The Inn at Blue Hollow Falls Page 5

  “Why? Why take that risk?”

  “Because I’d regret it forever if I didn’t.”

  She held his gaze for the longest time, during which she asked herself the same question. Would she regret it? She’d been instantly attracted, sure, but the more she learned about him, the deeper and more informed that attraction became. Dare she push things further? Because then what?

  He swiped a melted snowflake from the tip of her nose. “I think I see steam rising from those curls of yours,” he said, his smile deepening. “All those thoughts swirling around in there. Why don’t you sleep on it?”

  “Okay,” she said, quickly, before she could change her mind.

  “Good,” he said, then chuckled, apparently hearing the relief in his own voice. “Good.”

  “I don’t mean okay, I’ll sleep on it. I mean . . . okay.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “That’s . . . even better.”

  She laughed and thought they were both a pair of relationship dorks. “Now who’s scared?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, well, that whole running thing is pretty deeply ingrained. What made you change your mind?”

  “My granny taught me to trust my gut about people, and that’s turned out to be one of the best things she ever gave me.”

  “Right up there with putting anchovies in stew?”

  She made a wavering motion with her hand. “Tied with that one. It’s pretty amazing stew.”

  He grinned. “So, would I pass granny muster?”

  “For now,” she said, giving him the side eye. Then they both laughed.

  “Now she’s watching me, too, huh?” He glanced up and raised one hand. “I swear, I mean to be only the good kind of stuff.”

  Stevie grinned at that, but her heart was on full wobble now. Oh, Granny May, I’m in serious trouble now. About six-foot-two’s worth.

  He sketched a small bow and motioned her to lead the way to the inn’s rear door.

  Trust your gut. Do it. Right now. She shook her head. “There is one thing we need to get cleared up first, though.”

  “There is?”

  “Mm-hm.” Traditions were nice, but sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do. “There are a lot of compromises one must make in any relationship, and you’re right that maybe we put way too much pressure on ourselves before we even figure out if a relationship is worth fighting for, looking for reasons to cut and run before it gets hard. Or, more honestly, before we get vulnerable. But there is one deal breaker that has no work around.” She lifted up on her tiptoes, took his head in both hands, and gently pulled it down to hers.

  “And that would be?” he murmured, his eyes dark and hot again.

  “This,” she said, softly now. “Because if this doesn’t work, there’s no point in figuring out the rest.” She went to kiss him, but he shifted back just enough to stop her.

  “Wait,” he murmured. Then he lifted his hands, framed her face, and tilted her mouth just right. “I’ve got a lot riding on this.” He grinned, and her heart flipped right over the edge. “Can’t risk its not being just right,” he said, and did the perfect thing. Again. He kissed her.

  And the kiss, it turned out, was perfect, too.

  Oh boy. You’re in it now, Stevie Girl. Better make it worth your while.

  Chapter Four

  Noah met Stevie as she came down the front stairs the following morning. She looked like she was prepared to get to work. Her hair was smoothed back into a bun again. She had on jeans, an old Howard University hoodie, and . . . bunny slippers?

  She noticed him looking and struck a pose. “It’s what all the hip botanists are wearing these days.” Still smiling, she let her hands drop to her sides. “My rubber boots are in the mudroom. I left them there last night. After . . . you know?”

  He grinned at that. “You know?”

  She lowered her voice. “Well, I didn’t know if you wanted the world to know—”

  She’d stopped on the bottom step, which put her mouth quite conveniently directly in line with his. He took advantage of that.

  “Well then,” she said a bit breathlessly when he finally lifted his head. “I suppose that’s my answer.”

  A low whistle and smattering of applause startled her. She and Noah both looked through the big archway to the left that led from the front foyer of the inn to a room with a big fireplace and a dozen or so tables of varying styles presently set for breakfast. Guests were mingling by the big coffeepot and the trays of bagels and Danish. A few others were already seated with bowls of oatmeal or snacking on muffins.

