Holiday Man (11 page)

When, finally, they faced each other and stared deep into one another’s eyes, it was as if an unspoken agreement were forged between them and the inky-black night. If any fretful questions remained, Shannon knew they’d both chosen to disregard them.

At least until morning.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Columbus Day

“Did the birthday girl get my present?” Bram asked Shannon, long distance, of course, on October seventh.

“It’s absolutely lovely,” she said over a line so clear she might have been only across the courtyard. But she wasn’t.

Despite his original plans to return to Holiday Quinn for Columbus Day, he’d been called away to Italy on business. Venice this time, but the city’s romantic beauty was killing him this morning.

He stared out his hotel window overlooking San Marco’s Square, his gaze swinging toward the incomparable Grand Canal. Everywhere he looked, couples walked hand-in-hand through the bird-filled piazza or sat together in the distinctive black gondolas, which swept them off on an amorous ride. Venice was a city for pigeons and lovers.

Today, unfortunately, he was neither.

“I thought you might be able to wear it with that stunning cream-colored gown of yours, the one that has the golden straps,” he said, recalling the dress she’d dazzled him with on the night of the Valentine’s dance. “Every beautiful woman should have a
Murano
necklace to wear at least once a year.”

She chuckled. “Oh, I think I’ll have it on a lot more often than that. The beads are gorgeous. I can’t believe someone can make something this delicate out of glass and gold.” She paused. “Bram, thank you. It was the best gift.”

“You’re welcome. Wish I could’ve been able to give it to you in person.”

And he did. Ever since their September weekend getaway had ended on such an unsettling note, he’d craved an opportunity to be with her again—and at a place where they had a history of everything going well.

Holiday Quinn.

“I know,” she said, her voice wistful. “Me, too. But work is work, and at least yours takes you somewhere exotic.” She sighed. “I have almost two hundred guests coming this weekend, all of them expecting ‘The Voyage of Discovery’ that the Holiday Quinn brochure promises for Columbus Day, and I’m nowhere near ready.”

“Going to have little boat races with folded-paper
Ninas
,
Pintas
and Santa Marias?”

A laugh erupted from her on the other end of the line. “Yes, in fact. How did you guess? Of course, this’ll be for the Age Twelve and Under set, but still.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “When
might
you be able to come back?”

He heard the question beyond the question in her voice. He sensed she was really asking not merely
when
he was coming back but to what degree did he
want
to return.

In the weeks since Labor Day, their phone conversations, while sounding aloud almost as they had during the summer, now held an edge of carefulness. Maybe both of them had been out of their element when they were together in Madison. Maybe that accounted for this subtle discomfort between them…and her new questions within questions for him. Maybe that explained why, though he wanted her with a desire unmatched by what he’d ever experienced with another woman, he felt he needed to be a little more perceptive when it came to her reactions now, a little less certain of her responses.

All in all, these unfamiliar anxieties drained him and he wanted to put an end to them.

“I’ll be there in a couple of weeks,” he told her. “For sure. For Halloween.”

“Good, we’ve got a fun weekend planned. Oh, and don’t forget your costume.”

“You’re making the guests go trick-or-treating?”

She laughed. “No. But we
are
having a Masquerade Ball on Saturday night in honor of all ghouls, ghosts and goblins. And there’ll be candy for everyone.”

“Sounds great.” He hesitated, not sure if he should tell her yet what he’d decided to do in December. But he wasn’t a man accustomed to being intimidated into silence, weird vibe between them or not. “Shannon, I told my secretary that I was taking off the whole week between Christmas and New Year’s. I know you do a lot of special holiday events then, and I was hoping to make a reservation for them all.”

Quiet—loud and clear—met his ears.

Then, finally, “That’s...that’s wonderful, Bram,” she said, her tone a combination of surprised, excited and (did he read this right?) worried. “I can’t imagine better news.”

“Then it’s settled. Book me for the full week in the Astaire Suite, and you can fill me in on all the details when I see you on Halloween.”

“Okay,” she said, but Bram still couldn’t identify the multiple nuances of emotion in her voice. If any doubts beset her about their relationship, well, he’d just have to root them out one question mark at a time.

Because, despite their different ways of spending a weekend away from home, he had only one real burning question to ask her: Had she fallen in love with him the way he had for her?

On Halloween, he intended to find out.

***

Shannon set down the receiver and tapped out a pattern on the back of the phone with her fingernails.

Who
was
Bram
Hartwick
?

An international business mogul? A passionate
lover
? An unlikely homebody? She couldn’t pin an easy label on him. She only knew he had more sides than a decahedron, and she’d never been too fond of geometry.

She touched the delicate yet stunningly beautiful glass beads encircling her neck. This birthday token of Bram’s showcased his generosity and his terrific taste in jewelry, but a ribbon of envy wrapped itself around her throat as well, making it difficult for her to swallow.

She, too, wanted to watch as the talented artisans crafted these hand-blown beads right in front of her eyes. Despite adoring the necklace Bram had selected for her, she, too, wanted to walk into a Venetian jewelry shop and be assailed by row upon row of choices. Then, after picking her favorite, she, too, wanted to stroll alongside the canals and over the quaint, centuries-old bridges, letting the wind ruffle her hair. And later, when her fingertips would brush against her new necklace, she would be reminded of that specific, joyful memory. A memory she’d played an active part in creating.

Whenever she touched that necklace now, it reminded her of Bram’s thoughtfulness on this, her twenty-seventh birthday…but it also slammed home just how much of the world she had yet to see. How much she’d never experienced, despite inching ever closer to the dreaded age thirty.

She
so
didn’t want to get to thirty years old having never really lived.

Bram brought sophisticated excitement and a dash of international exoticness with him every time they were together, but waiting around for him to bring adventure to her doorstep wasn’t how she’d fantasized getting it.

