedding would be on Valentine’s Day. It was fitting, given our last name and the name of our inn, but the lovebirds decided Christmas Eve was the ticket. I mean, why not throw a wedding in the middle of the busiest time of year? It’s not like we had an inn to run or that we were still in the process of renovating the cottage on the inn’s property where Charlotte, Jameson, and I currently lived. Soon it would just be me when Charlotte and Jameson moved in with Drake. They were renting a palatial log cabin while they built their own across the street from the inn. I tried not to think about it.
This was supposed to be the happiest time of the year, dang it. And I was, well ... I was happy for my sister. Truly I was. She deserved her heart’s desire, and whether I liked it or not, that was Drake. But truth be told, I had never felt so alone. I’d come to Teton Valley with Charlotte thinking we would grow into old spinsters and run the coziest inn with themed rooms based on our favorite romance pairings of all time. Instead, she was marrying her “soul mate,” and at the rate I was going, I was going to grow old by myself, considering the last man I kissed was just thrown in jail. Don’t ask. Before Mr. Felony was my ex-husband, Jared, who decided being married to me wasn’t his cup of tea anymore, or something like that. He never would give me a reason for throwing away fifteen years of marriage.
It didn’t help that my forty-first birthday was around the corner. I thought my life would be so different. I was supposed to be married with three children and running the most successful design firm in Florida. Instead, I was, well ... If I was honest with myself, I was just jealous that Charlotte is never afraid to go after what she wants. She always listens to her heart. Lately I’d been wondering where my life would be now if I’d listened to mine.
“Are you all right, dear one?” George, the man who played a part—perhaps more than anyone—in Charlotte’s happiness sat next to me and patted my knee. I loved that he called medear one. But I was still trying to figure out the old man with an infectious smile and hardly a wisp of hair left on his adorable head. He somehow knew things. He’d sold us the inn, but in a way, he and his dearly departed wife, Daisy,arethe inn. I know it sounds weird, but this place is kind of weird. As in, strange stirrings happen here. Not ghosts or anything like that—well, perhaps ghosts of the past. Case in point: Drake’s parents, Nora and Calvin, who sat across the table from us looking all googly-eyed at each other.
Drake’s parents had been divorced for years, but to look at them now, one wouldn’t know. The strange thing was that they stayed at the inn long ago and Daisy put a heart by their names in the guest registry. One would think that wasn’t a big deal, but Daisy and George and even Charlotte believed that meant they were soul mates. How anyone could tell that, I didn’t know. George had put a heart by Charlotte and Drake’s names, too, when they got snowed in here seven years ago. Oddly, George always believed Drake would find his way back to the inn. And he had. Hence the wedding of the decade.
It almost made me a believer. Almost. I was a tad too snarky and skeptical. Besides, I didn’t have time for a soul mate.
I turned and met George’s all-knowing brown eyes that quite honestly intimidated me. I swore each time the man looked at me, he learned some of my secrets all while keeping his own. Even now, I saw the secrets that danced in his eyes, still full of life. It was almost like he was taunting me with them. Although that wasn’t his style. He was the kindest person I had ever met. He had become like a grandfather to Charlotte and me. I think maybe he was daring me to find out what he knew.
