Waiting for December, page 6
Really cute.
“Oh, kiss me one more time, already,” I cave.
His hands are off the steering wheel in a millisecond. “I was sure hoping you’d say that.”
six
NO ONE IS at the front desk when I walk inside. I can’t say I’m surprised, since I know the inn is short-staffed. Apparently two of their longest-standing employees recently retired and another got married and relocated. I know all this from the email exchange I’ve had going the past few weeks with the sixtysomething couple who runs the place.
Manning the front desk is going to be one of my main tasks while I’m here, along with a handful of other duties, such as feeding the chickens in the barn near the rustic cottages and hosting the nightly happy hour in the parlor, which I presume is the room I’ve just wandered into.
“Hello?” I call out as I poke around, admiring the white brick wood-burning fireplace alight with a strong blaze, and the fine-dining bar and varied seating options. There is a mix of wooden two-seater tables, two cream-colored love seats with navy throw blankets draped over the arms, and several striped armchairs tucked into nooks near the wide-paned windows that look out over the back of the property.
“Anyone here?” I try again, as I wander over to a window and shoot a glance out at the view. From my online search, I know Hudson Lane sits on thirty-five acres, and from this vantage point I can see maple trees for miles. A handful of them have leaves that have already turned colors, and I can only imagine what the view will be like in the next couple of weeks as the rest of them change, let alone how things will look come winter, when the snow dusts the trees and blankets the ground.
After a quick glance over my shoulder to check that I’m still alone, I jump up and down, doing a silent freak-out because I can’t believe I get to work and stay in such a breathtaking place for the next three months.
I’m pumping my fists in the sky for the final time when I hear a voice behind me say, “Hello?”
One second. That’s how long it takes for me to drop my hands back down to my sides. It’s fast, but not fast enough that I can guarantee whoever is behind me didn’t just witness me having a dance party by myself.
“Hello.” I turn around, trying to play it cool, although I realize it’s a little late for that.
Whoa.
The man standing in front of me is the very definition of ruggedly handsome. Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Of course, it had to be a male guest that spotted my dance party.
At least it wasn’t either of my bosses.
“You must be Harper,” he says.
Okay, maybe not a guest.
“Yes? And you are?”
“Jesse. The guy you’re going to be running this place with for the next three months.”
I’m sorry, what? “I thought I was going to be helping out the owners: Mr. and Mrs. Hudson,” I say.
Jesse stuffs his hands in his pockets. “That was the plan, yes. But Mr. and Mrs. Hudson have had a change of plans. I’ll be filling in for them. I’m their son.”
I swallow. Then swallow again when I shoot a quick glance at Jesse’s ring finger and see he’s not only ruggedly handsome but also unmarried.
Which is not good.
Not good at all.
It’s not that I have something against ruggedly handsome unmarried men. Quite the opposite—which is the problem. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not incapable of controlling myself just because a man is ruggedly handsome.
But he could end up being a distraction. And I don’t want a distraction from my goal while I’m here. Look at the lengths I just went to in order to distance myself from Sky. There is absolutely no way I would have accepted the position at the inn if I knew this was who I’d be working with.
“But I’ve been emailing with Mr. and Mrs. Hudson,” I explain. “Did they move to another inn of theirs?” Maybe I could transfer there instead.
Jesse scratches his head. “They don’t own another inn, and you have been emailing them, yes. I’m sorry for the confusion. The change is recent. Really recent. Today is my first day, actually. My dad had an accident about a week ago. That’s why they aren’t here.”
“An accident?”
“He fell off a ladder while hanging some string lights. He’ll be fine, but he’s in physical therapy for the next couple of months. I think it freaked my parents out more than anything. They realized they can’t run the inn like they used to, that it’s time to slow down. They didn’t want to see it go downhill, so they were thinking of selling, but I encouraged them to let me try to step in and take it over. This holiday season is a test run to see how that goes. If it goes well, then we’ll be co-owners, with me overseeing the place. But I’m not technically in charge yet, so I don’t want you to view me as a boss. I hope you see me as a coworker and teammate since you and I are the primary staff for the next three months.”
You and I. I’m trying to find words; I really am. I’m trying to transition into calm, cool, and collected. But those three words keep looping around in my head.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s probably stressful to think about working with someone else who’s new as well,” Jesse says, misinterpreting my silence. “But I do have some experience. My parents have had this place since I was in high school, and I worked here in the summers all through college.”
“I’m sure you’re perfectly competent,” I say. “It’s me I’m worried about.”
“Aw, come on.” Jesse reaches out a hand and rests it on my shoulder. I know he’s trying to be reassuring, but his touch has the opposite effect.
I feel that touch in ways I have no business feeling. For many reasons.
Breathe in, Harper. Now breathe out.
“Like I said, my parents have been doing this a long time. They wouldn’t have picked you if they didn’t see something in you.”
Desperation, I think. That’s what they saw. Willing to relocate, my application said. Up for any task. Just not the task that involves working alongside your handsome son. I should have specified that.
