Page 7 of Frost and Felines (Saltwater Grove #5)

7

MALLORY

M allory stepped into Kieran's office the next morning. The scent of pine from the decorations in the hallway followed her inside. The room matched the rest of the inn's cozy aesthetic, with dark wood furniture and a small, crackling fireplace in the corner.

"Ready to become Mrs. Striker?" Kieran lounged in his leather chair, his auburn hair catching the morning light streaming in through the window. His presence filled the room, commanding yet playful.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Mallory perched on the edge of the visitor's chair, smoothing her sweater. "Though I'm still not sure how we're going to pull this off."

"Simple. We fell madly in love and couldn't wait." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "The question is how we met."

"Something believable. Not too elaborate." She tapped her fingers against the armrest. "Maybe at a café?"

"Too cliché." Kieran's blue eyes sparkled. "What about an art gallery? You were critiquing the same painting I was."

"And disagreeing with my opinion, I'm sure."

"Naturally. I said it was profound. You said it looked like something a toddler finger-painted."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "That does sound like me."

"Then I convinced you to get coffee, where you proceeded to tell me everything wrong with my taste in art."

"And somehow that worked for you?"

"I love a woman who has her own passionate opinions." His gaze held hers, making her chest tighten. "So, three months ago, right before your big move to Paris for school, I couldn't bear the thought of waiting..."

"So we eloped." Mallory finished, trying to ignore how her heart skipped. "Simple ceremony, just us."

"Perfect explanation for why no one saw it." He grabbed a notepad. "Now, favorite color?"

"Are we really doing this right now?"

"Mrs. Striker would know these things about her husband."

"Green," she sighed. "You?"

"Blue. Like your eyes." He winked, and she rolled her eyes in response. "Favorite food?"

"Thai. Specifically pad thai with extra peanuts."

"Good to know for future room service orders. I'm partial to steak, medium rare."

They spent the next hour trading details, building a life that never happened. Mallory found herself relaxing despite herself, drawn into the easy back-and-forth of their conversation. It was almost fun, creating this alternate reality where she wasn't alone, where someone knew her favorite book and how she took her coffee again.

"Think you can handle being married to me?" Kieran asked.

"I suppose I'll manage. As long as you remember I hate mushrooms and love dark chocolate."

"Already noted, dear wife." He stood, stretching. "Ready to face our adoring public?"

Kieran's arm settled around Mallory's waist, warm and solid, as they walked through the inn's winding hallways. The contact sent tiny sparks across her skin, unfamiliar yet not entirely unwelcome. Each step brought a fresh wave of sensations - the brush of his fingers against her hip, the subtle strength in his grip, and the way he unconsciously drew her closer when they passed other guests.

"The tiny library is my pride and joy," Kieran said, guiding her through the carved door. "Took me six months just to source all the vintage books."

Mallory's breath caught. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stretched upward, filled with leather-bound volumes. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, flanked by oversized leather armchairs. The scent of old paper and wood polish wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.

"This is incredible," she whispered, fighting the urge to run her fingers along the spines.

"Go ahead." His breath tickled her ear. "I saw how many books you bought from the store. You're practically vibrating trying to hold yourself back."

Heat crept up her neck. "That obvious?"

"Like a kid in a candy store." His thumb traced circles on her hip. "The restoration work nearly broke me, but worth every penny."

She wandered closer to the shelves, his arm still around her. "These are first editions?"

"Some. Others are just beautiful copies." His chest rumbled against her back as he reached past her to pull down a book. "This one's my favorite - complete collection of Greek myths, illustrated."

The leather was butter-soft under her fingers. "You did all this yourself?"

"Every detail," he said, the pride evident in his voice. "From picking the wood stain to choosing which chair went where. Drove my contractor crazy with the specifics."

She glanced around the room again, seeing it through new eyes. The careful placement of reading lamps, the hidden outlets for laptops, and the way the afternoon sun streamed through the windows at just the right angle.

"You've built something really special here."

His arm tightened around her slightly. "That means a lot, coming from someone who writes about interior design." The air around them seemed to crackle with electricity as he met her gaze. She pulled away suddenly, needing to put some distance between them.

Kieran cleared his throat. "Do you want to see the garden room now? It's got a glass ceiling - perfect for watching storms roll in."

The mention of storms made her stomach clench slightly, but his enthusiasm was infectious. "Lead the way."

The garden room took Mallory's breath away as well. Glass panels stretched overhead, revealing the stormy sky above. Light snow drifted down, creating a magical scene as it collected on the transparent ceiling. Potted plants and climbing vines lined the walls, creating an indoor oasis despite the winter weather outside.

Kieran's phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting her admiration of the space. His expression darkened as he read the message.

"Trouble?" Mallory asked.

"Burst pipes in rooms 204 and 206. Charlotte says the guests are about to come to blows over repair priority." He slipped his phone back into his pocket. "Care to join me, Mrs. Striker?"

The title still felt foreign, but Mallory nodded. They made their way to the front desk where two men in business suits were red-faced and shouting.

"My presentation is in three hours!" The taller man jabbed his finger at the desk. "I need to prepare!"

"And I have a Zoom meeting in thirty minutes!" The other man's voice rose higher. "Do you know how important this client is?"

