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“There’s still co-pays. I’m barely making it, and look at this.” He thumped the top of his old Honda. “She’s been good to me, but I don’t think she’s long for the world.”
“I get it,” I said. “I was just thinking the same about insurance.” I was probably as broke as he was, only mine included gobs of debt on the inn. As much as I loved the place, especially now that the rebuild was done, there were at least a dozen times a day when I wondered if I’d made an epic mistake with my life. Since I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of owning an inn. However, I was in trouble. I couldn’t afford to have missed an entire year of business. I’d only just opened when the fire took all my dreams away.
I could have taken a nice safe job in an office or even continued to waitress, and life would have remained simple. It’s funny about dreams coming true at last. When they do, they come with problems one never anticipated. I mean, Ishouldhave anticipated the debt and how it would feel as though the weight of the world rested on my shoulders because of it, but I didn’t. I was too busy fixating on my goal. I could still see my wish list scratched into my high school notebook. We’d been asked to describe our five-year plan. I was all about it.
I want to own a quaint inn where I will pamper my guests someplace quiet and beautiful.
My teacher had laughed at my specificity and encouraged me to go to college just in case I changed my mind.
I knew I wouldn’t, although I did get that degree. But living a life doing what I loved—giving people a respite from the chaos of life, if only for a weekend—felt like a purpose. Providing my guests with a crisp, serene room, delicious pastries and coffee, and wine and cheese in the afternoons had proven as joyful as I’d anticipated. At least I had that, even if the debt felt overwhelming.
I couldn’t exactly explain what doing so did to my soul, other than to say it did not seem like work. It was like floating on air, this job of mine. Until I went into my office and opened bill after bill and looked at the schedule and saw that we weren’t even half full through the rest of the month.
At those times, I would drop my head onto my desk, filled with regret and worry, and think: What have I done? I was not yet thirty and I felt as if I’d lived two lifetimes since coming to Colorado two years ago. To have worked as hard as I did restoring the old Higgins mansion into an inn only to lose it in the forest fire seemed more unfair than it should have been. Yes, it was true that much worse things happened to others. Still, it hurt. Bad. After all I’d given up, all the saving and scrimping since I’d graduated from college seemed so stupid to me now. Especially when it seemed as if all my friends and family were having so much fun, enjoying being young and in love.
I was young, not in love, and overworked. A good night’s sleep had eluded me for years now.
“See you back at the ranch,” I said now to Darby.
“You bet.” He smiled, and the lines on either side of his mouth creased into half dimples. “But did I ruin your run?”
“No, really. Don’t worry. I was on my second round anyway.” I explained how I ran the trail twice to get in a good four miles. Sweet of him to be concerned, I thought. He was such a nice guy. Who knew under all that niceness was a beast in bed.
“Good for you,” he said. “I usually only do it once.”
“I’m trying to exercise enough to sleep better. It’s not really working.” Was it my imagination or was he stalling? He’d said such cute things. Saying I was pretty and that he liked my freckles and that compliment about my eyes had thrilled me.
His dark eyes were soft, sympathetic. This was not because of the head injury. He often looked this way when talking with someone. This gift of listening so intently probably made him a great teacher. Around town, I’d heard about how good he was and how much the kids respected and admired him. I hadn’t attended, but last spring he’d been the teacher voted to speak at the high school graduation. I’d overheard him talking about his speech at a party one night but I hadn’t asked him any questions. Even though I’d wanted to. I was drawn to him for some reason. Not just because we’d shared a night of passion, either. There was something about him that made me want to know more. To know everything. Regardless, I never acted upon these feelings. He’d made it clear that he wanted only a superficial friendship. It all worked out just fine, really. We had mutual friends and were part of a group that hung out almost every weekend for at least a meal or drinks and had agreed, albeit silently, to pretend that nothing had ever happened. It was best to keep myself from complicating things further than they already were.