I draw in another deep breath, realizing I have two choices. I could quit on the spot and fly home to Atlanta where I don’t have a job and where Sky will most definitely distract me from my goal. Or . . . I stay here and focus. I really want to stay here.
“I guess we’re in this together,” I say.
For all I know, Jesse could end up being a total jerk. Or in a serious relationship. Either would stop me from ever looking in his direction.
“Great! I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled. Here, let me get your bags.” He picks up the duffle and hoists it on top of the roller, then opens the front door for me before wheeling my luggage out.
Okay, not a jerk.
“You’ll be staying in one of those cottages,” he says, pointing ahead to six identical structures. They all have white cedar siding and black shutters like the main building where most of the guest rooms are, and each has its own brick chimney. “I’ll be staying in the one right next to yours.”
I swallow. “You will?”
“Yep.”
“On your own too?”
“Uh-huh.”
Okay, apparently not in a serious relationship either.
I almost laugh because it’s comical, really. Good thing I am a grown adult with self-control and goals. Goals that I’m not going to let get derailed—by a pilot or an innkeeper.
“I can take it from here,” I say, once we reach my front door.
“You sure?” Jesse asks.
“Yep.”
He nods, setting my bags down on my doorstep before stepping back. “Oh, here’s your key.”
He fishes it out of his pocket, and I take it from him and nod my head, waiting for him to leave.
“Right.” He claps his hands together. “Take as much time as you want getting settled. I’ll give you a tour after, and then we can get to work. If you need me, I’m going to be chopping wood by the barn until you’re ready.”
Of course he will be.
I hold up the A-okay sign with my fingers on one hand while crossing the fingers on my other hand behind my back because I don’t want to lie to my new coworker. I wouldn’t exactly say I’m peachy right now.
seven
ONCE I FINISH unpacking, I decide to FaceTime—not call or text—Zoe and Grace. For starters, I want to see their reactions when I share all that’s happened on my journey so far. Also, they need a virtual tour of my cottage. Who gave Chip and Joanna Gaines the keys to this place? Though the bones are old, it looks styled to be photographed for the front cover of one of their magazine issues.
There’s a wood-burning fireplace and bronze log rack beside it. A cream-colored rug covering most of the knotty pine floor. A queen-sized bed with a brown weather-stained headboard. And a snow-white sofa with pillows galore.
There’s also a kitchenette with a forest-green fridge. A small oven and stove. And a rail of hanging brass pots and pans mounted to the wall. By the kitchenette, there’s a small round farmhouse table with two chairs, perfect for when I want to eat in my room.
The best part of the entire place, though, is the bathroom. Right next to the shower—where I presume I’ll spend very little time—is a claw foot tub where I now plan to spend every evening!
I’m thrilled I decided not to head home. So what if I have to work side by side with Jesse day in and day out? I can manage anything if I have this quiet, quaint place to return to at the end of each day. It’s the perfect place to work on starting over.
I have no idea why I panicked before. Maybe I was still thrown from the past twenty-four hours: getting on a plane, starting a new life, meeting Sky. Maybe my pulse was still racing from Sky’s goodbye kisses and that made me more susceptible to panic in reaction to unexpected changes. But Sky and I have a pact, this cabin and this property has my bucket list painted all over it, and everything is going to be fine.
I need to trust in that—in the idea that it will all work out.
The first thing on my Vermont Bucket List is to learn to trust again. And my whole experience in Vermont thus far has been a big step in that direction.
I nod to myself, determined to have faith.
Then I jump up onto my plush new bed and dial Zoe, with the plan to add Grace to the call right after.
That’s odd. No ringtone. I check my cell phone’s bars.
There’s no service.
I climb down off the bed and pull out my computer from my duffle, thinking maybe I can reach them through Zoom if I can log onto the internet.
I check my connection, but nope, the Wi-Fi is down too.
Hmm . . . I’m pretty sure this is my problem to deal with since I work here now. Or Jesse’s and my problem. Better to address it before guests start complaining.
I head outside and find Jesse by the barn with his axe raised in the air midswing. More notable than the axe position, though, is what he’s wearing: a white cutoff t-shirt. Don’t we have a dress code or something?
“Excuse me,” I say, once he’s split the wood in half. I hold up my phone. “There’s no cell service. Or internet.”
He picks up the axe to swing it again. “You’re correct.”
Why is he looking at me as if this isn’t a problem? “Are we going to fix that?”
He shakes his head.
“Sorry, I mean who should we call to fix that? Obviously, I know we can’t fix that. Or I can’t, at least.”
“No one is going to fix it, ’cause there’s nothing to fix,” he says, slicing another piece of wood down the middle. “It’s part of the experience here. People come to Hudson Lane to get away from the noise. There’s no cell service. And no internet. It’s intentional.”
It makes sense now: why I got the job. Surely this was mentioned somewhere in the fine print, and those who hadn’t had a couple glasses of wine before applying probably read it and decided to apply elsewhere.
I stick my hands on my hips. “How was I emailing with your parents, then?”
“There’s a bakery, a bar, and a few other shops with internet in the town about a mile that way.” He points in the direction Sky and I drove in from.