Kieran stepped forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Gentlemen, I understand your frustration. We have two maintenance teams-"

"I don't care about teams! I was here first!"

Mallory watched as Kieran's jaw tightened, though his voice remained steady. She could practically feel his patience wearing thin. Before he could respond, she stepped forward.

"You both have important meetings." She kept her voice calm but firm. "The conference room on the first floor has excellent Wi-Fi and complete privacy. Why don't you both use that space while maintenance handles your rooms simultaneously?"

The men stopped arguing and just stared at her for a moment.

"The conference room has a better setup than your rooms anyway," she continued. "Dual monitors, proper lighting for video calls, and a coffee station."

The tension in the lobby deflated like a punctured balloon.

"That... actually sounds perfect for me," the taller man admitted.

"I'll have someone bring your materials down immediately," Kieran added, shooting Mallory an appreciative glance.

As the men walked away, chatting about sharing the space, an older woman approached. Her silver hair was elegantly styled, and she carried herself with quiet authority.

"Nicely handled," she said, extending her hand to Mallory. "I'm Charlotte Anderson, the inn's manager. You must be our new Mrs. Striker."

"Mallory," she replied, shaking Charlotte's hand. "And thank you."

Charlotte's eyes suddenly widened as she glanced out the lobby window. "Looks like we have more trouble - the Simmons are heading this way."

Mallory followed her gaze to see a well-dressed couple approaching through the snow. The woman wore high heels despite the weather, while the man's expensive coat flapped in the wind.

"Perfect timing," Kieran muttered, his hand finding the small of Mallory's back. "Ready to meet the competition, darling?"

Mallory’s muscles tightened slightly. "Do I really have a choice, dear?"

Mallory watched the Simmons approach them, the couple's matching plastic smiles making her skin crawl. Gregory's expensive wool coat shed snowflakes onto the floor while Vivian's perfectly coiffed hair remained unmoved despite the winter wind outside.

Kieran's arm wrapped around Mallory's waist, pulling her closer. The heat from his body seeped through her sweater, steadying her as Gregory's gaze swept over them both.

"Well, well," Gregory's voice dripped with false warmth. "This must be the mysterious Mrs. Striker we've heard about."

"Mallory." She extended her hand, keeping her face neutral as Gregory's grip lingered a moment too long.

"We simply had to come see for ourselves," Vivian said, her diamond bracelet shimmering in the light as she waved her hand. "After all, our dear Kieran has always been so... selective with his affections."

Kieran's fingers flexed against Mallory's hip. "When you know, you know." His voice carried a hint of a growl. "We met at the Rothschild Gallery downtown. Mallory was critiquing this awful modern piece-"

"It looked like a toddler's finger painting," Mallory added, remembering their earlier conversation.

"Love at first argument." Kieran's smile held genuine warmth as he looked at her. "Three months later, we couldn't stand the thought of being apart before her graduate program in Paris started. So we eloped."

Gregory's smile tightened. "How... impulsive. Speaking of impulsive decisions, I heard you're having some trouble with your pipes. Such a shame, especially in this weather."

The temperature in the lobby seemed to drop several degrees. Mallory felt Kieran tense beside her.

"Nothing we can't handle together," Kieran replied smoothly, glancing at Mallory.

"Oh, you're so brave," Vivian directed at Mallory, her voice saccharine. "Taking on not just the inn, but Kieran's... colorful past. I mean, the stories I could tell you about his conquests-"

Mallory felt her patience snap like a rubber band stretched too far. The snow outside whipped against the windows. She stepped forward, breaking contact with Kieran's warm grip.

"That's about enough." Her voice cut Vivian off. "If you're not here to book a room, I suggest you leave."

Vivian's perfect smile faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." Mallory crossed her arms, channeling her inner storm into her words instead of the weather. "My husband has built something incredible here. Every detail of this inn shows his dedication and vision. I won't stand here and listen to your thinly veiled insults."

Gregory's face reddened. "Now see here-"

"No, you see here." Mallory's blue eyes flashed. "I'm proud to stand beside Kieran. He's transformed this place into something special and genuine - unlike your soulless luxury hotel." She gestured to the warm wooden beams above them, the crackling fireplace, and the comfortable chairs where guests sat reading. "This is what hospitality looks like. So like I said, unless you're planning to book a room, the door is right there."

The Simmons stood frozen, their matching smiles completely gone. Vivian opened her mouth, closed it, then tugged at Gregory's sleeve. Without another word, they turned and left, the door closing behind them with a satisfying thud.

Kieran's laugh broke the silence. "That was magnificent." He pulled her against his chest, his warmth enveloping her. "I think that's the first time I've ever seen them speechless."

Mallory allowed herself to relax against him, just for a moment. His presence felt solid and grounding. "Someone needed to say it."

"And you did it perfectly." His breath tickled her ear. "This partnership is going to work better than I thought."

She looked up at him, caught off guard by the intensity in his blue eyes. The raw appreciation in his gaze caused her chest to tighten.

"Just doing my wifely duties," she managed, trying to keep her voice light.

"Well, Mrs. Striker," he grinned, "how about we celebrate your first victory over the Simmons with lunch in the garden room?"

"As long as there's chocolate for dessert."

"Dark chocolate," he winked. "I remembered."