Until It Fades

  “It is,” I have to agree. Even overcast, the sun struggling to push through for what the weather claimed would be a “sunny and hot afternoon,” it’s a pleasant drive. A glimpse of blue water catches my eye. “That’s Jasper Lake, up ahead. Donovan, can you take the next left?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Remember that street I was telling you about? It’s the nicest part of Balsam.”

  “Right.” Brett nods, taking in the line of stately Victorian houses on either side.

  “I’ll bring you here at the holidays so you can see the lights. It’s like something out of a Christmas card. It’s my favorite time.” But truthfully, there isn’t a season that doesn’t look spectacular here. Oak trees form a canopy over the vast manicured front lawns of old stately homes. It doesn’t matter if it’s a long, hot lazy summer day or the frigid dead of winter, Jasper Lane is charming for anyone, visitor or otherwise.

  I smile. “And that’s the Gingerbread House, up here on the right.”

  “This house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, pull over, Don.”

  Donovan stops, allowing us a glimpse where the tall hedge parts for the long paved driveway. I sigh as I take in the three stories of Victorian grandeur. “They must have painted this spring.” The buttery yellow siding and white trim details pop against the ebony shingles, also new from the looks of it.

  “It’s a nice house.” Brett’s thoughtful gaze rolls over it. “It looks exactly like that picture you drew.”

  “You remember?”

  “I remember everything about that night.” His chuckle dies off around the same time that my cheeks begin to flush, hoping Donovan doesn’t pick up on his meaning.

  “You should see the inside. That time they had the open house? I didn’t want to leave.”

  Brett frowns, as if an idea is forming. “Well, let’s go and see it, then.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s go and see inside.”

  I’m shaking my head, laughing. “Someone lives there now.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Some rich people.”

  He grins. “Perfect. Rich people love me. Let’s go and introduce ourselves. Don?”

  Donovan backs the SUV up and pulls into the driveway.

  “Oh, my God. You’re actually serious?”

  “Of course I am. I almost burned to death in a car. After that, I’m not afraid of knocking on a door. I’m surprised you are, actually.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  He reaches over to squeeze my knee. “If you want to see inside that house, I’m going to make it happen for you.”

  “They’re not going to just let us walk into their house! Besides, no one’s home.” I’m guessing. There’s a detached triple garage off to the side, which could be housing their cars.

  He nods toward the puddled divots in the pavement. “Those are tire marks, there.”

  “Still!”

  “Don’t worry, I do this all the time.”

  “You show up at strange people’s houses all the time?”

  He chuckles. “Trust me. You wouldn’t believe what people agree to. Plus, you’re a local celebrity. What’s the worst they can say?”

  “But . . . we can’t do this!”

  Brett pauses, his hand on the door handle. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” I don’t have a good reason besides that it’s crazy and presumptuous.

  He pushes his door open and climbs out, that mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Come on.”

  I shake my head. This is a side of Brett I’ve never seen before. “Does he do this a lot?”

  Donovan smiles but says nothing.

  Brett throws open my door and stands there, waiting, his hand out.

  “I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” I say, sliding out.

  “Don’t you want to show it to me?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Come on, then.” He tugs on my hand, his fingers through mine sending a thrill through my body. “We’ll do it together.”

  I fall into a slow-paced walk with him as we take the path toward the stately wraparound porch, his steps with the new cast tentative. “You’re doing all the talking. I’m not saying a single word,” I warn him.

  That doesn’t seem to bother Brett, as he grabs the knocker and bangs against the solid oak door, and I clench my thighs together, a sudden rush of nerves making me feel like I have to pee.

  “Hmm . . .” He frowns, cupping his hands around his eyes and leaning against one of the stained-glass panels that bank either side of the door.

  I glance around at the neighboring houses, to see if anyone’s watching. This feels like the kind of neighborhood where people keep an eye out for each other. Luckily—for us—the houses are spread too far apart and a line of bushes and evergreens separates us from the closest one, blocking the view of the porch. “We should leave. This is trespassing. Can we go?” As anxious as I am, I feel a teensy bit disappointed. Part of me must have hoped this crazy idea of Brett’s would work.

  “Yeah. I guess.” He sighs. “Another time.”

  I move to lead the way down the steps. The door creaking open stalls me.

  I turn around just as Brett steps through the front door, a key sitting in the lock.

  Chapter 31

  “It’s way nicer than that sell sheet you showed me,” Brett muses, standing in the foyer, the grand spiral staircase that reaches all the way to the third floor in front of him. “You said there was another staircase somewhere?”

  They do have another staircase—a narrow and steep one to reach the room in the attic. But I can’t explain that to him right now, because I’m speechless. My footfalls echo through the wide, vacant place as I wander, my gaze taking in the rooms bare of furniture, the walls empty of art but with rectangular dust marks where the pictures hung. As if someone recently removed them.

  “What did you do?” I ask in an eerily calm voice, though I think I already know what Brett did.

  Brett bought the Gingerbread House.