Sky! This means I’m going to have to walk a mile to read his emails and to email him. That’s fine for the time being, but what about when it gets colder and snows?
“I don’t have a car here,” I say.
“I can always drive you,” Jesse offers.
I picture him sitting outside while I read Sky’s letters and write him letters in reply. On second thought, maybe there’s a taxi service. I’ll look into that later.
“I take it there’s no TV either?” I might as well ask while we’re on the topic.
He shakes his head. “There’s chess and cards and peace and quiet.”
When I say nothing, he laughs. “I think you might come to like it.” He sets the axe down and reaches for a plaid button-down beside the woodpile. He must have stripped it off when he started working. I turn away slightly as he starts to button it up. It’s the polite thing to do. Once he’s finished, I turn back. “What do you say? Ready for that tour?” he asks.
“Why not?” I shrug. “It’s not as if I can get caught up on How to Get Away with Murder.”
“What?”
“It’s a show,” I say, as we start walking. “Didn’t you have a TV in your last place?”
“I spent a lot of time here growing up and I got used to not having one. I never felt the urge to change that when I moved away.”
“Which was to where, exactly?”
“Just to Burlington, Vermont, for college and then to downtown Stowe in an apartment a few miles from here.”
“You’ve never been tempted to move anywhere else?”
He hesitates. “Once.” It’s one word but sounds like an entire story. I think to ask, but he doesn’t seem as if he wants to talk about it. Besides he’s my coworker, not my best friend or love interest. It’s not my business.
He’s pointing out the pool and the hot tub, as well as the fire pit, all of which fall under his jurisdiction in terms of maintenance, he tells me. I just need to point guests in the general direction of the amenities and let them know the pool is eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit and everything opens at nine and closes at the same hour in the evening.
As we head back to the inn, he returns to the earlier topic. “How about you? I assume you’ve hopped around quite a bit more than I have.”
I laugh because it’s funny he sees me that way. I can’t blame him, considering I relocated for a seasonal gig, but that impression couldn’t be further from the truth.
“This is very uncharacteristic of me,” I say. “Or, at least, I think it is. Maybe not anymore, I suppose. I don’t know.”
I’m rambling. Why am I rambling?
“I’m trying to start fresh,” I continue.
“You kill someone or something?”
When I laugh again and say no, he shrugs and says, “Sorry, you mentioned that TV show about murders, and then you said you wanted to start fresh. I wasn’t going to judge you or anything.”
“You wouldn’t judge me if I murdered someone?”
“Well . . .” he chuckles. “Maybe a little. But you’re my right-hand woman now. We’ve got each other’s backs.”
“So there’s no one else helping us out?” I look around as we approach the front desk. The inn is small, but it does seem like a lot of work for two people.
“There’s us and then one other couple that does the daily housekeeping.” As soon as he says it, he clears his throat. “I mean, there’s one couple that does the daily housekeeping and then there’s us. I wasn’t implying that you and I are going to be a . . . you know.”
“I figured as much.” I’m certain of it.
“Right. Let’s get you set up.” Jesse doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets flustered easily, but his face and his neck appear flushed as he shifts his focus to the computer.
I’m not sure how I feel about him being thrown off by those words. Was it just the awkwardness of a new working relationship? Or is the thought of us as a couple pleasing to him? Maybe it’s better I don’t think too much on that answer.
“There will be two guests checking in later this afternoon, and you’ll use this computer program to get that process started.” He’s all business now, and the flush has vanished, making me wonder if I imagined it.
“Doesn’t a computer program require Wi-Fi?” I ask.
“Yes. There’s a router connected to this computer. So if you really need to check your email or something, you can here. But it’s used by me too, and the housekeeping staff, so don’t go planning your next murder on it or anything.”
“Right.” It’s probably not the best place to check Sky’s letters. I wouldn’t want to accidently leave one open for everyone else to read. But if I’m ever in a bind and can’t get to town, I suppose I could.
Jesse goes through the check-in process, which is quite simple, thankfully, and then has me follow him into the kitchen behind the parlor. “Happy hour starts at five,” he explains. “You’ll want to put the baked brie in the oven around four-thirty. And then you can bring out the wine and the rest of the cheeses.”
He shows me where everything is in the fridge, then pulls out the crackers from a cupboard and points to where I can find the serving trays before leading me back into the lobby.
“Oh, by the way.” He spins around once we reach the doorway. “I stocked the fridge in your room with enough food to get you started for this week, but I can take you to town whenever you need more.”
I nod and thank him.
“Any questions?” he asks.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Where will you be in case . . . you know . . . something goes wrong?”
“Around,” he says. “Just holler. Or you can ring this.” He walks me out to the porch and shows me a hanging triangular iron dinner bell.
“So old-fashioned.”
Jesse leans against one of the porch pillars and scratches the couple days’ worth of scruff on his face. I’m only staring because I’m waiting for him to speak—no reason other than that. “The world’s moving forward at crazy speeds,” he says, shooting a glance my way. “Sometimes it’s nice to slow down so we don’t miss all the great things in front of us.”
