Ellie’s laughter stopped her at the top of the staircase. “If I can make it down the steps with a stomach the size of a watermelon, you can walk in those pumps. Sway your hips and you’ll be fine.”
Autumn stepped down one stair, ankles folding, and grabbed on to the railing. “The hips are not helping. The hips are not helping.”
“On second thought, take off the shoes until you make it down the steps.”
“Good call.” Autumn stepped out of the shoes and sighed in relief. When they reached the bottom of the staircase, she dropped Ellie’s shoes to the ground, eyes searching the crowd for any sign of her mother and sister.
“And here I thought maybe you were going barefoot.”
Her focus lurched to the right.
Blake. The bruise still shadowed his eye, but the way his shoulders filled his black shirt, together with light gray pants and a striped tie . . . Well, she could admit it. The man looked good.
And he’d come. Despite the way they’d left things . . . he’d come.
She blinked, grasped for nonchalance. “You try walking down stairs in heels like these and see if you don’t give up, too.” In place of Benny Goodman’s jazz, Ella Fitzgerald and Ray Charles now bantered to the tune of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” Not all that fitting, considering the summerlike warmth in Autumn’s cheeks.
Blake’s gaze traveled from her shoes to her face. “Did you know seventy-five percent of spinal injuries are due to high heels?”
“I’m a little disturbed you know that,” Ellie said. “I’m going to go find my hubby. And a chair. My five minutes of standing are almost up.”
“He’s over at the fondue bar,” Blake called after her, then turned back to Autumn. “Totally made that stat up, by the way.”
He would. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the meeting with Frankie and Benj this morning. But after being gone all day yesterday, there was so much to do here.” She lowered her voice. “Although the one thing I wanted to do, catch Laurent for a conversation about the inn, didn’t happen. He was gone all day.”
Blake’s already dark eyes dimmed. Was he thinking of last night, too?
“Listen, Blake, about last night . . .”
He held up his hand. “Let’s not rehash it. I’m glad you told me.” He hesitated. “And . . . as your friend, I’m happy for you.”
Friend. The word shouldn’t taste so dry.
“Besides, tonight’s your night, Red. Let’s just focus on now.”
But see, when she started focusing on now, that’s when she let herself get attached. That’s when friend didn’t feel good enough. “Well, um, I guess I should mingle some.” She took a step back, wobbled, and his arm shot out to catch her.
“Whoa, careful. What’s bothering you? Nerves?” He looked down with a rakish grin. “Or the shoes?”
He still held on to one arm. “Both.” Her answer came out a squeak and his eyes returned to her face. And why was her stomach going all knotty on her? Friend.
“Don’t worry, Red. Your party is going to be a smashing success. As for the shoes . . . Here.” He held out his elbow. “Just hold on. I won’t let you fall.”
He’d kept his promise.
Through twenty minutes of fluttering through her crowd of guests—a few moments chatting with Petey from the Snack Shack and his wife, small talk with the ladies from the Chamber of Commerce, catching up with people she hadn’t run into for weeks—Blake stayed at her side. Sometimes balancing her by the elbow, sometimes simply moving in sync with her, as if they were partners in a waltz.
“Pshaw, we’re not charging you for our services.”
They stood with Larry Hinkle from the local radio station now, talking about the AV he’d agreed to provide during the run of the festival. Blake stood close enough she could smell the musky fragrance of his aftershave.
“Now, Mr. Hinkle, we have a budget. We’re definitely going to make sure you’re compensated.”
“Nothing doing, Blaze. Displaying our station banner at the AV table is compensation enough. That and the work you’ve done on this thing. It’s about time someone stepped up and shook this town out of its slump.”
By the time the man walked away, he’d offered to run PSAs every day leading up to the festival
Autumn tipped her head up. “Blake Hunziker, you are incredibly good at charming whoever you talk to. Any longer chatting with Larry and he’d have asked you to be the new station manager.”
“What’s this? A compliment from a Kingsley? Almost don’t know what to do with myself.” He turned to face her.
