A Brand New Ending (Page 2)

He parked the car and cut the engine.

Ten years.

Ten years since he’d come home to the small upstate New York town of Gardiner and gazed upon the staggering Shawangunk Mountains. Ten years since he’d touched snow. Ten years since he’d been surrounded by the eerie beauty of nature’s silence.

And too many years since he’d seen the only woman he’d ever loved.

They’d been the three musketeers—Ethan, Ophelia, and him—caught in a world of their own making. Memories assaulted him. Of running through the woods when they were young and racing horses barefoot as the green meadow flashed below. Of moonlight walks and late nights at Bea’s Diner, squeezed into the cracked red-vinyl booths as they spun dreams of the future and feasted on greasy burgers. Of his first kiss with Ophelia. The taste of innocence and passion mixed with Juicy Fruit chewing gum.

He closed his eyes, staggering under the raw emotions the images brought. Some of those dreams had come true for him, but the price had been brutal.

It was time to make things right.

It was time to reclaim what he’d lost.

Kyle glanced at the passenger seat, his fingers already reaching to stroke the leather laptop case. He’d left a fancy mansion behind, along with rooms filled with expensive trinkets meant to amuse, entertain, and distract the masses. He’d walked away from a gourmet chef, housekeeper, and personal trainer. His garage still held the laser-blue Lamborghini and the sleek black Hummer. He’d left the tuxedoes and designer clothes in his closet; the cedar wine cellar still filled with rare, expensive wine; and the four-poster mahogany bed that had seen too many lonely nights.

Now all he had to his name was one battered suitcase, his laptop, and a Ford Fusion rental car.

And for the first time in way too long, he felt the beginning of a creative spark—the sexy wink of his muse beckoning him closer to his childhood home, where he’d sworn he’d never return.

He grabbed his phone and tapped out a text to Ethan.

I’m here. How bad is she going to take it?

He waited a bit, until the familiar gray bubble with ellipsis popped up.

Don’t know—depends on how pathetic you look. Still have no clue why she’s mad at you.

Kyle winced as guilt punched through him. Falling in love with your best friend’s younger sister was a no-no. Running away with her was even worse. But eloping and not telling his friend about it?

There was no making amends for that one.

He cursed, then tapped his fingers again.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Don’t be stupid—it’s a great idea! The inn isn’t booked up and she’s just being stubborn. Go inside, make nice, and I’ll be there in an hour.

He groaned and resisted the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel. When he’d asked about staying at the inn for three months to work on a new project, he’d worried Ophelia would refuse. When Ethan told him to book his ticket, he’d been relieved.

Until he found out on the plane ride that Ophelia had actually said no. Ethan had conveniently left that part out, citing in true guy code it would all be fine.

Her refusal to see him hurt more than he’d imagined it would, but now he had no choice. Everything was set in motion, and he wasn’t about to return to LA. Not only had he committed to writing this screenplay surrounded by his memories, he’d sworn to fight for a second chance with Ophelia. It was time they both faced the past, put some ghosts behind them, and figure things out. After all, it had been eight years.

She had no idea he was about to walk through her door with the intention of staying for the next three months—in the dead of winter.

That’d be bad enough, but when she heard his other piece of news?

Things were gonna get a hell of a lot worse.

He stayed in the car a few more minutes, trying to psych himself up. Maybe she’d surprise him and be open to talking things through. Maybe she wouldn’t be horrified when he told her about what he’d discovered a few months ago. Maybe it would all work out fine, just like Ethan said.

Even better?

Maybe he’d find himself again.

Grasping at all those positive possibilities, he gritted his teeth, grabbed his bag, and got out of the car.

Chapter Two

Ophelia Bishop floated through the rooms singing “The Impossible Dream” from Man of La Mancha in full-blast mode while she attacked each wooden surface with lemon-scented polish. The first week after New Year’s was always dead at the inn, and as of today, she had exactly zero guests.

So it was party time.

Not caring that her love of old musicals was geeky and embarrassing, she belted out Broadway tunes and got rid of her mortal enemy: dust. So many people sank into the winter blues after the holidays, but Ophelia loved every moment of the winter. The way the snow piled up and weaved a web of sensuality and coziness around her home. The luxury of ignoring the usual rush of productivity nipping at her conscience to get things done. The comfort of indulging in lasagna and hot chocolate under a fleece blanket. Today she’d slept late, had a light breakfast all by herself, and didn’t have to make anyone fancy French toast or omelets or scones. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth till noon! Her big plans after cleaning consisted of lounging around in her yoga pants with messy hair and binge-watching Hallmark Channel Christmas movies with a big bowl of popcorn.

Two couples were checking in at the end of the week, but she would have five entire days alone before that.

It was almost . . . orgasmic.

A giddy giggle broke from her lips. Again, she didn’t care. She spent her entire life serving her guests, and it had become a stubborn point of pride to give the very best to each of them. Just like her mother had.

The thought of her mom brought a pang. It had been five years since cancer had finally won the battle, but Ophelia knew her mother would be proud of her for carrying on the inn’s traditions. She’d made the Robin’s Nest B & B her very own, bringing her personal style and flair, finding the delicate balance between her own life and the career of sharing her home and daily existence with endless strangers.

Memories stirred, but she refused to poke the beehive. Yes, once she’d imagined a different life for herself—one more glamorous and creative. She refused to deal with regrets. Her days were happy, mostly stress free, and the family legacy gave her a satisfaction she’d never take for granted.

She had enough.

She stepped back to inspect the living room, enjoying the look of antique furniture paired with bright colors and comfortable fabrics. The balance was key—high end with a welcoming warmth. First impressions were important, and every room reflected her vision. Of course, she didn’t intend to use this room until the weekend, but she had terrible OCD tendencies about having things perfect, just in case. She’d mostly be living in the kitchen and her own private rooms in the back, but she loved the sight and scents of a well-cleaned room. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about it till Friday, when her first guests of the new year arrived.

She headed to the closet to grab the vacuum and morphed into the haunting strains of “If Ever I Would Leave You” from Camelot, her mind filled with moody visions of Lancelot and his queen.

That’s when she heard the knock on the door.

She cocked her head and frowned. Her family never knocked, and she didn’t expect any drop-ins since the town was pretty much shut down.

She put down the vacuum, eased toward the door, and peeked out from behind the lace curtain.