The sun had lowered and tossed rays of light through the surrounding trees. Darby’s eyes appeared lighter than they did indoors. He had a neat, well-ordered face, nothing too prominent or overdone. A clean jawline, a small nose, and skin so smooth it seemed as if he wore some kind of dewy foundation. He didn’t. Not the type. Nothing wrong with it, of course. If a guy wanted to wear makeup, that was his business. I was all for whatever made people feel good.
He dressed simply, usually jeans and T-shirts, except for work. I saw him leave in the mornings for school wearing khakis or black jeans and a button-down shirt. Each time, his appearance moved me, seeing him so earnest and old-fashioned. One day I’d met him in the apartment complex’s lobby and he had on a bow tie and a jacket over the button-down. He’d blushed when he’d noticed my gaze resting on the tie and explained that they’d had an event at the high school for incoming freshmen and their parents. “I wanted to look grown-up. Respectful, I guess. A teacher with whom they can trust their children.”
It almost broke my heart, the old-fashioned sweetness of Darby Devillier. He was a man to build a life with, I’d thought in that moment. Of that I was certain. It would be a sad day when he finally found the right woman. A sad day for me, that is. He would be happy. Obviously. Me? I would feel as if I’d missed an opportunity to be with someone special. However, the truth was, he’d never really been mine to choose. He was a one-night stand. A drunken decision made by two lonely people. One who had just been dumped—him. And me, still stung from the rejection of my father and his decision to marry a woman younger than me.
It was a fluke we’d been in Cliffside Bay in the first place. My mother and I had rented an apartment in Cliffside Bay so we could be close to my brother, Trey, while we licked our wounds. Hearing Mom cry in the shower when she thought I couldn’t hear her had been reason enough to go back to Darby’s hotel room that night. A night of sex with the hottest guy I’d ever been with had been a pain blocker, even if only temporarily.
It was the drink that made me do it. Although we consumed an entire bottle of champagne. A bottle he’d put on ice, intending to celebrate his engagement with the woman he loved. Only she’d broken up with him before he could give her the ring.
I’d been at the brewery in Cliffside Bay the night of his botched proposal, waitressing. The staff had been all aflutter when Darby had come in earlier that day and asked if we could put the ring in a piece of chocolate cake. Some of us, including me, had commented that all the good ones were taken.
But it was not to be. I’d kept a close watch on his table so that I would know when to bring out the ring. However, I knew something was amiss by the sudden sagging of his handsome face. The woman was crying. Even from the corner of the room where I watched, I could make out her apology. At first, I froze, uncomfortable with watching a pain show, but then I remembered the ring and ran back to the kitchen, catching the chef right before he plunged the ring into one of our mini chocolate lava cakes. I’d been right to do so. When I returned to the dining room, Darby had been there alone, shoulders slumped and a look of pure misery in his eyes.
Later, after my shift was over and I stopped into the Oar for a drink on my way home, he was at the bar. I sat down next to him and offered him an ear. I ended up giving him the rest of me, too.
That was two years ago. Now we were friends. And one of us had a hurt head. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ll text Breck to come by your place if he has a chance.”
“I’m fine.” He reached out to touch my arm. “I promise.”
“I’ll follow just in case.”
“All right, if you insist.” He flashed me a grin before he got into his car, and I hustled over to mine, then followed on the road toward downtown.
* * *
Our apartment buildingwas in one of the old brick buildings right on Barnes Avenue, the historical section of town. The building where Darby and I had apartments was supposedly where Lord Alexander Barnes, the town’s founder, had first conducted his affairs. I wished some of Alexander’s good luck and fortune would come my way. From the condition of Darby’s car, I’d guess he needed a little luck too.
I followed Darby up the stairs. He kept insisting he was fine and from his steady gait, it seemed to be true. His calf muscles seemed to know what they were doing as well, flexing just right as we climbed the stairs. “This place needs an elevator,” I muttered under my breath.
