Chapter Nineteen
She had sex before pizza, which didn’t surprise her in the least. And when they finally settled down to pizza and wine, and Howl to the rawhide bone the size of a Buick she’d bought before the pizza, she told him about the conversation with her ladies.
“So you were right about them knowing, and now I know my grandmother was at least a little bit of a free-love hippie before she married my grandfather.”
“I already knew that.”
“How?”
He lifted his glass. “I also have a grandmother. While she wasn’t really a free-love hippie, she’s expressed some admiration, and it strikes like maybe a little envy, for your grandmother’s youthful lifestyle.”
“Really? I think, given time and opportunity, I’m going to get Gram to reveal more about that youthful lifestyle. I also had a long, overdue talk with my mom about the Colonel. I was a kid, so pretty self-absorbed, and really didn’t understand how hard he was on her. Or how hard the divorce was for her. She kept us jumping from place to place after, and I resented that. I wanted roots.”
She glanced around at his yard, back at his house. “Like you have here. What I didn’t understand is that she wasn’t flighty or weak. She was coping. She loved him. It’s hard for me to see why, but she loved him.”
“Love’s a strange and inexplicable thing.”
“Apparently.” She bit into another slice. “Ever been there?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Attraction, serious like, but not that last tumble. He didn’t feel it for us, and it felt good to really acknowledge that, between the two of us. My mother talked to your father today.”
“Okay.”
“About the legalities of dropping Albright and being—legally—the Nash women. My grandmother’s name, both our middle names. Mom kept Albright because of me, I kept it because it was just always there. It doesn’t have to be. The process isn’t really complicated, but it’s a lot of steps, starting with the county probate thing. Your dad’s going to take care of it—lots of documents to change.”
“Driver’s license, social security, passport.”
“Yeah, like that. We’ll end up with spanking-new identification. It’s not really new identities, though, just having a name that matches who we are. All three of us.”
“Your mother’s birth name would be Kennedy, right?”
“Yeah, but going with Nash all around feels right. It feels good, the whole thing. So another side benefit to us having all that sex.”
“I’m planning on more, so we can see what else comes out of it.”
She smiled at him over her wine. “So, can I ask how your workday went, or do you like leaving that back at the resort?”
“Work never stays just at the resort. That’s running a family business.”
“I get that, entirely. My ladies are always talking a new piece, a new idea. Just last night, when I got home, they were having pound cake because they’d decided to add it to the café menu. So, workday?”
“Monday morning meeting with department heads, a request from the head butler to update their kitchen and storage areas. Accounting reports, and I was spared from that for a too-brief period when Jake came by.”
“Jake?”
“Jake Dooley.”
“Chief Dooley?” Her throat wanted to close. “Is there—”
“No. We’re friends, good friends. We went to middle and high school together. He’s … Well, he’s family.”
“I met him at the café opening. I didn’t realize you were friends.”
“Not quite womb to tomb. More puberty and beyond. He wants to do a team-building deal with his force on the ropes course. He’s working it out with Liam.”
Just normal things, Morgan realized. How wonderful to talk of normal things.
“Have you tried it yet?”
“It’s the Jameson way. You offer something to guests, you try it out. We excused my grandparents.”
“How’d you do?”
“I did fine. Liam’s like damn Spider-Man, but I did fine. You should try it.”
“Maybe I will—in my next life. But I could probably do it. I’m getting beefed up.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I am! Comparatively.”
“Wanna arm-wrestle?”
“No. But we can body-wrestle after pizza.”
He took another slice. “Damn close to the perfect woman.”
When she got home, slid into bed, she felt damn close to perfect.
In the middle of the workweek, he came into the bar one evening with his brother and sister. Another third-generation meeting, she decided when they grabbed a table in the back.
She filled their table order when their server came to the bar.
Three Après burgers, double order of cheese fries to share. Liam’s favored draft, white wine for Nell, and the Cabernet for Miles. A bottle of still water for the table.
While she worked, she observed.
They talked. Some laughs, some headshaking or rolled eyes. Mild arguing—no, more debating, she decided. Pauses to speak to their server.
They stayed nearly ninety minutes, and stopped by the bar on the way out.
“Nice midweek crowd,” Nell observed.
“We’d have more outside if we didn’t have the summer shower.”
“Speaking of outside, I need to talk to you—tomorrow’s fine—about a last-minute booking for the patio. Surprise birthday party, twenty-six guests. They just decided they want to book the patio, next Thursday night, between seven and eleven.”