  “Where did all those people come from?” she leaned down and whispered.

  Noah smiled, nodded at the folks, then took Stevie’s hand and led her down the last step. “They checked in while you were out playing in the dirt yesterday.”

  “Ah,” she said, that lovely hint of pink in her cheeks again, then smiled and lifted her hand in a little wave to everyone as they passed the archway on the way back to the kitchen. “So . . . I guess that takes care of that.”

  Noah chuckled. “You have no idea. The whole town will know in about, oh, one-point-two seconds.” He pushed through the swinging door, still holding on to her hand. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, he turned and moved her neatly into his arms. “Good morning,” he said, looking down into her upturned face.

  “It sure has been so far,” she quipped, her gaze searching his.

  “If you’re uncomfortable with public displays—I should have asked,” he began. “I blame the slippers. I’m a sucker for bunnies. Zero impulse control. Just saying.”

  She silenced any further disclaimers by pulling his head down and kissing him. He enthusiastically responded. By the time she let go of him, they were half sprawled over the work island. “Well,” he said a little hoarsely when they finally managed to break apart, “the bunnies have spoken.”

  Stevie smoothed her hair back and straightened her hoodie. “You did say time was of the essence.”

  “I did,” he agreed, chuckling. She was warm and sweet, and he didn’t mind her assertiveness. Not even a little bit. “I like a woman who goes after what she wants.”

  “So noted,” she said, a mischievous light sparking to life in those luminous eyes of hers.

  He reluctantly started getting breakfast supplies out of the industrial-sized fridge. “Sleep well?”

  “Once I managed to get my rioting hormones under control, I slept like a baby. That bed is heaven.”

  He chuckled, liking that she didn’t pull any punches. “Memory foam. It’s the dream. And yeah, long about three a.m. I was seriously debating taking a dip in the snow myself.” He sent her a fast smile. “Cool things off.” He took out a bowl and began cracking eggs.

  “Where’s the new chef? Or does he only do dinners?”

  “When we’re under fifty percent booked, I handle breakfast, and he’s on the hook for lunch and dinner. Over that, it’s all hands on deck. He’ll be hiring his own staff of three sous chefs who will rotate shifts, but we have until spring to get that done before the summer season kicks in. This will be the only full-up week we have during the winter. Then it’s just occasional weekends at full capacity until April.”

  “That’s . . . amazing. And all the way out here, too.”

  “Well, we have fishing, kayaking, hiking. We’re not far from the Appalachian Trail. And now that the crafters’ guild is moving into the renovated silk mill, a whole new tribe of folks will be coming up this way.” He smiled as he started beating the eggs. “I’m sure it won’t be long before I’m not the only game in town, so I’m not taking anything for granted.”

  “But you’ve clearly already built up a good reputation, and you said you’re booked with regulars for Christmas. You may not always be the only, but you will always be the first and the longest running.”

  He nodded. “That’s how I see it. I’m actually pretty excited about the new guy. I’ve had a few chefs over the years since I opened.”


  “Are they as temperamental as they seem on those television cooking shows?”

  “Pretty much,” he said with a laugh. “But I’ve also learned a thing or two about what to look for, and not just in the cooking skills department. I think I’ve hit the right combination this time, and with the reputation the inn has earned, I had a pretty good group of respondents to choose from.” He smiled. “High hopes. If he ever gets here.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “He was visiting his family early for the holidays so he could jump in here and not need to run off again any time too soon, which was great. Only he got snowed in at the airport he was departing from. He made it out to Dulles only to have his connecting flight to the small airport out here cancelled due to the snowstorm. So, he rented a big four-wheel drive, and then that broke down in the middle of nowhere. He had to hitchhike just to find a signal to call me.”

  “Wow. Poor guy can’t catch a break. And now, neither can you.”