No, indeed.

She caressed a golden bead with her index finger then tapped a lonely rhythm on the swirled glass. With a sense of determination and restless soles inside her white sneakers, she skipped downstairs to see what it would take to put some serious change into motion.

***

For over two hours she’d been staring at the financial spreadsheets on the computer in her office and going over her accounts page by page before Jake swept in, a cavalier look on his face.

“The New World is finally fit for your presence, My Queen.” He bowed deeply and twirled an imaginary mustache. Then he grinned. “Seriously, Shannon, you’ve
gotta
see the ballroom. Those florist guys finally finished with it, and it’s beginning to look positively Amazon-like.”

“Well, who could resist, then?” She frowned at her computer screen and stood up. “I could use a break from these accounts anyway.”

Jake squinted at her. “
What’cha
doing with them? Tax time is months away.”

“I know but—” Could she tell Jake where her thoughts were leading? If she did, how would he react? She took a deep breath. “But I’m not sure how long I want to run Holiday Quinn,” she admitted. “I was just checking to see how marketable the inn might be.”

His eyes widened. “Whoa. Big step.”

She nodded.

“What would you want to do instead?” he asked, taking several strides toward her.

“There’s the big mystery, Jake. I have no idea.” She paused and pointed at her necklace. “Did you know that Venice is known for its expert glass blowers?”

He shook his head.

“And that there’s a special jewelry process made famous there called
mille
fiori
, which means ‘a thousand flowers’ in Italian, and it involves lots of tiny strands of colorful glass?”

He shook his head again.

“And that there are hundreds of bridges in the city, and when you ride on a gondola, you’re supposed to kiss the person you love whenever you pass underneath one?”

He gave her a tender look. “No, I didn’t know that either. Sounds like you want to go there someday.”

“I do.” There, and just about everywhere else. “Oh, and I read once that some of the world’s prettiest pearls are found on Majorca, an island just off the eastern coast of Spain.”

“Are you looking for a good strand of pearls, Shannon?”

“No, but if I were, I’d want to go to Majorca.” She puffed out some air. “And, speaking of Spain, I really think that’s the best place to learn flamenco dancing.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “That’s on your agenda for the coming year?”

“Maybe. I might love it or I might hate it, but I won’t have any idea until I try it. And the closest I’ve ever come to it is watching some special on PBS a few years ago.”

“Hmm,” he said. “That’s not the same.”

“No.”

He shot a speculative glance her way. “You know, I’ve always wanted to watch a live bull fight. I took two years of high-school Spanish and all I can say now is
Yo
sera el matador
, ‘I am a matador.’”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Useful.”

“Very. So, I was thinking of maybe doing a European tour sometime and hitting the highlights of the continent, including Spain, of course. You know, that way I could pick up other important Spanish phrases like ‘Where is Barcelona’s best dry cleaners?’ or ‘I have no idea how to read this menu, can you help me track down and strangle my freshman-year language teacher?’ Stuff like that.”

She laughed aloud this time, and he grinned at her.

“Wanderlust hitting you pretty hard?”

She nodded. “This place is really wonderful...but I don’t think I can handle being here forever.”

“Me either, babe,” he agreed.

“Being up in Door County?” a third voice asked.

Both Shannon and Jake swiveled toward to door to see Margaret Ashland’s smiling face.

“Hi, Margaret. What’s going on?” Shannon said, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, I’m just dropping off a few extra pastries for my favorite competition.”

All of them laughed. It was clear to everyone in the small Wisconsin peninsula that, however popular Holiday Quinn might be, it was no competition for the multimillion-dollar enterprise that was The Ashland Hotel chain.

“Thanks for thinking of us, Margaret,” Jake said. “Until the guests start arriving this weekend, I’m living on tuna sandwiches and nachos.” He glanced at Shannon. “Which reminds me, I should probably spend some time in Paris learning how to cook while I’m at it.”

Margaret walked further into the room. “While you’re at what, Jake? From the sound of your conversation when I arrived, I got the impression you two were planning on doing some traveling. Am I right?”

“I hope so. Actually, I’ve been kind of saving up for some backpacking through Europe, but I didn’t know until today that Shannon was chomping at the bit as much as me.” He smiled one of his sauciest grins. “Hey, what do you know about the art of flamenco dancing, Margaret?”

Shannon elbowed Jake and rolled her eyes. “What he means is that we were fantasizing about all the fun things we could try if we ever traveled to Europe.” She glanced down at her wool sweater, white sneakers and faded jeans. Her attire had a long, long way to go before it would be appropriate for any kind of highly specialized Spanish dancing. “But all of that is still in the idea stage.”

The older woman smiled. “Yeah, I could see Shannon with a pair of castanets, couldn’t you, Jake?”

“Absolutely. And in one of those ruffled pink and black outfits with the tights and the pointy shoes.” He crossed his arms and scanned her from head to toe. “And don’t the dancers wear feathers in their hair or something?”

Shannon had put up with enough teasing. “Out of here,” she commanded to Jake. “Go inspect the New World, the boat miniatures and the pastries, will you?”

“Do I have to do it in that order?” Jake said, sliding just far enough outside of her grasp that she couldn’t swat him.

“Out!”

“I’m out, I’m out. Bye, Margaret,” he yelled from a safe distance in the hall.

“Bye, Jake,” Margaret called back, then she turned to Shannon. “He’s a good friend of yours, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“So, why not go to Europe with him?”

“With
Jake?!
” She laughed. “Well, for starters, it’s because he’ll have
mademoiselles
and
frauleins
and
senoritas
trailing him everywhere, and I’d be so busy wading through his admirers that I wouldn’t get in any sightseeing.”