“Seriously, you could make a career out of schmoozing people.”
“So I should go into politics?” The lights of the dining-room chandelier danced in his eyes. “It’d be a short-lived career if I didn’t have my right-hand Red with me.”
“A compliment from a Hunziker? Almost don’t know what to do with myself.” She hugged one arm over her torso, feet rooted to the floor. Without her arm hooked through Blake’s, she didn’t feel nearly as stable.
“As long as we’re at it, you look stunning tonight. Should’ve said that earlier.” Blake cleared his throat. Oh, and a tint of pink found its way to his cheeks. If that wasn’t the best thing she’d seen all night . . .
He cleared his throat again and pushed out a funny-sounding chuckle. “If you think I’m a good schmoozer here, you should’ve seen me as Mr. Randi Woodruff. We had to do these interviews, talk shows and stuff. I practically had people eating out of my hand. I make a good fake husband if I do say so myself.”
She grinned up at him. “You’re so humble, too.”
“Indeed. But anyway, this all just goes to show, we make good partners.”
“Who would’ve thought?” She tried to inject a teasing tone into her words, but instead they came out tinny and timid. “Uh, listen, I need to duck into the kitchen and see if Betsy’s about ready to serve dinner.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be around.”
As she moved toward the kitchen, she caught sight of Dominic Laurent over by the fondue table. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but he wore a look of satisfaction. That was something, right?
She pushed her way into the kitchen. “Hey, how’s it going in here?”
A cloud of warmth enveloped her, tantalizing aromas lifting from the oven.
“I’ll be ready in five.” Betsy wore a black sequined dress under her white apron, matching headband holding her short hair back. “Taste test?” She held out a frosting-coated spatula.
“Don’t mind if I do.” The taste of chocolate added an extra layer to the sweetness of the night. One of Betsy’s two waiters brushed past as Autumn perched on a stool. “If I could live in a house made from this frosting, Bets, I would. ’Course, then I’d earn a reputation as a woman who licks her walls, which would be weird, but also cool in a Willy Wonka kind of way.”
Betsy giggled, arranging plates of layered cake garnished with strawberries and drizzles of white-chocolate sauce on a platter. “You’re in a mood.”
“The party’s perfect. Everything’s perfect.”
Almost perfect. Still no Mom. No Ava.
“I’m glad. Oh, Lucy’s going to help serve, if that’s all right with you. Lem went home sick.”
“Awesome. About Lucy, not Lem.”
“And I decided to serve beets instead of zucchini.”
“Check it.” She licked off the last of the chocolate. “And gross, by the way.”
“Just seeing if anything would phase you. I know how much you love beets.”
“You could’ve said you were replacing the tomato-basil chicken with fish eggs and I’d have been happy. Because like I said, everything’s going—”
The back door swung open.
“If that’s Lem, I told him not to come back if he’s still sneez . . .” Betsy’s voice trailed as the figure stepped into the kitchen.
Ava. Wearing a floor-length skirt and ruffled shirt and a tentative expression.
A
utumn hopped off her stool, at once happy yet hesitant at the sight of Ava in an outfit that was as dressy as her sporty sister got. She’d always had the model looks of the family but, much to Mom’s constant chagrin, tended to hide her lithe figure under athletic clothes and her whitish-blond hair under baseball caps.
“Ava, you came. You could’ve come in the front door, though.”
Ava wore her hair in her usual ponytail, but strands escaped on both sides, framing her face. “We weren’t sure . . .”
We?
And then Mom appeared behind Ava, wariness etched across her face. But . . .
“Wow, Mom, you’re here.”
Mom brushed past Ava, burgundy dress swishing around her legs. “Of course, I’m here. Wouldn’t look right not to be.”
Mom’s tone didn’t signal any delight at what the rest of the night held, but her presence, for the time being, was enough. Ava’s too. There was hope for their little trio of a family yet.
“Well, what can we help with?” Mom asked.
Betsy waved her hand. “Oh no, we’ve got plenty of help.”
