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“Well, it’s practice, in case we have to kiss in front of Arianna,” I said, making light of it.
She lifted her gaze to mine. “If this is acting, then I’m a natural.”
“You mean because it felt so…?” I didn’t know what word to use for the way she was both familiar and fresh, exciting yet comfortable.
“A little magical,” she whispered. “Right?”
I nodded, unsure what to do next. Fortunately, she decided that for me.
“You should go home now before we get carried away,” Jamie said. “And have another night we regret.”
Regret? I wouldn’t have called it that. Complicated maybe. I’d never been sorry for the night we’d spent together. Strangely enough, her assessment crushed me. I deflated like a suddenly popped balloon. I kept my voice even though, thankfully. “Sure, you’re probably right. Plus, I have a big day tomorrow.” I got up from the couch and brushed the front of my jeans, thankful I’d changed from khakis to the thicker denim material of my jeans, thankful nothing embarrassing was evident.
It wasn’t until I was back in my own apartment that I realized she hadn’t done anything with the photographs. Would she post one of them? Was Arianna out there, only a click away?
I leaned against the door and touched my lips, still feeling Jamie’s on mine. The taste of her was still in my mouth, a mixture of red wine and something sweet, like honeysuckle. She’d been right to send me home. I’d have liked to stay, but I certainly wouldn’t want her to feel regretful of my presence in her life as it seemed so many did. Living down the hall from her might be dangerous if I didn’t keep myself in check.
8
JAMIE
The next morning, I found myself smiling all through my Pilates class. So much so, the teacher probably thought I’d taken up some kind of happy drug overnight. Instead, it was the evening with Darby that had me grinning like a loon. Since the inn burned down and all the stress and hassle of rebuilding, I hadn’t had a night where I didn’t think about work. It had barely crossed my mind last night.
When I was a kid, my father often said the most successful people were those obsessed with something. He meant a career and not relationships. If one met him, one knew immediately that his career as a high-powered attorney dressed in thousand-dollar suits was his top priority. It certainly wasn’t his children. When Trey and then I had rejected his way of life and his chosen profession, the only parts of him that were connected to his children were suffocated, leaving us with the knowledge that some parents love conditionally.
I hadn’t spoken to him since before my brother Trey married Autumn, which was before I’d come here to buy and rebuild the former Annabelle Higgins mansion into an inn. However, my father’s lessons endured for both Trey and me. We were both obsessed with our work. Trey had fallen in love with design in college. I’d loved cooking and taking care of guests, if only in my mind, for as long as I could remember. While some little girls played school or family, I played innkeeper. Mom says it was after we visited an inn back east when I was three that I became obsessed with the idea of opening one of my own. In my journals from high school, there are all these notes about what I would do when I owned my own inn, including the details that made it into reality.
I’d studied English in college but minored in hospitality and also took cooking classes and sommelier workshops to learn everything I could about creating elevated experiences for the wealthy. Why? I don’t know for sure, other than making something delectable or beautiful gave me great pleasure. Taking my father’s philosophy of life, I’d decided early on that I would find a way to own my own luxury inn. I hadn’t wanted to run a resort or spa like some of my classmates but rather an old-fashioned quaint inn, located in a rustic, touristy setting. Emerson Pass and the Higgins mansion had been perfect for me. That is, until the fire ripped away my dreams.
For months afterward, I walked around in a haze. All my attention and energy had gone into transforming the faded interiors into a marriage of dark wood and light walls, with antique dressers and beds in every room. I’d scoured antique shops to find just the right pieces and had happily had them placed in what I felt were the right rooms. In a trunk in the attic, I’d found faded, thin paper patterns of some of Annabelle’s creations as well as bits of fabric and lace, all of which I’d had framed for artwork in the rooms and hallways.
All was lost in one terrifying night. I was happy for my life and that none of my guests had been harmed, obviously. But it hurt.
Since then, I’d hunkered down and started over. My father might be a stubborn, selfish man, but he taught me how to work for what I wanted. I supposed I should be grateful to him for that.
When I got back from my exercise class, I showered, still smiling. After I’d blown out my hair, it occurred to me that I hadn’t posted the photographs I’d taken. In fact, I’d been so shaken up after that kiss I hadn’t trusted myself to even look at them for fear I’d be down the hall knocking on Darby’s door before I could come to my senses.
Now I picked up the phone and pulled up the photos. I’d snapped several of him kissing my cheek but only one of our full kiss. I hadn’t even realized I’d captured that moment, so overcome with the taste and feel of his expressive mouth. Good Lord, he was hot. The line of his jaw would have looked snobby and aristocratic if it weren’t for the adorable cleft in his chin. The two of us pressed together like that was also pretty hot. I liked the way my straight blond hair contrasted with his thick dark waves.
The hour was getting late, and I really needed to get to work. But first, I wanted to post the photo on my Instagram. I’d have to tell the girls what was going on via text or I’d have four calls come through all at once. Actually, I should do that first before they saw it and freaked out. And got their hopes up. These romantics would immediately run away with the idea of Darby and me finally getting together.You have no time or inclination toward any romantic notions, I reminded myself, as I gazed once more at our kissing photo. Even I didn’t believe myself.
I texted our group chat, which consisted of Tiffany, Stormi, Brandi, Crystal, and me.
Don’t get excited over the Instagram post with Darby and me kissing. It’s a ruse to make his old girlfriend suffer a little.
As expected, various texts came back. I’d have to answer them later. Or appease them anyway. I wrote back:I’ll explain everything later. Nothing to get hopeful over. Just a friend pact. I’m still the group spinster.
After shutting that down, I pulled up Facebook and Instagram and sent a friend request to Arianna. She accepted almost immediately. The life of an influencer, I supposed. They lived online. Once I knew she’d be looking at my feed, I posted one of the photographs of him kissing my cheek and what I hoped told Arianna exactly what I wanted her to think.
This guy. My everything. #luckiestgirlever #dreamscometrue #mytruelove #myheart #lovewins
Feeling pleased with myself, I donned one of my favorite dresses—a silky lavender dress that was appropriate for work—and tried not to think about whether Darby would think I looked nice in it.Keep your head, girl, I warned myself.
I took special care with my makeup before going to work. It was already ten by the time I arrived. Maisy was at the front desk talking on the phone. Hopefully, booking a guest, I thought, as I flipped on the light switch. I’d no sooner opened my emails when a knock on the door stole my attention. It was Maisy with Arianna right on her heels. That didn’t take long. She’d seen the photograph.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Maisy said. “But Ms. Bush needs a minute.”
I motioned for her to come on in and stood to greet her. “Hi, Arianna. What can I do for you?”
