Holiday Man (14 page)

Again, he was rendered nearly speechless, and all he could think in response was to murmur, “Of course I like this place, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“So, if I weren’t here, you wouldn’t ever come back?”

He blinked. “But you
are
here. This is your inn, Shannon. Aside from being gone for a vacation or something, where else would you be?”

She huffed out some air, glanced at the clock and said, “Look, I have to go, and we’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. Have a good day, Bram.” Then she strode out the door, slamming it behind her.

WTF? He just didn’t get it.

He picked up the ballet slippers that Shannon had forgotten at the edge of the carpet and wondered if this was a not-so-subtle hint that she was rejecting the Cinderella-story ending he’d been hoping for.

Though he hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d secretly been daydreaming about Prince
Charming’s
version of that particular fairy tale—where the guy and the girl get together, settle down and live happily ever after in the castle. Or, in this case, at their holiday cabin in the heart of the forest with occasional forays into the big city.

What wasn’t to love about that? Why the hell was she being so stubborn? So unwilling to fall in with his beautiful, well-constructed plans? Granted, he hadn’t actually verbalized any of these plans to her yet…but still.

He tossed his belongings into his bag, marched down to the front desk and put the slippers on the counter with a thud.

“I’m checking out,” he informed Jake, the surprised but always on the verge of sneering employee, who had to have been wondering why Bram would depart several hours early.

“Okay,”
the assistant began. “Did you want to—”

“You have my credit card information on file,” Bram said, cutting him off. “Just charge everything to that, and kindly see that Shannon gets her slippers.” He stepped away from the desk. “Thanks,” he added dismissively over his shoulder.

He didn’t give The Prick a chance to respond and, though he wouldn’t have blamed the guy for gloating a little, he didn’t look back at Jake to read his expression, so he didn’t know for sure.

Bram did, however, make it to his car in record time. He slid into the driver’s seat and started speeding westward.

Hasta
la vista, Holiday Quinn.

CHAPTER NINE

Thanksgiving

A month later, Bram was still ticked. He and Shannon hadn’t been in contact even once since Halloween.

No impromptu visits.

No sexy phone calls.

No flirtatious e-mails or text messages.

He’d tried one night to get
ahold
of her, but he’d only reached her voicemail. Then, not that he’d admit this to any living soul, he’d chickened out and hung up because he had no idea what to say.

He did, however, get both a
smail
-mail postcard and an automated text alert notifying him of the Holiday Quinn Thanksgiving Weekend festivities. There would be a Turkey Trot Dance-Off, a Pumpkin Pie Eating Contest, a Corn Husk Doll Making Demonstration and some kind of Traditional Feast of Gratitude.

Bram wasn’t feeling especially grateful.

He tossed the postcard in the trash and deleted the text, but he kept hoping—perhaps a bit irrationally—that Shannon would call him personally to talk about the upcoming inn events. And, while she was at it, she’d tell him what the hell was going on with her and explain why she’d mistakenly thought he was the bad guy in all of this. If she said she was sorry or reached out to him at all, even in some small way, he knew he’d forgive her in an instant.

But he wasn’t going to be the one to fold first. In his not so humble opinion, he didn’t have anything to apologize for anyway.

So, instead of driving to Wisconsin to see Shannon or celebrating the national holiday with his too-busy-as-always brothers, he accepted a dinner invitation from his favorite married couple, the
Wainwrights
. Gina and Trevor were both Midwestern transplants—she from the South and he from the West Coast—and they were hosting a big Thanksgiving “friends who are like family” gathering at their house.

“There’ll be a few interesting ladies there,” Gina informed him with a spirited laugh. “I think you’ll have fun.”

Bram assured her that he would, particularly since he’d be there as one of only a couple of bachelors.

He’d been downplaying his holiday visits to see Shannon, so the
Wainwrights
didn’t know the depth of his hurt. Still, Trevor eyed Bram with sympathy when he arrived alone at the house.

“Ah, thanks for the fine wine,” his buddy said, taking the bottle of white that Bram offered him. “A
Viognier
, I see. Delicious.”

“I hope you and Gina will enjoy it.” Bram glanced at the small clusters of people around the dining room table, standing in the foyer and sitting on the living room sofa. A collection of strays if Bram ever saw one, but a well-dressed and—from the sound of the conversation—a very articulate collection.