  “Turns out Mr. and Mrs. Chase were thinking of selling this place. They’d bought it as a summer home for their family, but they could already see that they weren’t going to get enough use out of it. Plus, it was too much work for them.” Brett strolls over to pick a picture hanger out off the wall.

  They were thinking of selling it. As in . . . “So you asked them if you could buy it?” How is it possible that Brett Madden bought a house in Balsam and the entire town hasn’t heard about it already?

  “Yeah. Well, not me. A representative. My lawyer, actually. Signing on my behalf. Kept my name out of the paperwork. That’s pretty common. My parents do it all the time.”

  Okay. I’m trying to wrap my head around this. Brett bought the Gingerbread House.

  And Brett knows that this is my and Brenna’s dream house.

  I’m no idiot. I just can’t believe this is happening.

  “What?” He asks casually, barely managing to keep a straight face.

  “Why did you buy this house?”

  He doesn’t answer me, instead wandering farther down the hall. “The kitchen could use an update, but it’s a good size. What do you think?” I find him standing in the middle of the spacious and bare farmhouse-style kitchen. “Could knock out this wall . . .”

  “Brett.”

  He slides his hand along the surface of the industrial-size stainless steel fridge. “This is new, but the stove needs replacing . . .”

  “Brett.”

  Finally, he stops to look at me. “I was thinking about what you said, about this being a big tourist town and there not being enough of these kinds of places. I figured a little business venture might be a good idea. For me.”

  “So you’re saying that you bought this place . . . for you?” I wasn’t expecting that answer.

  “Yeah.” He says it so innocently, I almost believe him.

  “You want to own an inn.” r />
  “Why not?”

  “You, Brett Madden,” my gaze drifts over his muscular six-foot-two frame, “giant NHL hockey legend, son of a Hollywood movie star, want to open an inn in Balsam, Pennsylvania.”

  He shrugs, still maintaining a neutral expression. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. This is all just a little too familiar to me for some reason.”

  He’s on the move again, through the kitchen and into the small den. “This faces east, so I thought it’d be a cool place for guests to have their breakfast.”

  “Did you, now . . .”

  I trail him through a set of French doors and into a room with a fireplace. “And I figure this room could be closed off and converted into a dining room, for small events. I can hire a chef. There are some good local chefs, right?”

  I bite my tongue.

  “What do you think? Good idea?”

  I think that I have this room marked as the dining room in my sketchbook, and, despite being drunk and flipping through it only once, he somehow remembers it. That’s what I think.

  When I don’t answer, he leads me out and around the corner, down a hallway. “This here was one of the big selling features. For me, of course.” He pushes the door open. “There’s a separate two-bedroom apartment, so I could live here comfortably, away from any guests.”

  Is he being serious? Or is this all part of whatever game he’s playing at? “You’re going to live in Balsam?”

  He frowns. “Well, yeah. Of course. How else am I going to manage things around here?”

  He’s so good at screwing with me, I nearly let myself get excited at the prospect of it being true.

  “It’ll take months to renovate the rest of the place. I’ve gotta decide on a good contractor. Local, ideally. I’ve heard that Boyd & Sons are the best around here.”

  “From Belmont, yeah. They come into Diamonds sometimes,” I agree, still in shock, following him into the living room.

  He pauses to glance at me. “I’ve got a few great ideas, too, to make it homey.” He reaches up to run a hand through his hair, throwing it into sexy disarray. “I was thinking about a nice forest-green duck wallpaper for this room. Maybe a few stuffed birds mounted on the wall, over there and there. And I’m going to take up hunting in the fall. Hopefully, I’ll bag a buck. Or a couple. One head over each table. What do you think?”

  When he glances back again to see the horror clearly splayed across my face, his face cracks into a broad grin. “Finally, a reaction! Jeez!”

  I close my eyes as a giant sigh of relief sails from my lips. “You’re joking.”

  “Fuck! Of course I’m joking. Have you seen my condo? Half the time I’m not sure I should dress myself.”

  My eyes drift over his gray shorts and black golf shirt. Even in ratty sweatpants, Brett would always looks good.

  He slips his hand through mine. “Come on, I want to show you something else. It’s another idea I have.”

  “Oh, really.” I should be furious with him, but my excitement is overshadowing everything.

  He unfastens the lock on the French doors. I inhale the smell of wet grass as we step out onto the covered porch. A large wrought-iron table sits in the center and around it are lounge chairs with plush rust-colored cushions. They’re well kept but not brand-new and I know he didn’t have these at his condo, so I’m guessing the old owners left them behind.

  “When did they move their things out?”

  “Tuesday. It closed yesterday.”

  “That’s . . .” I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. He only learned about this house—what it meant to Brenna and me—a few weeks ago. That means he’s been negotiating this behind my back all this time, and quickly.

  That phone call.

  The night we stayed at his condo in Philly, I overheard him talking to someone, telling them to offer whatever they wanted, that he didn’t want it getting back to me.

  This is what he was talking about.

  “That was fast” is all I can manage.

  He frowns, scratching at a tiny crack in one of the glass panels of the French door, saying almost absently, “People will do anything for enough money.”