“We’ll make it work.”
“We’ll talk details tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.”
“Haven’t seen you on the new ropes course,” Liam commented.
“I’ll get there in, oh, fifteen, twenty years.”
“You’ve got to try it. I’ll—ha!—show you the ropes. Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
When Miles walked out with them without comment, she simply raised her eyebrows and kept working.
He came back two minutes later.
“Another Cab?”
“No. I have the monthly family meeting on Sunday.”
“Okay.”
“So why don’t you come home with me Friday night?”
She mopped the bar. “It happens my schedule’s open.”
“Good. I have something I have to handle now, so I’ll see you then.”
“Enjoy your evening,” she said, very pleasant and professional.
And smiled to herself while she filled another order.
She helped with the yard work on Saturday—and proved she knew how to handle a garden. He liked the company more than he’d expected to.
When he had to go in to deal with some work-related calls and emails, she stayed outside with the dog.
He came out to find an old garden tub on the table holding flowers, and watched Morgan wing the tennis ball across the yard.
To his shock, Howl not only raced gleefully after it, but raced gleefully back to her with the ball clamped in his teeth.
“What the fuck!”
She spun around, the ball back in her hand. “Sorry. I saw the ball when I got the tub, and thought it was for Howl to chase.”
“He ran after it.”
“Well, yeah. He’s a dog.”
“He never does that. Give it.”
She dropped the drool-laced ball in his hand. Miles tossed it; Howl sat and stared up at him.
“Oh,” Morgan said, and the throat-clearing didn’t disguise the laugh. “I see.”
“Do you? Do you really?” On that, Miles walked across the yard, fetched the ball himself. He brought it back while she stood in her little black shorts and skinny white tank stroking Howl between the ears. He handed the ball to Morgan. “Throw it again.”
When she threw it, Howl ran after it, tail wagging, eyes gleaming. He pranced back to drop it in her outstretched hand.
“What a good boy!”
“My ass. That’s just insulting. Who feeds you?”
Howl leaned lovingly against Morgan’s legs, and Miles knew he didn’t imagine the smirk.
“Maybe he thinks your heart’s not in it. Want to try again?”
“No.”
She tossed the ball herself. “I thought since you have that family thing tomorrow, flowers would be nice. I can put them in a vase for you before I change for work.”
“Sure, fine.”
After praising Howl—and didn’t the dog just lap that up—she put the ball back in the shed. As they went inside, Miles started to close the door on the dog, but Howl looked so, well, smitten with Morgan he didn’t have the heart.
“Got a vase?” she asked while she washed her hands.
“Bottom of the dining room buffet. Take your pick. Want a beer?”
“No, thanks. Never got a real taste for them.”
“Coke?”
“That’ll work.” She crouched down, opened one of the doors on the lower buffet. “Wow. Quite a collection.”
“Grand took what she wanted when they moved. They’re mostly her collection.”
“This is beautiful.” She held up a vase of smooth wood. “Is it from Crafty Arts?”
“Yeah. A guy I know makes them. He had a show there last fall.”
“It’s perfect.” She brought it out, started on the flowers. “You must know a lot of people. The advantage of living in the same place, going to the same schools.”
“Not everybody stays.”
“No, of course not. But a lot do, don’t they? Most of my staff grew up here, or have lived here for years. Not necessarily in Westridge, but the general area.”
“Plenty of job opportunities.” He handed her a glass. “Good schools, low crime, a solid arts community. It’s scenic, offers an abundance of outdoor activities and interest, and it’s close to the national forest.”
“I don’t suppose the chamber of commerce could do anything about the length of winter.”
“You learn to embrace it.” Because he liked watching her, he leaned back on the counter with his beer. “Skiing, snowshoeing, ice-skating on the lake, pickup hockey games, ice fishing.”
“I don’t get why anyone wants a fish enough to drill a hole in the ice and sit in a shanty.”
“It’s not for everybody.”
She glanced over. “You?”
“Not in this lifetime. It’s freaking cold.” When she laughed, he shrugged. “But plenty go for it. It’s not just the fish, it’s the beer, the camaraderie. Liam likes it, but mostly he and our grandfather just like to sit there and hang out. Then he’ll go around to the shanties, bullshit awhile, go back, and tell Pop the news.”
“Liam’s got the social skills of a cruise director. But then, he sort of is.”
She stepped back, studied the results of her work, adjusted a couple of flowers.
“I could say the same about you.”
“Me? Not really. His is natural, innate. I had to work at mine. You can’t be shy waiting tables or tending bar—at least not if you want to pull tips. So that helped me push through.”