“Ava, you haven’t been out to the inn since you’ve been home.” Autumn looped her arm through her sister’s. “I’m so excited to show you all the things we’ve done to spiff it up. Come on out to the dining room.”
“Your tour’s going to have to wait, Autumn,” Betsy countered. “I’m ready to serve. Don’t want the fish eggs to get cold.”
Ava’s nose wrinkled. “Fish eggs?”
“Inside joke. Let’s go. You too, Mom.”
Mom exited the kitchen, but Ava stopped Autumn with a hand on her arm before they followed. “Can we . . . talk sometime? I know I said some things that—”
“We both did, Ave. But tonight, let’s just have fun. All right, sis?”
It’s what Blake had said. Just focus on tonight.
She loved tonight.
Hesitance hovered in Ava’s smile, but she nodded.
When they entered the dining room, Autumn spotted Harry over by the bay windows and brought two fingers to her lips, motioning for him to whistle. He shook his head. The man hated it when she made him whistle. She flashed him a saccharine smile and mouthed, “Do it.”
Harry’s piercing whistle brought the room to attention. Autumn moved to the front of the room. “Everybody, thank you so much for coming out tonight. Looking around the room, I’m reminded how much I love the people of Whisper Shore, and how blessed I am to have such wonderful friends.”
And family. Ava hung back near the doorway. Had she spotted Blake? But she’s here. Even if she’s uncomfortable, she’s here.
And Mom was over with Grady Lewis near the entryway into the lobby. Did she notice the polished floors and new window treatments? Would it make her angry to know Blake had been the one to help hang them?
“Those of us who are from Whisper Shore know this past year hasn’t been without hardship. Actually, the past five, six, seven years have taken their toll on our town.” Everybody had been affected when Ryan died. And then the economy crashed. And Whisper Shore seemed to lose itself, its personality and charm, right alongside its tourists. “But at Christmastime, we’re reminded that behind the industry and economy and business, beyond the pretty lake and sometimes nice weather, there’s always something to celebrate.”
As she paused, a creak sounded overhead. Who would be upstairs? She’d seen all the current inn guests mingling in the dining room.
“There’s Christ’s birth. There’s friends.” She couldn’t stop a glance Blake’s way. “There’s family.” Her gaze flitted from Mom to Ava. “Our awesome cook, Betsy, and her staff have prepared a mega feast tonight. She’s going to let us know what’s on the menu, and then we can all find our seats.”
Autumn stepped aside so Betsy could recite the meal items, and guests moved to find places at the gaily decorated tables that filled the room. Except . . . why were there wet spots on the red tablecloths of the center tables? Not the ceiling again.
Autumn started to lift her gaze, when Betsy asked, “Autumn, will you pray for the meal?”
“Of course.” Maybe no one else would notice the dripping. She waited until the sound of chairs knocking against the table stopped and folded her hands as another creak sounded from above “Father God, thank you so much for bringing us all here tonight, for the chance to enjoy good food and fellowship.”
A longer, louder creak. And then a cracking sound. Worry chugged through her. “Thank you for the meal Betsy has prepared and for each person around the table.” Another crack. And—she peeked one eye open, then the other—dust? “Please help us have a wonderful . . .”
But she couldn’t go on. Because now everybody’s eyes were open, gazes fastened on the ceiling. Another cracking sound, only this time she could see it—one big crack and a hundred little ones branching out. A thump, creak, and . . .
Oh, Lord, help us.
A crunch sounded as the ceiling broke open, chunks of plaster and insulation hitting the tables in the center of the room, dust and debris fogging the air. People jumped from their chairs, gasps and shrieks drowned out by a final boom and thud as something heavy crashed into the room.
Coughs and a trickle of ceiling rubble hitting the tables and . . .
Autumn forced herself to look.
A bathtub.
A bathtub resting in the middle of the wreckage.
A giant hole in the ceiling.
Either of which she’d gladly climb into.
13
Tiny white flurries sputtered from the sky, carried on a brisk cold Blake hadn’t felt in years. It had been so long since he’d experienced a Michigan winter. But there was a zesty feel to the chill, something fresh and glinting, like the string of stars decorating the sky.