“Please make yourself at home,” Trevor said. “There are munchies on the table and I can make you whatever drink you’d like. Or,” he pointed toward the table, “there are glasses of warm spiced cider to combat the November chill.”

“I’ll start with that,” Bram said, thanking his friend, and he strode over to where the cider was being served. Steam rose from each of the stoneware mugs.

A leggy blonde in a pink mini, who introduced herself as Candy-somebody, handed him one of the mugs when he approached the table.

“Thank you,” he said, appreciating not only the kind gesture but, also, her flirtatious smile. And the simple fact that someone who was hot, sweet and—best of all—available seemed excited to see him.

“You live in the area?” Candy asked, indicating with a lift of her fair, carefully tweezed eyebrow that she hoped this was the case.

“Yes,” he replied, and then he asked a few questions about her.

How did she know the
Wainwrights
?
Gina and I went to college together.

What was her profession?
A copyright lawyer in the Twin Cities.

Did she have any pets?
Yes, a pair of parakeets named Romeo and Juliet.

He laughed. She was charming and delightful, and he and Candy chatted at length and joked with ease.

Even so…even though she wasn’t hard to spend time with, Bram knew his heart wasn’t in it. That fiery spark he’d seen in Shannon, the one that had attracted him to her from the moment they’d met in a way that was both unexpected and undeniable…that wasn’t what he felt as he talked with Candy and the other single ladies at the dinner party.

He could recognize them as being pretty (in some cases, even beautiful), but none of them were
compelling
. None would hold his interest for longer than an evening or two.

After about three hours of small talk, Bram managed to detach himself from Candy so he could hide out in the dense shadows of the den. He just needed a few minutes away from the group to sit silently and alone, sip his bourbon and attempt to rub away an impending headache with his fingertips against his temples.

He suddenly spotted Gina lugging two heavy bags of trash and a box filled with various papers and wrappings down the hall to the garage.

Bram leaped up to assist her and said, only half joking, “Why isn’t Trevor helping you or doing this for you?”

Gina grinned. “Oh, he
would
if I asked him, but when I saw that the trash bin was overflowing, he was in the middle of a conversation with his friend Liam. The two of them have been so busy with work lately that they rarely have a chance to really talk. I just didn’t want to interrupt them.”

Ah, that was sweet, Bram thought.

Not twenty minutes later, he walked through the kitchen to find Trevor simultaneously soaking a pot and scouring away a wine stain on the counter. Gina brought in a few more items and said, “You’ve dealt with so many of the dishes already, honey. I can wash up this batch—”

“Nope,” her husband told her. “I’ve got this one, too. You go ahead and grab yourself a piece of pumpkin pie. I know you haven’t had any yet.” He pecked a kiss on her nose and shooed her away. “That lady works too damn hard,” he told Bram with a smile.

But, although Bram didn’t say anything about it, he couldn’t help but recognize how thoughtful Gina and Trevor were with regards to each other. How unselfishly they both behaved. It was, Bram realized, exactly what a loving couple
should
do—both sides always keeping in mind the little ways they could help the other. Gifts of time and effort that made their spouse’s life a bit easier.

And he found himself thinking about Shannon again (honestly, when had he ever stopped?) and wondering what
she
was really feeling these days. Had he actually considered her point of view? She wasn’t a company he could “merger” or—as she put it—someone he could “acquire.” She was a complicated woman…one who, maybe, hadn’t expressed herself on this issue as well as she should have.

Still, if he were to be just like his happily married friends, shouldn’t he be working harder to see the world through her lens? To give her whatever it was that
she
needed, more than what he alone knew he wanted?

Bram got the uncomfortable feeling that, perhaps, he hadn’t been doing nearly enough of that.

***

Shannon found herself swamped with work once the Thanksgiving weekend was underway. But, when she was able to slip out for a few hours, she spent it by going no further than The Ashland Hotel. To have a quick holiday luncheon with Margaret.

Her mentor was her usual lively self.

“So, when was the last time you saw that handsome Minnesota businessman of yours, hmm?” Margaret asked around a mouthful of Ricardo’s famed cranberry and pecan stuffing. “Is he coming in for the weekend?”