“‘Shy’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”
“Not now.” She centered the vase on the island. “You didn’t know me when. I didn’t have a real date until college.”
“Were all the teenage boys blind and deaf?”
That not only earned him a smile, but she stepped over, kissed him. “I was the skinny new girl who didn’t have much to say for herself. The one who sat in class—fully prepared, because them’s the rules—but prayed the teacher wouldn’t call on her.
“Now, college, I knew I’d be there for four years, so I could reinvent myself a little. And I practiced.”
“You practiced?”
“Sure. Today, I’m going to speak to three people, and I’m going to pay attention to what they say. Today, I’m going into that coffee shop, and I’m not going to sit alone hunched over the table, because I’m going to get a job. After a while I didn’t have to think about it every time, or talk myself into it.”
She patted his chest. “You’ve always been confident. Some of us pretend to be until we learn to be.”
“Looks like you learned.”
“I did.” She walked back, adjusted one more flower in the vase. “I expect Liam was always surrounded by friends, or those who wished they were. Nell, popular girl, but not one of the mean clique. She had the looks, the style, the brains, and that sense of fair play. You? More the loner with a small, tight group of real friends. Like the police chief. None of you had to battle shyness because you always, always knew who you were. I had to figure out who I wanted to be, and, well, be.”
“And did you?”
“I did.” She leaned into him, comfortable, easy, with the flowers she’d arranged behind her. “He thought he stole that from me. Rozwell. That’s his purpose, to take who you are, erase it. For a while I thought he’d succeeded. But he didn’t. Whatever he took, I’m still me.”
He stroked a hand down her back. “It seems to me that who you are isn’t someone you had to figure out, just someone you had to dig out. She was always there.”
“That’s a nice way to think about it. And this.” She lifted her face, kissed him again. “This has been really nice. Now I have to go up and get ready for work. I don’t want to be late. The boss could fire me.”
The dog followed her upstairs. Miles nearly did himself, before he told himself to stop being ridiculous. When she came back a half hour later, hair styled, makeup perfect, uniform crisp, he sat at the counter working.
“Have to go. Have a good meeting tomorrow. And you.” She bent to the dog. “Be a good boy and play fetch with Miles.”
“Miles will no longer participate in that activity.”
“Hard-ass.” But she kissed him yet again.
He walked her to the door battling the urge to ask her to come back, to just come back again after she’d closed. And told himself it was too much and too fast.
He watched her walk to her car with the dog whimpering beside him. Maybe he regretted not asking her, but they both needed their own space, their own time.
When he closed the door, he found himself annoyed by the silence, and annoyed he felt annoyed by it.
He liked the quiet.
He went back, grabbed what was left of his beer, his laptop, took them both outside. And went back to work.
The meal portion of the family meeting would consist of chops on the grill, basted in his grandfather’s special sauce, his grandmother’s potato salad, grilled vegetables, and his mother’s strawberry shortcake.
But business came before food, and for this, they gathered around the dining room table with glasses of sun tea or lemonade.
Events—summer weddings, engagement parties, family reunions, a few new fall packages under consideration.
Nell discussed Nick’s promotion, some changes to menus, and the success of—and the glitches in—Picnic by the Lake.
“The feedback from guests has been very positive,” she continued. “Enough I’d like to continue into the fall, as weather permits. Vermont foliage is always a draw, especially if we add a campfire, offer guests the makings for s’mores. From the accounting, you can see what we lose at the restaurants and room service, we more than make up with the picnic bookings.”
“Some lap robes, like we offer to patio guests,” Mick suggested. “Late summer, early fall evenings can get chilly, especially on old bones.”
“We’d need to order more. I think it’s worth it.”
He glanced at his wife, then at Miles. “Miles?”
“The feedback is positive, and so’s the revenue. I’m good with it.”
“Then it’s over to you,” Nell said to Liam.
He wound his way through his report. “And the Westridge police force’s team building, Thursday. I’m going to work that myself, and get some shots for the website. I think we should try to market the same deal to the volunteer fire department, with the same discount.”
“I like that.” His mother sipped some sun tea. “With some marketing we might draw in other police and fire departments. But let’s get the photographer, Liam. You’re going to be busy with the group.”
“The website needs updating. I’ve been working on it,” Miles said. “We can add this in. I’ll contact Tory.” He made a note. “Make sure she has Thursday free to take the photos.”
“Saves me. Your turn now anyway,” Liam told him.