  Noah carried the big copper bowl of eggs to one of the deep-sided griddles and slowly poured it in. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before. And he gets bonus points for determination.”

  “Will he get out here by tomorrow? It will be Christmas Eve, and you said you’re full up from then to New Year’s Day.”

  “Jenny and Melanie came back to help with dinner last night and bunked in once we heard the weather report. So they’re out in the dining room right now helping with coffee, juice, and the continental breakfast items. We’ll get dug out sometime later today, once the snow stops.”

  “Dug out?”

  He finished laying one package of bacon strips on another griddle and had opened another wrapped package, but paused to look at her. “You haven’t looked outside?”

  “I—guess not. Wait . . . did we get more snow? I thought you meant the snow that happened before I arrived yesterday.”

  “Oh that? That was a dusting. I’m talking about the snow that started last night when we were busy . . . you know,” he said, echoing her earlier phraseology.

  “Ah,” she said. “Right. I guess I was otherwise, uh . . . occupied this morning and didn’t notice.”

  It looked as if she might be blushing again. When her gaze darted around the room, landing anywhere but on him, he suspected he knew the reason. “Otherwise occupied?” he repeated.

  “Um . . . maybe.” Now she was definitely blushing. She smiled bravely and simply owned it. “Let’s just say I wasn’t as successful with that hormone wrangling as I’d hoped.”

  He had to work very, very hard not to pull up an image of what her morning . . . wrangling, might have looked like. He failed. Miserably. Now it was his turn to look anywhere else but at her. And be damn thankful he was facing the workstation. “I, uh . . . feel your pain.”

  She snickered at that. “And I cannot believe we’re having this particular conversation.”

  “I’m not well trained socially,” he said, lining another griddle with bacon, then moving on to the sausage patties and links.

  “You run an inn,” she said, laughing. “A very popular one if the crowd in your dining room is anything to go by.”

  He gave her his best boyish grin, the one that always got his mama to make him an extra round of her famous Belgian waffles. “I’m pretty sure they just feel sorry for me. Hence the cheer there earlier.”

  While he moved back to the griddle with the eggs to start working them into a nice, fluffy yellow scramble, Stevie walked over and began turning the bacon. She jumped back a little when the slices hissed and spit a little grease. “Do you have an extra apron? Though why I’m worried about this old sweatshirt is beyond me.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

  She paused mid-bacon-turn. “Uh-oh. I’m probably violating a dozen health codes doing this, right? My hands are clean, I swear. My hair is back.” She put the tongs down. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

  “You’re a guest,” he said good-naturedly. “Guests don’t have to help. That’s why they’re called—”

  “Guests,” she said, a little sheepishly. “Right. Sorry. Blame Granny May. We see things that need doing, we do them. Idle hands and all that.”

  Noah liked that she felt at home enough in his cavernous kitchen to just up and pitch in. Not that he expected her to, or needed her to, but it wasn’t lost on him that she was the polar opposite of the only other woman who he’d once pictured in this kitchen. And that had only been when Carolyn was making her way to or from the attic quarters they’d lived in back then to the back door.

  “Well, in that case . . .” He walked over and opened a tall cupboard door, then took an apron off one of the hooks inside. “Here,” he said. “Now you’re official.”

  She walked over to him, hand out, but he motioned her to turn around so her back was to him.

  “Need to make sure it’s tied properly. Health codes and such.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, a smile curving her lips. “You do know I wear an apron for a living.”

  “Plant aprons,” he said, moving in close behind her after he draped the neck loop over her head. “This is a food apron,” he said, bending down until his lips were next to her ear. “Entirely different tying strategy.”

  He felt the little shiver of awareness his words sent through her, which made the fit of his pants that much more uncomfortable.

  “And you know this how?” she asked quietly, taking in a quick breath as he looped the long side ties around her waist once, then again.

  “Humor me,” he teased, then took a deliberately slow and methodical approach to tying the bow just below her belly button.