Shannon shook her head. She’d managed to avoid spilling her guts to Margaret in the weeks since Halloween, but she realized that she could really use some wisdom and advice. She found herself trying to explain what it was that had frustrated her so much about Bram’s comments last month. His quick dismissal of her travel dreams. His inability to be comfortable with their relationship anywhere outside of Holiday Quinn. His insistence that she stay in the tiny box in which he’d placed her.

Her older friend listened intently before speaking. “Shannon, there are many things I regret about your parents dying so young. Not only do I miss them as friends and neighbors, but I’m aware of how much responsibility their being gone has put on you.”

Margaret reached across the table and clasped Shannon’s hands in her own. “The thing is, you’ve handled it well, but it came at a heavy cost. I think you know the time is now to take stock of your life and where it’s going. Time to look at the patterns you have in place and decide which you want to keep and which you’d prefer to change. Any man who might have a chance at being part of your world long term needs to be let in on these decisions. Much as you may wish he were psychic, you can’t necessarily expect him to know what you want and what you feel without telling him.”

Shannon nodded. What Margaret was saying had the deep ring of truth to it. Looking back, perhaps she had been expecting Bram to understand too much. To be able to perceptively see what she’d hoped for and dreamed of without ever spelling it out for him.

And, in truth, there had been a number of plans and ideas she’d barely acknowledged to herself. Hopes for the future that she hadn’t dared to say aloud for fear they wouldn’t work out…or, perhaps, for fear they
would
.

Back at Holiday Quinn that evening, Shannon found herself looking at her current life with the sentimentality of someone about to leave it. The regulars who visited the inn—like the Bakers—and the staff that worked all the major events—especially Jake—had become her surrogate family. She truly cared about them.

And she cared very much about Margaret, too. A woman who understood—in a way Shannon suspected a parent might—that, at some point, most kids needed to leave the nest in order to grow up.

If they later chose to come back, they’d know then exactly why they were returning.

On Sunday morning, as the final guests were checking out and preparing to drive to their respective homes, Shannon came to a decision. One that, on some deeply subconscious level, she knew had been made for months. Its execution, however, was going to depend on others.

“Keith? Darlene?” she said to the Bakers when they walked through the lobby with their luggage, including the massive stuffed animal (a turkey, of course) that they’d won in the Turkey Trot Dance-Off. Shannon grinned at them. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

“Sure,
dearie
!” Darlene said.

Her husband nodded. “With you? Anytime.”

“Good,” she replied, motioning them into her office. “Because I have a business proposition for you both, and I’m hoping my idea might appeal to you.”

CHAPTER TEN

Christmas

Shannon stared at the blinking cursor of her computer screen and at the still unwritten message she’d been trying to compose—with a stunning lack of success—for the past hour. She’d gotten as far as:

Dear Bram,

How are you?

Then she ran out of ideas.

It was, however, two weeks before Christmas and, much as she would love to see him again and not ever have another argument with him, they still hadn’t recovered from their Halloween standoff. A month and a half of avoidance on both their parts was hardly healthy relationship behavior.

Although, he
had
tried to contact her once…

She’d seen his number come up as a missed call on her phone back in mid-November. And she’d waited and waited, hoping he’d call back or send her some other kind of message.

But he hadn’t.

Then it was Thanksgiving and, ever since, she’d been working sixty-hour weeks between her regular job at The Ashland Hotel and the transitioning she’d been doing to prepare for the official sale of Holiday Quinn, which would be coming up a few weeks into the New Year.

All these moments of busy insanity hadn’t stopped her from
thinking
about Bram, though. A lot. But the longer they didn’t talk, the more awkward it felt to try to strike up a conversation out of nowhere. Even if that conversation was one-sided and electronic.

I hope everything has been going well for you.

I’ve miss you so much—

No, no, no, no!

She deleted that last line.

I’ve been thinking about you and had wondered if you were still planning to visit Holiday Quinn during the Christmas/New Year’s Celebration Week. You’d made the reservation several months ago, but…

Shannon paused.

…but you walked out of the inn without a word and, since then, we’ve both been too stubborn to reach out or to apologize.

Definitely no.

Not that this wasn’t the truth, but it just wasn’t something that should be said via e-mail.

…but I would understand if your holiday plans have changed.

Please let me know when you have a moment. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

With best wishes,

Shannon

She took a deep breath and clicked SEND.

Then she rested her arms on her desk and flopped her head down on top of them. One measly e-mail and she was as exhausted as if she’d just run a marathon.