It took awhile, but he summed up the month’s business, any staff changes, current and projected updates, offered a template of the progress of the website refresh, some new brochures.
“In addition, I had a thought that ties in, more or less, with the team building and that marketing. Ice fishing.”
“Do we have to think about winter?” Nell let out a sigh. “I’m hardly used to wearing sandals again.”
“It’ll come whether we think about it or not. Ice fishing contest, three days running, cash prizes. For the most part,” Miles continued, “this would involve locals. Some guests, sure, but I’d want it open to all comers. Keep the fee reasonable. We tag, say, a dozen fish. Dad, you could work out the legalities on it, but anyone who competed would need a license. Say, a hundred dollars for six of them. A thousand for the rest—except one. Ten thousand grand prize.”
“That’s a hell of a fish.” Mick rubbed his hands together. “Let me at ’em.”
“You already know we couldn’t compete. Even with the entry fees, we could lose money, but it’s good community relations, good marketing. If it works, we make it an annual event.”
“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Lydia tipped her head toward him. “You don’t ice fish. Ever. What made you think of it?”
He shrugged. “Winters come, and they stick. We’d get a lot of free marketing out of it. Local TV crews, internet, word of mouth. We give it a blast on the website, on social media.”
“I’m thinking two dozen fish—you figure that out, Rory,” Mick told his son, “the ins and outs, the cash prizes, and how that works.”
“Will do.”
“Your hundred-dollar fish, your five-hundred, thousand, and the big kahuna.”
“We could do prizes for the shanties—best decorated—wouldn’t that make a picture?” Drea considered. “They wouldn’t have to be cash. A free night or weekend, discount cards at the spa, the shops, the restaurants and bars. We set up to have hot chocolate, coffee, maybe some baked goods. Nell and I can work on that. Something like we do in January, Nell, for the ice sculpture event.”
“We can rock this.” Liam nodded as he made his own notes. “I should’ve thought of it myself.”
“Take your ropes course victory,” his mother advised.
“Oh, I do. Anything else? I’m starving.”
“One more thing. It crosses resort business and personal.”
“A family business.” Drea lifted her hands. “So much does.”
“It does,” Miles agreed. “And in that vein, I’m letting you all know I’m seeing Morgan Albright.”
He expected the pause, and maybe a moment of confusion. He got both.
“Ah, seeing Morgan,” Drea said slowly, “as in dating?”
Nell gave Miles the sharp eye. “As in sleeping with, Mom. Damn it, Miles.”
“Sorry. Did you want to sleep with her?”
“Aren’t you just adorable? Are there not enough women in Vermont you can choose from without sleeping with someone who works at the resort, and in my department?”
“Apologies again. I’ve run through all the others. She was the only one left. Once I’m done with her, I’m hitting on New Hampshire.”
“All right, kids.” Their father held his hands up, palms out. “That’s enough. First, this is Miles’s personal life, and he’s entitled to it just like the rest of us. Next. Everyone at this table, everyone who knows him would have no reason, whatsoever, to think he’d in any way coerce or pressure any woman, any employee into a sexual relationship.”
“Morgan may not feel that way.”
Liam let out an impatient hiss as he turned to his sister. “Come on, Nell, Morgan’s worked for us long enough to give a solid impression. If she felt pressured, and I don’t buy that, not with Miles, she’d come to you, or Grand, or Mom. Or, more likely, she’d tell Miles to back right off. I’ve seen her handle guests who come close to the line. So have you.”
“I also know she’s coming out of a trauma. Major trauma, and one that’s not over.”
“I’m aware.” He spoke coolly—a clear warning signal. “And you’re crossing the line if you think I’d take advantage of that.”
“I don’t. I’m saying she might. I need to talk with her. I do,” she pressed before Miles could speak. “I’m her direct supervisor. I’m responsible.”
“I have something to say.”
When Lydia Jameson spoke, no one interrupted.
“Rory is right in that this is Miles’s personal life, and his family needs to respect that. And his family should trust him, as he’s never given any of us reason to do otherwise.
“Nell is right,” she continued. “Though I have no doubt Miles is confident this relationship is on mutual and even ground, Nell, as Morgan’s supervisor, should have an open and frank discussion with Morgan. She’s Olivia Nash’s granddaughter, and so I have no doubt Liam is also right. If she didn’t want a relationship of this nature with Miles, she would make that clear.