  She glanced up at him again, this time putting their lips a breath away from each other. “You do this for all your sous chefs?”

  “Well, I tried it with my last chef. Tiki is Samoan, built like The Rock, only a lot wider. He didn’t seem to be as much a fan of the idea as you.”

  She let out a little snort. “I’m understanding your turnover issues a little better now.” She turned into his arms. “I couldn’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t want to work in this lovely restored gristmill, in such a bucolic setting, for such a nice guy. But now I get it.” She settled her arms on his shoulders. “A real hard-core, micromanaging type.”

  “Attention to detail is what makes the difference between a decent outcome and a memorable one.” He leaned down, pressed a short kiss on her lips.

  “Are we still talking about inn management?” she murmured against his lips, which only made him need another taste. Then another.

  It wasn’t until the acrid tang of something burning filled the air, along with plenty of black smoke, in case additional proof was needed, that they broke apart. Flames were starting up on the meat griddles, and the eggs were looking like a complete loss already.

  “Oh, shit,” Noah said, dancing back over to the griddle where the bacon was presently turning itself into tiny sticks of crunchy carbon. He apparently hadn’t checked the temperature gauges on the griddles. He grabbed the huge container of baking soda from the shelf above the workstation and dumped it on the small fires, dousing them immediately, grabbing baking sheets from the racks under the table, which he flattened on top of the griddles to squelch the now greater billows of smoke. Then he jerked the cords from the socket bar one at a time, before moving to the egg griddle to begin scraping out the charred remains there. “Open the back door, please,” he asked Stevie, as he paused long enough to shove open the windows directly behind the workstation, all while sending up silent prayers that the smoke alarms didn’t go off. One step after that was the sprinkler system. And they were snowed in at the moment, so the last thing he needed was—“Dammit.” At that exact moment, the clarion bell of the alarm went off, buzzing so loudly it made his ears ring.

  Stevie ran to the back door and opened it, then went along and opened the windows at the far side of the room and over the row of industrial sinks. She clapped her hands over her ears. “What e
lse can I do?” she shouted.

  Noah turned on the big overhead fans, which he should have done sooner. “Go out and tell Jenny and Melanie what’s up and help them reassure the guests. I need to flip off the alarm system before—” He never got to finish the sentence. His hand was on the panel to the security box when the sprinklers overhead went spinning and sending out a showering waterfall that sprayed around the entire room. “Well, shit.” He flipped the panel open and punched in the code, which shut down the clarion bell. A few seconds later, the sprinkler heads stopped spinning.

  He yanked the wall phone off the hook so it would show up on caller ID as the inn calling and dialed the fire department. They would have been silently signaled the moment the alarm went off and this would save them from calling him. “It’s all good, Joe,” Noah said, when the chief answered on the second ring. “The bacon, not so much, but no fire. Just a lot of smoke.”

  “Sorry for your loss,” the chief said, amused, then sobered as he continued. “Glad it wasn’t worse. We’ve got our hands full with this storm, and I’ve already had to call the neighboring volunteer guys in. They’re calling for this thing to pack a much bigger wallop than expected, so you keep your folks indoors and don’t burn anything else if you can help it.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Noah said, not bothering to mention that things were damp enough in the kitchen and dining room that fire probably wasn’t going to be a big concern.

  He was about to say his good-byes, when Joe said, “Hear you’ve got your eye on the pretty plant lady who’s helping Sunny Goodwin with that old monstrosity of a greenhouse she inherited.”

  Noah should have been surprised. It had been, what, twenty minutes since he’d kissed Stevie in the inn’s foyer? He also knew Melanie was a best friend of one of Joe’s nieces, so that probably explained that. “Her name is Stevie Franklin,” Noah said, “and she’s as smart as she is pretty, so can you blame me?”

  “Not at all,” Joe chuckled. “I was just going to ask you what took you so long, but I guess you were smart to wait for the right one.”