Stranded At Cupid's Hideaway. Connie LaneЧитать онлайн книгу.
in unison from both Noah and Laurel, and they looked each other square in the eye for the first time, as if deciding who should go first. Noah won. Of course. Noah always won.
“I’m afraid I don’t have time for dinner,” he said and the familiar voice caused a tingle to sparkle up Laurel’s spine.
She warned herself that tingling was not in her own best interests and, turning, gave her grandmother the kind of look that was known to quell noisy preschool patients and whiny senior citizens who more often than not gave her a hard time about getting their flu shots. “He doesn’t have time for dinner,” she said, and before she could convince herself this was a perfectly ordinary conversation in perfectly normal circumstances, she turned to Noah. “Why don’t you have time for dinner? What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I just need to get the—” Realizing he was explaining to the wrong person, Noah swung his gaze from Laurel to Maisie. “If you could just get it for me,” he said. “I’ll get out of here. I have a meeting in Chicago tomorrow and a flight out of Cleveland tonight.”
“Tonight? Oh.” Maisie’s smile wilted around the edges. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Oh, dear.” Her eyes wide, she looked to Laurel for help.
With a sigh, Laurel surrendered. “What Maisie means,” she told Noah, “is that it’s seven forty-five. The last ferry for the mainland left forty-five minutes ago.”
Noah pinned Maisie with a look. “Are you telling me—”
Maisie turned to Laurel.
Feeling like an interpreter caught in the middle of two people who weren’t going to speak the same language, even if one of them knew what the other was saying, Laurel rolled her eyes. “What that means is you can’t leave. Not tonight.” Another thought occurred to her and she brightened. “Unless you charter a plane over at the airport and—”
“Oh, I don’t think so, dear.” Maisie’s grin was as sheepish as her smile was mischievous. “Frank at the airfield has a granddaughter, you know. And today’s her birthday. He left for Toledo this morning, so he could celebrate with the family. I hear he’s not coming back until tomorrow.”
“So…” There was only one conclusion, but apparently Noah didn’t quite have the nerve to put it into words. Whatever he was doing there, it was obvious he was getting more than he bargained for.
“So you’ll stay the night!” Maisie’s mind was made up, and she brushed her hands together as if she could get rid of the problem that easily.
But, though Maisie knew Noah, she didn’t know him nearly as well as Laurel did. And Laurel knew he wasn’t about to get railroaded. Getting railroaded wasn’t his style. Especially when getting railroaded meant staying on the island.
It was the second time in as many minutes that Laurel’s memories threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t give a damn if Maisie noticed. She intended on reading her grandmother the riot act later for cavorting with the enemy. But come hell or high water, there was no way she was going to let Noah know how much seeing him again had thrown her for a loop.
Desperate for some time alone to process everything that was happening, Laurel grabbed the stack of towels and went to the linen room on the far side of the lobby. She pushed the door open and set the towels on an empty shelf, and when she saw that they weren’t stacked just right, she pulled them out and piled them up again. She wasn’t stalling. At least that’s what she told herself. Right after she told herself that the one and only reason her hands were shaking, and her knees were weak, and her heart was flopping around like a Lake Erie walleye was that there was a touch of flu going around the island and she’d probably picked up the bug at the clinic.
The strategy worked. For exactly fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of peace and quiet. Fifteen seconds of deluding herself. Fifteen seconds, and she knew there was only so long she could hide.
Smoothing a hand over her green-and-blue sweater, Laurel forced herself to the front desk. She was just in time to see Maisie shaking her head.
“No room at the hotel over near the marina,” she was telling Noah. “Booked solid. Fishermen. I know that for a fact because I saw them check in this morning when I stopped in to say hello.”
“Then there’s got to be another bed-and-breakfast,” Noah ventured. He must have realized how tacky he sounded because he amended the statement instantly. “Not that this doesn’t look like a terrific place. It does. Maisie, you’ve done wonders with it. But it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else staying here tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble just because of me, and—”
“No trouble at all!” Maisie grinned like the Cheshire cat. “And you’re right. There are no other guests. You’ll have your pick of the rooms. Won’t that be nice? Now let’s see. What do you need?” Her snowy eyebrows raised, Maisie looked around as if she expected to find Noah’s luggage. Of course, he didn’t have any. When he walked into Cupid’s Hideaway, he had no intention of staying.
“Toothbrush? Toothpaste? Comb? Mouthwash?” Maisie ticked off the list on her fingers. “We have it all in the gift shop, but of course we wouldn’t expect an old friend to pay.”
“He’s not an old friend,” Laurel said.
“I’m not an old friend,” Noah concluded at the same time.
Maisie laughed, the sound of it brushing softly against the lacy curtains and the pink lightbulbs and the gold cherubs painted on the ceiling, which featured a perfect blue sky studded with fluffy white clouds. “Of course you are,” she said, firmly ignoring Laurel. She turned a smile on Noah that was every bit as persuasive as his own and blushed as pink as the angora sweater she was wearing. “You’re my old friend. I hope you haven’t forgotten that. And I would never ask an old friend to be anything but a guest in my establishment. No more arguments,” she said when Noah opened his mouth to speak. “It’s my fault you missed the ferry. I should have warned you the schedule has changed now that it’s fall and the tourist season is over. The least I can do is offer you a place to stay for the night and a nice, hot breakfast in the morning. Be a sweetie, will you, Laurel? Help Noah pick out what he needs from the gift shop and then get him settled in a room.”
Gift shop? Room?
For a couple minutes, Laurel had been lulled into thinking she had some semblance of control. She’d spoken to Noah, she’d stood within three feet of him and she hadn’t lost her cool or the self-respect it had taken her four long years to rebuild. But now Maisie was asking the impossible. The gift shop? Laurel looked that way. Because it was late and there were no guests, the lights in the shop were off but she knew what was waiting in the darkness beyond the closed door. Edible underwear. Furry handcuffs. See-through nighties. Just thinking about it all made Laurel’s face get hot and her insides turns to mush. The gift shop with anyone else, she could handle. The gift shop with Noah? She curled her fingers into her palms and wrapped her thumbs around them, fighting to regain control.
Walking into Maisie’s gift shop with Noah would be like walking through Yellowstone Park with a Hi Bears! I’ve Got Food sign around her neck.
“Grandma, I—”
Before Laurel could say another word, the front door popped open and a familiar voice echoed through the inn. “Where’s my little honey bunch?”
At the sight of Dr. Sam Ross, Maisie’s cheeks got a little rosier and her twinkle intensified. Doc Ross was a mainstay on the island, a general practitioner who had been treating everything from broken bones to tourists who had partied a little too hardy, for as long as Laurel could remember. He’d retired four years earlier and much to Laurel’s delight, he had accepted her offer to buy his practice. Doc Ross was a big, blunt man with a ruddy complexion and iron-gray hair. In the over-seventy crowd, he was the pick of the litter, the bachelor most sought after by the island’s blue-haired matrons. Much to their dismay, Doc only had eyes for Maisie. There was no doubt that Maisie returned his affections, but no chance, or so she said, that she was looking for anything