Page 14 of Falling Inn Love
“I want to keep tweaking my ideas and see if I come up with new ones, but I’ll have a final list of all my great ideas we can go over tomorrow and you can decide where you want to start.” Just then, I catch sight of a guitar case next to the front desk.“Do you play?” I ask, motioning to the guitar.
Holy smokes. A musician? I’m screwed. Absolutely screwed. Can this guy get any more delicious?
He nods. “Since high school. Last night I played with my old friends at a local tavern.” He picks up the guitar and tucks it into his office, then peels off his coat and hangs it on the peg behind the front desk.
“That’s great. I love music, too.”
“Do you play any instruments or sing?”
“No, I just love to go to concerts and shows, and am always listening to something.” I point to my headphones now hanging on my neck. Music has been an escape for me since leaving Texas and being on the move. Before I left, I was surrounded by people constantly. Now I find myself alone most of the time. Music makes me feel less alone. Turns out so does being at the inn.
I could talk about music for hours with him, but I have things to do.
“You should come watch us sometime,” he says.
My palms start to sweat. Yes. I want to watch him play. Who wouldn’t? I could watch him do anything and probably be entranced.
“Yeah, that sounds great.”
“I’ll let you know the next time we play.”
“Thanks, I may take you up on that. I better get back to work,” I say before heading back to my room.
I finished putting together a six-page business strategy plan to organize and streamline operations at the inn and I break it up into chunks to be implemented over the next two months. I feel good about what I’ve come up with, and I hope Evan finds this helpful.
I need a break. I grab my hiking boots and jacket from the closet. It’s a little cooler here today as it’s cooling off for the season. I take my phone off the charger and slide it into my pocket.
I put on my headphones and wander, taking a long walk throughout the grounds, just exploring. Leaves still decorate the trees in a gorgeous array of colors. Fall hasn’t even peaked here in New England, yet it’s stunning. Reds, oranges, yellows, greens, and evergreens are on every horizon, with the white-capped mountains as a backdrop.
After my walk, I head to the inn and notice an outdoor seating area with hand-carved wooden benches. Some are occupied by guests taking selfies. Families sit around the firepit while their kids play on the wooden playground in the back of the inn.
My heart feels heavy watching the families. Once upon a time, that would have been me. I shake my head.
I am not that woman anymore. This is who I am now. Nomad Beth.
I need to find time to relax here so I can write. I need to work on healing so I can finally start getting better. Heck, I’m worried about myself. But at least I have a place to stay for a while. That’s one worry I can take off my plate.
I head back to my room with new focus. I might not have a plan for my life, but writing has always been my happy place. I start a new book about a girl who unexpectedly lands at an inn in New Hampshire. Write what you know? Let’s see how this story plays out…
EIGHT
EVAN
Do you accept the deal?
* * *
As I get ready for my meeting at the bank, I think about that phone call with Hamilton. Why did he want my mom to be there? What was that all about? What’s his angle here? And why now?
I head into the inn and say good morning to Sasha as I swipe a warm, frosted cinnamon roll off her counter. As I head to the front, she calls after me, “Good morning to you, too, Swiper!”
I am surprised to see Beth already at the counter, working with a guest. “Good morning,” I say, wiping my mouth from the large bite of the piping hot cinnamon roll I just burned my mouth on.
“Good morning,” she says, taking a sip from her mug. She has a messy bun on top of her head, and coupled with the big glasses on her face, she looks beautiful. Librarian hot as hell. I groan inside, knowing I’m not going to get that fantasy out of my head now. Today she’s wearing jeans and a black shirt with a light grey cardigan over it and black booties. I know they’re called booties because my sister once corrected me when she wore something similar and I had the audacity to call them boots.
Just looking at her, I don’t even care that we are standing at the front desk. I want to undo her messy bun and run my fingers through her hair and kiss her until we both can’t see straight.
Geez. Don’t be a creep, Evan. Focus. We work together.
