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“Breakfast is at 8:30,” she said over her shoulder. “But if you’re an early riser, feel free to grab a cup of coffee next door at the Coffee Loft, where they’re always frappe to know you.”
Having reached the second floor landing, Alec took in the small sitting area that somewhat overlooked the foyer, complete with two arm chairs and a tall lamp upon a table between them, this vignette flanked on one side by floor to ceiling bookcases, packed with hundreds of books. A quick glance said some of them might be very old.
He realized two hallways, one going straight ahead and another to the right. He followed Maren down the right hallway and stopped when she did at the third door. She turned the key and pushed open the door.
She entered only a few steps, standing against the wall to allow Alec to pass.
He stopped directly in front of her.
“Sorry, what did—did you just sayfrappe to know you?”
She grinned. “Um, yes. I used to work there, at the Coffee Loft. When people ordered their coffees, or whatever drinks, we’d ask for a name to put on the cup and we’d always say,Hi, So-and-So, I’m frappe to know you.” Her lips turned up in a small, hesitant smile. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, perhaps feeling a tinge of embarrassment. “Old habits and all that.”
“I see,” he commented and entered fully into the suite, which was adorned with rich, velvety curtains and heavy, ornate floral wallpaper. A large four-poster bed dominated the room, its elaborately carved posts reaching towards the ceiling. The plush carpeting was a deep red, matching the velvet armchairs placed neatly in the corner. The antique furniture was heavy and well-kept, and arranged perfectly in the space. The high ceilingsand large windows allowed natural light to flood the space, highlighting the details of the room.
“The bathroom is there to your left, around that corner,” Maren instructed. “There are fresh towels and there’s an extra heated blanket in the trunk at the end of the bed, if needed.”
Alec stared out the windows briefly, which overlooked the houses across the street and the furious lake beyond. The vast expanse of Lake Erie was transformed into a wicked winter wonderland under a relentless curtain of snow, the world beyond the icy shoreline obscured by a wall of white.
He pivoted, returning to Maren at the door, as she held the room’s key for him.
“If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask,” she offered. “We will have cocktails at six-thirty and dinner will be at seven.” She pointed to the antique waterfall dresser. “I left an itinerary for the weekend there, what’s planned in regard to the wedding. And as you might expect, all the Inn’s guests are here for the wedding, so that should be fun.”
He nodded, taking the key from her hand. “Thanks, Maren. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Chapter Three
Maren moved absently down the stairs, wondering if her cheeks were red.
She wasn’t sure what to make of Alec Sullivan.
Granted, she didn’t know that Jasmine and Liam getting married after six weeks was a great idea either, but she wasn’t sure that she’d have voiced her opinion to a stranger, even if they were friends with the couple. She bit her lip, wondering if the fact that Alec Sullivan had expressed his concern meant that he strongly opposed the idea.
That issue aside, Maren’s eyes went belatedly wide for how handsome he was.
But then she wondered if she’d have noticed it if not for the way he’d stared at her, almost with some surprise—had he expected Jasmine’s friend and the owner of the Inn to be an ogre? Okay, sure, likely how handsome he was rarely went unnoticed by any warm-blooded female, but was it heightened or reduced by the way he’d studied her so intently?
He’d stood tall and broad, effortlessly dominating the space of the open foyer, with a strong jawline and thick black hair that was short but wavy. His piercing blue eyes had seemed to cut through everything they’d touched upon. Maren had found herself both drawn to his sharp gaze and then feeling exposed by the intensity of it.
When he spoke, Alec’s voice resonated with smooth authority, each word carrying a weight that demanded consideration. She knew he owned his own company and supposed his deliberate way of speaking, slowly and with confidence served him well in that capacity.
Oh, but that gaze, she thought, returning to what had most unnerved and stirred her, was as cold as the icy lake over which came the storm.
“Ugh,” she moaned, angry with herself for giving so much thought to a guy who seemed so...well, angry.
She returned to the kitchen, where Bethany was humming to herself as she mixed the dough for the biscuits promised to Hal, but before Maren would have donned her apron again, the bell at the front door jingled once more.
She glanced at the clock. Still plenty of time unless she got held up checking in guests one after another.
“Go on, Mar,” Bethany said cheerily. “I’ve got this. We’re right on schedule.”
Returned to the foyer, Maren was surprised to find not one or two but four people just entering, shaking off snow from their boots and coats. The door, until it was pushed closed, let in a blast of icy air and swirling snow, brought in by a strong wind.
“Oh, boy,” she said by way of a greeting. “Looks like you folks made it just in time. Welcome everyone.” She positioned herself behind the antique check-in desk. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Adamczyk,” she said to the couple approaching the counter with some urgency, as if there were a prize for beating out the other couple. She’d never met Jasmine’s parents but knew they were coming from Rochester. They looked a little road weary after the drive.
Jasmine’s mother, a woman in her late fifties with heavily painted brows, already—or still—wore a discontented expression. She adjusted her scarf and peered at Maren over the top of the desk and muttered, “Honestly, winter weddings.”
Maren’s eyes widened before she pasted on a false smile and consulted her laptop. Poor Jasmine, she was 0 for 2 in the happy wedding guests department.