Jake, who was at the inn helping to pull the Christmas decoration boxes out of storage, strolled by her office, glanced once in her direction and laughed. “You look like you’re ready for a long winter’s nap, Mrs. Claus. Need a cup of coffee?”

Shannon raised her head up just far enough to shake it. “I need more than a cup,” she admitted. “A vat of peppermint-mocha lattés topped with whipped cream and red-and-green sprinkles would, actually, be perfect. Can you tell Santa to bring me that?”

He grinned. “Only if you’re good.” He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket and tossed the colorful pamphlet on her desk. “Spain,” he said simply. “Think about it.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, whistling “Here Comes Santa Claus” as he went.

She groaned.

Jake certainly knew how to entice her. Almost every day in the two weeks since the Bakers had enthusiastically agreed to buy Holiday Quinn (with Margaret Ashland as their adviser, when needed), Jake had been plying Shannon with travel brochures—all featuring alluring places around the globe. He’d already tempted her with seductive, exotic locales in the Caribbean, South America and a number of Pacific islands, and he was now working his way through the wonders of Europe and Asia.

She flipped open the information on Spain. The sunny image of the gorgeous Costa del Sol stood in marked contrast to the snowy image outside her window. She wrapped her arms around herself—hoping the cable-knit sweater she wore would ward off some of the Arctic-like chill in the air around her—and she daydreamed about strolling along the lush, vibrant, nearly subtropical beaches of southern Spain.
Mmm
.

The phone jarred her out of her fantasy, and she reached for it reflexively, without checking the Caller ID first.

“Holiday Quinn,” she said.

“Shannon?” a male voice she hadn’t heard in six weeks said. The mere rumble of him saying that single word—her name—registered deep in her abdomen, and she realized just how much she’d missed him.

“Bram.” It came out soft and breathy, but she didn’t care. She felt lucky to be able to speak at all.

“I got your e-mail,” he said.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She slowly exhaled. Ah. That was why he was calling. She steeled herself for his next comments, certain a cancellation was coming…and then, she knew, she’d never see or hear from him again.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you that.”

And she just melted into a puddle.

She apologized, too, for not reaching out to him sooner and confessed to having missed him a great deal. “I think we need to talk,” she said, feeling the elation of hope for the first time in a long time. “In person.”

He agreed and said he’d called to ask her to keep his weeklong reservation He’d blocked out the vacation time back in early-October and fully intended to use it.

“I’d really like for us to discuss what, exactly, happened on Halloween, Shannon. To see if we can move forward from there.”

“Okay,” she whispered. Then she made herself add, “There have been some changes since you were last here.”

The pause on the line was interminable.

“With you? Your relationships?” he asked finally. “Is there…somebody else now?”

“No!” she said quickly. “It’s nothing like that.” But she found she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the impending sale of the inn over the phone. It seemed too impersonal a method for someone like Bram. Someone who’d grown so attached to the place.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to require any further explanations. “Oh, good,” he said, relief in his voice. And he left it at that.

Shannon knew in that moment that he hadn’t gotten himself a new significant other in the interim either, and she was surprised by the power of her gratitude for that small blessing. No doubt, he would have had the opportunity, especially in a populous area like Minneapolis/St. Paul or on one of his many business trips to Milan or Tokyo or wherever.

Instead, they talked about the weather for a few minutes, determining that it was equally cold in both Minnesota and Wisconsin—hardly news for December in the Midwest—but that was the kind of easy chitchat Shannon needed after their earlier, heart-pounding conversation. Then, before they hung up, they settled on the plan to spend as much of the upcoming holiday week together as possible.

She was sweating, she noticed, as she took her hand off the receiver and saw the wetness left behind on the phone. And she had to completely pull off her sweater for a few minutes and walk around the office in just the t-shirt she’d worn underneath until she could lower her body temperature to a range closer to normal again.

All signs—physical and emotional—pointed toward one scary realization: She was far more invested in her relationship with Bram than she’d ever wanted to acknowledge and, soon, the fate of their future would be determined.

She couldn’t help but hope that everything would magically work out, of course. Wasn’t that what angels and Christmas miracles were for?

But she had an uncomfortable foreboding sensation that lingered deep within her and carved out little pockets of worry in her gut. She couldn’t help but fear she’d been right from the very beginning on two important points:

One, that Bram’s interest in her was tied to Holiday Quinn and would fade quickly without her continued connection to this place.