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  Brett must notice my face paling, just imagining what he must have thrown at them to get them to up and move just like that. “It’s a smart investment, Cath. For me.”

  “And sorry, tell me, what were you going to name this inn?”

  He twists his lips. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m sure it’ll come to me, though.”

  “Right . . .”

  He gestures at the open space next to the porch, where a flagstone patio currently resides. “I want to build one of those glass rooms over there.” His face scrunches up with confusion. “What are they called?”

  “A conservatory?”

  “Yeah. Exactly. I’ve always wanted one, and when I looked at that open space, I just knew that’s what had to go there.”

  I can’t help the deep belly laugh that slips from my lips as I listen to him regurgitate almost word for word my plans for the Gingerbread House.

  “What?” He turns and heads back into the house, but not before I catch the struggle not to smile in his jaw.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .” I’m speechless. He’s planned this all out perfectly, but I’m not fooled. Not for one second. I’m sure that in an hour or two the shock will wear off, but until then, there’s a sizable prickly knot in my throat. “I’m having a very hard time . . .” Accepting this, I want to say, but Brett hasn’t officially offered anything for me to accept. I settle on “. . . picturing this.”

  He leads me into the kitchen. “I’m not. Not at all. It’s pretty damn obvious to me,” he says softly, his eyes full of hope as he closes in on me.

  Are we still talking about the Gingerbread House?

  I thought the house was quiet before, but now I’d hear a ghost shuffle by in the silence between us.

  I clear my throat. “What are you going to do with it when you’re on the ice again?”

  He reaches up to cradle the back of my head between both hands, so gently. “I can probably find someone to run it. If I’m ever back on the ice.” That lingering shadow hangs in his gaze. It pushes aside my current anger with him for spending this kind of money on something undoubtedly for me.

  I settle my hands on his arms, rubbing his biceps soothingly. “What did they tell you today?”

  Brett sighs. “My doctor seems a lot happier with the healing this time around, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to skate like I could before. We just have to wait and see.” His thumbs drag along the nape off my neck and I shiver. “So I’m gonna keep myself busy with things. Things that make me happy.” Humor touches his lips. “Some smart little kid told me to do that.”

  “And buying this house made you happy?”

  If that crooked smile isn’t enough for me right now, the dimple that pops in his cheek sure is. “Buying this house made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” He leans in to steal a kiss before pulling away. “Come on, let’s go see the rest of it.”

  Slowly, Brett leads me through the five sizable bedrooms on the second floor, amusing me with “his ideas” for where to build the bathrooms and how to refinish the fireplaces, and then to the third floor, to my favorite room—the attic.

  “Did you know you can see the lake from the window” he asks, taking my hand and pulling me to the dormer.

  “No. I had no idea.” I take in the expanse of manicured grass stretching toward the dark blue water, some hundred yards back. A few sailboats drift in the distance. The sell sheet showed a long, narrow dock and a rocky shoreline, but I have yet to see them in person. “Whatever will you do with all this land?” I ask mockingly, picturing the gardens and gazebo I had planned for it. A perfect venue for small weddings.

  “Not sure yet. I have so much to focus on in here first.” He takes in the vast empty room, his steps e
choing. “I’ve hired Niya Kalpar to help with designing it. She’s done some of the inns in Napa Valley. She’s going to work off the concept sketches I sent her.”

  My brows spike. “Sketches?”

  “My own, of course. I’ve been working on them awhile.” He’s barely able to keep his amusement in check, his nostrils flaring. “Niya says I’m extremely talented.”

  “Ugh!” I grit my teeth with frustration, even as I’m trying not to laugh at the insanity of all this. I’ll yell at him for stealing my sketchbook later. “How long are you going to keep this charade going?”

  “As long as necessary.” He closes the distance again, dipping down to press his forehead against mine. “Please don’t fight me on this.”

  I shake my head. “I’m furious with you.”

  “I can tell.” He nips at my bottom lip with his teeth, tugging it a bit before he lays a soothing kiss against it. It turns into another, and then another, until I feel myself being sandwiched between the wall and Brett’s hard body.

  “You’re not going to distract me with—”

  He cuts off my words with a deep kiss that buckles my knees. I rope my hands around his neck for support. “You sure about that?”

  “You can’t just go and buy a—” My head thumps softly against the wall as he steals another deep kiss. His calloused hands begin to wander, his fingers tracing my rib cage and then drifting down to squeeze my hips the way he does when I’m riding him. A soft moan escapes me with the thought, earning his groan. He slips his hands under my dress.

  And suddenly pulls back, his eyes widing with surprise. “That’s efficient.”

  “You caught me coming out of the shower so I just threw this on,” I admit sheepishly, reveling in the caress of his fingertips over my bare curves.

  A soft curse slips from his lips. Reaching up, he pushes my spaghetti straps off my shoulders. The light cotton falls to the floor, leaving me completely naked.

  “I think I want to catch you coming out of the shower more often.” He steps back to admire my body.

  My heart is racing. With his words, with the way his eyes touch me.

  But the bastard went and bought the Gingerbread House for me! And stole my sketches!