Home > Hotshot and Hospitality (Green Valley Library, #8)(9)

Hotshot and Hospitality (Green Valley Library, #8)(9)
Author: Nora Everly

“I’m sorry I called you a buttface,” I announced to the room, because why not go all the way down the embarrassment spiral. Also, it was the right thing to do and acting like a grown-up was always a good idea. Maturity for the win!

He chuckled. “I forgive you.”

I exchanged a glance with an equally bug-eyed Leo as I stood up to get the heck out of this kitchen. It was pulsating with testosterone in here, and it was dangerous to my girlie parts. They were already swirling with barely suppressed lust over Garrett.

“Take a last look around, y’all. Make sure you have everything you want to keep,” Garrett instructed.

Landon slid up next to me to put his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, Leo and I got all of Dad’s stuff out of here,” he whispered into my ear.

I nodded and glanced around the kitchen, suddenly flooded with childhood memories. The fact that Garrett was here today emphasized how much this place was going to change. The last time he was in this kitchen with me, we had been kids and my dad had been at the stove making us pancakes. My dad had loved to cook breakfast for dinner—pancakes and bacon, biscuits and gravy, strawberry scones for his favorite girl in the world . . .

My nose tingled. The tears were imminent but I didn’t want to cry, so I fought it like I always did, managing to beat back most of the emotions and only letting a huge sigh escape instead of an avalanche of sad feels. “Okay! So, I have to go check on stuff. I’m going to take a break. Listen for the phone for me, Landon?” My voice was falsely bright, a high squeak choking its way out of my throat.

“I got you, sweetie.” No sweetie, no kindness, definitely no no no to sympathy, empathy, and soft eyes that understood—and Landon understood. He took care of me after our father died. He was there for all of us. He was twenty-three years old when our dad died. He came back here and took over the inn, took over our family. His big-brother/surrogate-father sweetness caused tears instead of preventing them. I inhaled a huge breath and held it as he continued. “Take the rest of the day off if you need to. Hear?” With a nod, I turned tail and all but ran through the dining room, across the lobby and out the front door of the inn. I stopped on the porch and looked side to side trying to decide where to hide out.

I couldn’t go home; either he or Leo would be on their way to check on me and I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. For moments like this, I preferred to be alone so I could miss my father in peace for a minute before I reburied my feelings and built my walls back up. When people were around, they always wanted to talk about it, or reminisce with me, or try to make me feel better when I knew I would never be better when it came to missing my dad. It would just be different, always different. Bursts of grief like this would always hit at random. We all got them. We all expected it, even though it was impossible to predict a trigger. It was the entire rest of my life that I could never seem to get a handle on—he was gone and never coming back. There was no way to put that into an acceptable perspective, no matter how hard I tried, so I preferred to avoid thinking about him entirely.

Behind me, I felt pounding footsteps echo beneath my feet from the other side of the door. I darted aimlessly off the porch, through the rose garden at the side of the inn and across the lawn toward the tree line near the state park. Part of the forested area belonged to us, but once the land began to ascend into the mountains, it was no longer ours.

I swung open the gate in the picket fence and stepped through the trellis onto the brush-covered dirt that led into the woods. The forest was sparse right here, but it grew denser as it moved up the foothills until there was nothing but colorful treetops as far as the eye could see. From yellow to russet to brown, the trees unfurled up the mountain like an earthbound autumnal rainbow. The ever-present mountain mist swirled between my feet as I walked to my treehouse destination. My father and Bill Monroe, Garrett’s dad, had built it years ago for us kids to play in. Bill’s involvement meant this was no ordinary treehouse. Its twin turrets and faux stone facade gave it a magical feel, like a castle in the trees. I could live in it if necessary; it had electricity, running water, and a small bathroom and kitchen. Everything you would ever need was inside. Bill came out to inspect it every so often, to make sure it was safe for Abbie and any future Cooper offspring to play in.

“Aunt Molly, wait for me! My legs are too short!” I whirled around with a smile and braced for impact as Abbie took a flying leap into my arms. Lucky for her, I too was short, so the leap was not a big one. “Daddy said to give you emergency hugs and here I am!” she yelled in my ear. We were still working on decibel levels when it came to her and my hearing. I glanced over her shoulder to see Jordan, still in his work clothes, heading out of the rose garden toward me. Jordan was divorced. His wife left him when Abbie was a baby to make it big in Nashville. So far, she had managed to make it medium. She was currently employed as a studio backup singer and waitress. They shared custody of Abbie and occasionally shared a night together, if you know what I mean.

“You okay, Molls?” he asked. He must have arrived right after I ran off.

I nodded while Abbie answered. “My hugs are helping her already! Look at her smile, Daddy!”

I kissed the top of her head. “Your hugs are the best, Abbie. I feel better already.” And I did. Over the years, I had perfected the art of shoving my sorrow out of my head. It usually required a few minutes alone to regroup, or a distraction—and Abbie was my favorite distraction. The loss hit hard sometimes, but I’d grown adept at compartmentalizing it. Ninety-nine percent of the time I could nip it in the bud before it took over my day.

“You sure you’re alright?” he questioned. Jordan was a sweetheart and his ex-wife was an idiot for leaving him.

“Yeah, it’s just the usual. I had a moment in the kitchen. Memories, you know?”

“Gotcha. Yeah, it’s going to be weird when it’s different in there. It’s bringing up a lot of memories for me too.” He smiled. “Remember when—”

“I don’t want to think about it anymore, Jordan. I’m sorry. But I’ll hang out with Abbie if you want to go get something to eat and take a nap?” I offered.

His smile was knowing and sympathetic. I had to look away from him. “Okay, Molls. Thanks, I’ll take you up on that. I’m beat.”

Abbie yelled her enthusiasm in my ear again. “Yay! Can I brush your hair? Daddy, will you bring us cookies and milk in the treehouse?”

“Yep, I sure will. Then I’ll crash for a couple hours, okay, Molly?” Jordan leaned over to smack a kiss on Abbie’s cheek, then mine, before turning away to the inn.

“Fine with me,” I agreed, glad that he dropped the Dad subject. I felt bad that I never talked about him with my brothers, but it was just too much for me to handle and I was afraid it probably always would be. Luckily, they understood me.

I set Abbie down and held her hand as we crossed the rest of the distance to the spiral staircase that led up into the treehouse. I pushed up the hinged door, we climbed through, and I sat at the small table-and-chair set on the deck that surrounded the interior space. Abbie went behind me to search through my hair for the pins holding my bun in place.

“Your hair feels weird. It’s all crispy when the pins come out of it,” she mused.

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