“I should really stick around.” Ellie stood beside the passenger door of a Nissan. “She’s so upset.”
Upset was an understatement. The flush of pink had seeped from Autumn’s cheeks as her dining-room ceiling caved. The gasps of her guests turned into shocked chuckles and then full-out laughter. Amazingly, no one had been hurt. They’d wiped the dust from their clothes and backed away from the wreckage. . . .
But Autumn had just stood there. Frozen.
And he’d had the craziest desire to pull her close in an act of comfort—like she had for him the other night in her sister’s bedroom. But they’d been alone then. So instead he’d watched as she blinked, leaned over to say something to Harry, and then disappeared from the mess.
Blake stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black coat and held his arms tight to his body. “You heard Harry, Ell. She wanted everyone to go home.”
Tim held the door open for his wife. “I’ll come back tomorrow to help clean up, hon. But you’re supposed to be on bed rest.”
The glow of the moon lit the mostly empty parking lot of the Kingsley Inn. Only a few cars still claimed spots. He didn’t know how he’d ended up being the one to see off all Autumn’s party guests. But for whatever reason, he’d stepped into the role when Autumn retreated to the second floor. Probably to assess the damage.
Or maybe have an emotional breakdown in private.
“But I feel bad leaving her here alone.”
“She’s not alone. I think her mom and sister are still here. I’ll make sure she’s okay. I promise.”
Ellie peered at him through ringlets frazzled by the wind, nodded, and ducked into the car.
Finally, as Tim and Ellie rolled down the lane, Blake climbed the inn’s porch steps. Warmth reached for him as he entered. The odor of dust and plaster leaked into the lobby.
Along with the sound of a determined grunt.
He glanced through the opening into the dining room . . . and it took everything in him not to break into chuckles. Autumn, still in her black dress and red heels, pushed against the cracked bathtub where it rested in the middle of the floor, one of the dining room tables broken underneath. Drips of water spurted from overhead. Several chairs wer
e overturned and at least two other tables had been damaged.
“Come on, you stupid thing.” She breathed the words through another futile push.
Tendrils of hair had slipped free of her headband and fell around her face. And her cheeks were red from exertion. With a frustrated groan she stepped away from the tub and kicked off one of her shoes, sending it skipping over the floor.
“Whatcha doing, Red?” He stepped into the room.
She turned, her other foot lifted midkick. Instead of chucking off the shoe, she stepped down, now at a tilting angle. “What’s it look like?” She shoved the hair out of her face. “Did everyone leave?”
“Mostly. Except for the people who are actually staying here.” Thankfully none of whom occupied the room overhead, according to Harry. Where was the guy anyway? And the rest of Autumn’s staff? Shouldn’t her mom and sister be helping her?
A burst of laughter sounded from the kitchen now. The sound of dishes clinking and the faint strains of music playing from a radio filtered through the door.
“They’re still laughing about it,” Autumn said, arms crossed. “Everyone thinks it’s so amusing. But it’s not. It’s embarrassing.”
Blake took a step closer to her, nudging a table leg out of the way. “Look at it this way. At least no one was in the tub when it fell. That would have been embarrassing.”
She should’ve giggled, but the poor woman was wound tighter than ever. She kicked off her other shoe, sending it his direction, then turned back to the tub. He could see the muscles in her legs and arms strain as she pushed against the claw-foot beast. Another piece of hair fell loose and trailed down her back.
His heart lurched at her disappointment “Red, come on. Don’t worry about the tub and the ceiling now. Let’s go raid the kitchen and get something to eat. We’ll take care of all this tomorrow.”
“Really? You’re worried about your stomach at a time like this?” She pushed again, the tub barely inching.
“There are sharp pieces everywhere, and you’re barefoot.”
She paused. Score one for his powers of persuasion. Except when she turned to look at him, renewed determination lit her ridiculously blue eyes. “My tennis shoes. They’re upstairs in the room I changed in. Could you go get them? Room Seven.”