“But,” she continued after a pause, “we can’t forget what she’s been through, is still dealing with. Nell, I think we’d all appreciate it if you’d arrange to have a private conversation with Morgan tomorrow. I expect you’ll have the answers and responses that allow all of us to let two unencumbered adults live their personal lives.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
“That’s settled then.” Mick knocked a fist lightly on the table. “Miles will, no doubt, respect whatever Morgan has to say on the subject.”
“Of course I will.”
“She’s a very appealing young woman.” Mick smiled with it. “On several levels. And an asset to the resort. We look after our own. I’ll add if Miles wasn’t who Miles is, he wouldn’t have brought this up at the meeting. And now, let’s fire up the grill.”
Outside, Nell made a point to draw Miles away. And watching them, Drea winced.
“Let them hash it out.” Rory gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We didn’t raise shrinking violets.”
“That’s my worry. I’d hate to see this end up in a fight.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Not even close. But you’re right, let them hash it out. We can mop up the metaphorical blood later if necessary.”
Nell drew Miles around to the side of the house. “Listen, I have to do this.”
“So you’ve said, and so everyone agreed.”
“It’s not that I don’t know you, don’t trust you.”
“It isn’t?”
“No, and you damn well know it, so get off the high horse.”
“I couldn’t get in the saddle because you took up all the room.”
She paced a few feet away, paced back again. “You’re not going to piss me off.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Miles!” She threw up her hands, then tapped her fists against her temples. “You can sympathize, you can be outraged about the idea of someone in power pressuring—in subtle or overt ways—a woman to have sex. But you can’t know what it’s like to be in that woman’s position.”
“And you do?”
“Yes, I do. I know what it’s like to feel cornered by a guy who thinks I should be interested, or grateful, or compliant. And—”
“Hold the hell on.” Taking her by the arms, he stared down at her. “Who? Who did that?”
She gave him a look, both affectionate and disdainful at once.
“Do you want me to start reeling off names since high school? I’m not going to do that. I handled it, and I’ll keep handling. But I know what it’s like, and you just can’t. And yeah, Liam’s right. I’ve seen her handle herself. But you’re not a guest, not another member of the staff. You’re the boss. So I’m going to talk to her and establish there’s not any doubt or hesitation in her about having a sexual relationship with you.
“Is it just sexual?”
“Who’s asking? The head of Hospitality or my sister?”
“I guess, in this case, it’s your sister.”
“Then I don’t know yet.”
She nodded. “That’s fair. I never know either.”
“My sister doesn’t have sexual relationships. She’s pure and untouched.”
“That’s right.” Now she patted his cheek. “Just like our mother, who conceived and bore three children through a chaste miracle.”
“That’s my theory.”
“I love you, Miles, and you didn’t piss me off, so you lose the bet.”
“Day’s not over.”
Nell went back and forth over where best to meet Morgan, and in the end texted a request to go to the Nash house on Monday at ten.
Somewhere, she thought, Morgan would feel comfortable, and after her family left for work so they’d have privacy.
When she arrived, Morgan answered the door quickly.
“Hi, thanks for seeing me. I’d forgotten what a lovely house this is. I don’t get out this way often.”
“Come on in. At first I was surprised you wanted to come by this morning, then I realized I shouldn’t have been.”
“Miles told you?”
“No, he hasn’t said anything. But I know you had a family meeting yesterday, so I guess it came up that Miles and I are seeing each other.”
“That’s just the term he used. Isn’t that interesting?”
“We’d better sit down. Why don’t we go to the great room? I can make coffee.”
“That’d be good. I have to say you can tell three women live here—and I mean that in the best possible way. It just looks feminine. Smells feminine. And oh, your yard! So pretty. I love the bird feeders.”
“Me, too. Coffee, latte, cappuccino—your choice.”
“I’d love a latte.”
“We’ll make that two. Have a seat.”
“There’s something so artistic and soothing about your backyard. I talked myself out of an apartment and bought a small house. Small enough, I told myself, so I could maintain it myself, with a yard small enough I could do the same.
“I failed.”
“I’m going to say that’s hard to believe.”
“Something always got neglected or put off. I’ll get to that tomorrow, or next week, and I know when you do that it’s just going to pile up. So I told myself I’d be more efficient if I hired someone to maintain it.”
“You’re giving people jobs that way, and paychecks,” Morgan pointed out.
“There’s that. And still, your backyard is so much more appealing and creative than mine. Is that wind chime from Crafty Arts?”
“It is.”
“I’m going to stop by there on my way to work and get one. Do you mind if we sit out on the patio?”
“One of my favorite spots.”