And, two, that she and Bram might share a steamy romance for a few seasons but, ultimately, they were too different to be destined to stay together for long.

***

Bram pulled into the Holiday Quinn parking lot at 6:47 p.m. Christmas Eve, turned off the car engine and opened the driver’s side door, taking several fortifying breaths of the wintry air.

The scent of snow mingling with pine grounded him in the moment. And the flashing holiday lights, which surrounded the inn with color and brightened up the dark December sky, reminded him that it was, in fact, supposed to be a time of celebration.

He’d been on the road much of the day, driving with a feeling of nervous anticipation usually reserved only for big corporate takeovers or long sit-down conversations with his father. Since it had been several years since he’d experienced either, the tense edginess that had been lurking inside of him all day could only mean one thing: Shannon.

He wasn’t a man prone to doubting himself or second guessing his decisions, but he’d been mentally running scenarios for hours about how it would go seeing her again after nearly two months apart. Would they fall right back into the patterns they’d begun when they first met…or had that only been an illusion? How well did they know each other
really?
And was he a fool to care so much about what she thought of him? Or to imagine that they had a shot at a life together?

Bram didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, but he was determined to find out once and for all.

He stepped out of the car, grabbed his bag and, with determined strides, marched toward the front entrance.

It was like the movie set of
Holiday Inn
come to life. When he walked inside, it seemed as though they’d imported the soundstage for the film and transplanted it to eastern Wisconsin.

Guests milled around the lobby like cast members, dressed in cozy winter garments and sipping cups of cocoa with candy canes as stirring sticks.

Snowflake clings adorned every window and the soft sounds of “White Christmas,” complete with jingling bells, played in the background along with the hum and chatter of the happy couples.

There was a hint of peppermint in the air (from the candy canes, no doubt) melding with the scent of pine from the large Christmas tree in the corner. A beautifully decorated blue spruce, lavishly trimmed with tiny white lights and silver and gold ornaments.

Bram saw an angel in white atop the tree, complete with gossamer wings, a fur-lined cloak and glinting silver sequins…but he knew the
real
angel was dressed in a red sweater and standing behind the counter, checking in the guests.

“Ah.
Hartwick
, you’ve returned,” Jake the Prick said coldly.

The chill from behind him made Bram shiver as he turned to stare down the guy. He gave his best attempt at a Machiavellian scowl. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, I have.”

There was something different about the assistant this time, though, Bram realized as Jake stared back. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but he felt a definite undercurrent of change behind Jake’s expression. Almost as though the assistant knew something that he felt gave him an advantage. He looked bolder as a result.

The mask is fully off. The jester has gone into fighting mode
, Bram thought.

He intensified his glare at the other man and watched as Jake’s green eyes twinkled with a brighter light of cunning than Bram had ever seen.

One side of The Prick’s mouth quirked upward. Then, as if laughing at an inside joke that Bram wasn’t in on, the assistant said, “Hope you’ll enjoy your
final
stay.” There was a significant pause. “Of the year.”

Before Bram could respond, he heard his name. He looked up and saw Shannon waving to him from behind the counter. When he glanced back at Jake, he found the other man had disappeared. Odd.

He walked up to Shannon. It’d been too long since he’d last seen her in person. Not that he’d forgotten anything, just that she was
more
vibrant,
more
alluring than even he had remembered. He had to tell his heart to slow down, force himself to take deeper breaths before he could speak.

“It’s good to see you, Shannon,” he managed. “Very good.”

She didn’t reply at all at first. She just smiled at him. That was enough.

Then, finally, she said, “It’s good to see you, too.” She fiddled with the computer for a moment before handing him his keycard. “The Astaire Suite is waiting for you.”

He took the plastic card from her, caressing her hand in the process. He could see her pause. Hold her breath. Swallow a time or two. A line was beginning to form behind them. He knew he had her attention for only a moment more.

“When will you be free?” he asked in a low voice.

“Ten-thirty,” she murmured. “The evening events should be over no later than that.”

Bram picked up his few items and leaned across the counter until his head was only a few inches from hers. “Until then, Shannon.”

***

Her heart pounded in double time as she knocked on the door to the Astaire Suite. Seeing Bram again, just a few hours ago, brought rushing back every single memory they’d shared since February.