A Brand New Ending (Page 9)

She rolled her head on the pillow and groaned. “First you see me in yoga pants with messy hair. Now I’m sick and disgusting. Fate sucks.”

He laughed, thinking she wouldn’t be so open if it weren’t for her fever. He smoothed the cloth over her damp forehead and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. The years fell away, bringing him back to a nest of memories: the time she drank too much champagne at their very first Hollywood party and he took care of her during the awful night of bed spins; when she twisted her ankle wearing new designer heels and he carried her twenty blocks to the ER because he couldn’t get a cab; the time she cried after speaking with her mom and got homesick so he cuddled her in bed while feeding her Hershey’s Kisses. The way she’d leaned on him gave him a sense of purpose he’d never been able to duplicate. She was the only woman who made him want to be his best and feel whole.

God knows, he’d forgotten how that felt after so many years.

He decided to take advantage of her honesty while he had the chance. Keeping his tone light, he said, “Those yoga pants were sexier than a tight miniskirt. And you were always the most beautiful without any type of makeup or fancy clothes.”

She made a face. “Ugh, you are so lying to me. You’re used to those Hollywood chicks now.”

He cupped his hand to her hot cheek, his voice husky with emotion. “I don’t lie. One of the things I loved most was your vulnerability. The way you opened up only to me. It was a gift that meant everything, and there hasn’t been another woman I’ve even wanted to be as close to as I was with you.”

The power of his confession broke through, surprising both of them with its raw force. A soft gasp escaped her bee-stung lips. Her eyes softened and, for one perfect moment, it was like nothing had changed since they first looked at one another and realized they’d become much more than friends.

She opened her mouth . . . and fell into a coughing fit.

His hand dropped from her cheek and he eased back, giving them both space. “I’ll come back and check on you soon. Try to rest.”

He left her, his chest tight with too many emotions he didn’t have the time to examine.

He had an inn to run.

Chapter Five

Within fifteen minutes of the ski guests arriving, Kyle realized he was fucked.

He’d headed back to the bungalow to grab his laptop, figuring he’d have plenty of time to work before check-in. When he’d returned, he’d spent some time familiarizing himself with the computer programs and customer requests. Aubrey had thankfully swept in and made the beds, taken care of the laundry and bathrooms, and prepped the rooms. Ophelia was resting after the second dose of meds. He’d felt ready for the new guests’ arrival, even acknowledging a touch of ego regarding how easily he had taken charge.

Running an inn truly wasn’t that difficult.

Then four p.m. happened.

The skiers swarmed the place with pumped-up testosterone and male juvenile humor that Kyle would have appreciated if he wasn’t the innkeeper. They stomped in with giant dripping-wet boots and cases of beer, jostling each other and collapsing immediately in the common area in front of the fireplace. He pegged them as being in their early twenties and longtime friends. They were respectful—but loud. He was barely able to get them all registered since they had little interest in paying attention to his requests, and by the time he’d organized all their luggage into their respective rooms, they’d begun clamoring for snacks.

At least they were polite. He didn’t know how he’d fare with a bunch of jerks, so he was sure he’d be able to handle them with some good old-fashioned assertiveness and organization.

He worked in the kitchen for a while, getting bottles of soda and a small variety of snacks together, including nachos and a decent-size appetizer plate filled with crackers, cheese, and prosciutto. Ophelia definitely had a fully stocked refrigerator, which made prep a lot easier.

The loud roar of approval when he entered the room made him grin. He set up the table, pouring drinks and chatting about the ski conditions on the mountains. He left them relaxing with the television on while he went to clean up.

Five minutes later, one of the guys popped his head in. “Hey, man, you think we can have more snacks?”

Kyle stared at him. “You guys finished them already?”

“Yeah, they were good.” He grinned, his surfer hair flipping into his eyes. “We’ll take anything you got.”

He hesitated. “Well, we provide snacks like tea and cookies, but for dinner you’re on your own. How about I get you some takeout menus? We can get some platters or pizza delivered.”

The guy’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, man, that’s perfect. You got a hot tub here?”

“Sorry, no gym or hot tub.”

“No prob. This is still way more rad than some rank hotel room, and it was way too pricey to stay at the main lodge.”

“We’re glad to have you all here.”

Kyle got the menus and set them up, gathered all the empty dishes, then went back to the kitchen.

“Oh, hello? Can you tell me where Ophelia is?” a kind voice echoed from the hallway.

He dried his hands and walked out, finding an older couple looking at the rowdy group taking up the main room. One glance pegged them as the Rileys.

He motioned them to the back, where it was quieter. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Riley, but she got sick. Think it’s the flu. My name is Kyle, and I’m a good friend of Ophelia’s. I’ll be helping her out until she’s a bit better.”

“Oh, that poor thing! Such a wicked flu season this year,” she clucked, her eyes peering over her silver glasses. “It’s just that we were going to go to dinner tomorrow night at Crystal’s, and Ophelia was kind enough to make us the reservation, but we’d like to switch it to tonight and do Galveston’s tomorrow. Can you make those arrangements for us?”

He blinked. Ophelia did stuff like that, too? “Um, sure. What time works?”

“Six is perfect. Thank you, dear. We’ll be napping for a while. Can you make sure the boys keep it down?”

“Yes, not a problem.”

Her husband gave an approving nod and guided his wife back upstairs.

A roar from the main room hurt his ears, so he attacked that problem first. “Hey, guys, you gotta keep it down for the other guests,” he said loudly, trying to shout over the blasting game. “And lower that a bit. Sorry, but we have to respect the other people staying here.”

“Sure, dude! No worries!” One of the guys cranked the TV volume lower, then handed Kyle the takeout menus. “We marked our orders down. Can you just charge everything to the room? Oh, and make sure they give us extra sauce—they always skimp on the sauce.”

The whoop of approval from the guys cut off his initial reaction to balk at having to handle their food orders. He bit back his annoyance, trying to make sure he gave extraordinary customer service, and walked back into the kitchen.

Oh, right, reservation changes.

He made the calls, but Crystal’s couldn’t change the reservation and asked him a bunch of questions he didn’t know how to answer. He told them he’d call them back, then walked up the stairs to knock on the couple’s door and ask them if seven p.m. was acceptable.

His hand paused on the door. He was hoping he wouldn’t wake them up from their nap. Then he heard it.

Low moaning. A groan.