Page 7 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)
Chapter Four
Nova
M y footsteps echo in the open room of Mom’s Denver art gallery. The room is painted an eggshell white with white marble floors making it the perfect canvas to showcase the eclectic art pieces dotting the walls.
As I study a painting of a purple sky and rolling hills, out of my periphery, I see someone coming out of a door at the back of the gallery. I turn and find Mom practically gliding toward me with her arms open wide, waiting for a reunion hug.
“Darling, you look wonderful.” She embraces me and kisses both of my cheeks before gripping my shoulders and taking me in up close.
She eyes my outfit with approval. I’m wearing a short sleeve cranberry dress paired with a matching flannel and dress boots. The temperatures have dropped considerably since I arrived in Denver, and the high is only supposed to be sixty today.
I take the few seconds I have to soak her in.
She’s barely aged since I left home, and her hair is expertly dyed to her natural dark blonde, keeping the gray strands covered.
As usual, her makeup is flawless, enhancing her best features and nothing more.
The contrast between her and Dad is jolting. Is there more to his changes than age?
“You look amazing, Mom.” I do my best to choke back the emotions that have refused to leave since first laying eyes on her coming toward me.
She primps her hair and waves me off. “Oh, you’re just saying that.”
I smile at her antics and am both grateful and concerned that there isn’t an ounce of tension between us. When will the other shoe finally drop? And when it does, will I be able to survive it?
The only tease of tension was when she didn’t return my voicemail for several days.
When she finally called me back, I apologized for all I put her through.
It took less than two minutes for her to pretend like it had all been forgotten.
As if I never left. It’s not what I expected, but probably should have anticipated.
Mom has always dusted things under the rug instead of facing them head-on.
It’s probably why her and Dad’s marriage has been hanging on by a string for as long as I can remember.
If they just talked through their problems, they could overcome the hurdles they face instead of locking them all away inside.
She claps her hands together, successfully pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. “So, how about brunch? I know this fabulous place within walking distance that serves the best crepes and bacon.”
“Sounds perfect.”
The next several days consist of me waking up early, reading my Bible, going to lunch with Mom, and coming back to the Storybook Inn and working either in the kitchen with Emma or cleaning up around the main house.
Aunt Birdie and I have dinner each night out on the covered back porch even when it rains.
She has space heaters on either side of the table, keeping us warm on these chilly autumn nights.
I don’t mind the monotony, and I love feeling useful, but Holt has been MIA.
Even though we only live a sidewalk away, we’ve been like two ships passing in the night.
He’s been away from the inn more than he’s been at it, so I don’t even get to chat with him between tasks.
He’s never back in time for dinner, and according to Aunt Birdie, when he returns for the evening, he scarfs down each meal as if it’s his last and then goes straight to bed.
Holt has always been a huge part of my life—with the exception of when I was in Paris—but there’s something about being around him now that we’re both all grown up that has excitement pulsing through me even when he’s nowhere near me.
It’s unexpected yet makes sense since it’s been years since I last saw him.
He’s kept himself busy, and it’s making me wonder if he’s trying to avoid me. He looks at me differently than he used to. Similarly, but not exactly like so many other men who have asked me out. There’s no lust, just…adoration, maybe? Appreciation? Either way, it’s different, and I li ke it.
“Welcome, ladies,” the restaurant’s doorman greets us, pulling me back to the present. Mom slides her arm through mine as we step through the door of what she claims to be her favorite restaurant. We haven’t been here yet since they’ve been booked until today.
“You are going to love this place. Their pancakes are just divine,” Mom says.
A lanky man in a tailored suit walks toward us, and his smile grows as he approaches. I grip Mom’s arm tighter as unease slithers down my spine.
“Amanda.” The man leans forward and places a kiss on Mom’s cheek, right next to her lips, lingering there a second too long.
My back goes ramrod straight.
“Trevor, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Nova. Nova, this is my…”—she visibly swallows—“my work friend Trevor.”
His smile widens. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Nova. Your mom has told me so much about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I mumble under my breath. Trevor must not hear my words or care that I’m even standing here with the way he looks at Mom. His eyes are full of an insatiable hunger as he looks at her.
When Mom and Trevor share a long and tender look, anger fills my chest.
Mom and Dad have had a strained relationship since I was a little kid, sleeping in different rooms and interacting as if they’re roommates and not a couple who’s been married for almost thirty-five years.
But I never expected either of them to stray from their vows, vows that Trevor is attempting to infringe on.
The hostess leads Mom, Trevor, and me to a table at the very center of the room.
Once we’re seated, Mom rests her hand on mine and whispers, “I wanted to make sure we had the best mountain views.” She motions with her head toward the two-story window that boasts an absolutely gorgeous view of the Rockies behind Denver’s cityscape.
I give her my perfected fake smile. The hostess takes our drink orders and assures us our waiter will be with us shortly. Unable to stomach the way Trevor looks at Mom, my attention continually drifts around the restaurant.
“Are you all right, daughter mine?” Mom asks with a teasing lilt to the nickname, forcing me to focus on her and Trevor.
“Sorry, I'm still trying to get back on mountain time.” I look up from my menu to give Mom a placating smile. I’ve actually been back on mountain time for a week now, but I need some excuse other than “I can’t stand seeing how Trevor stares at you” to tell her.
“Understandable,” Trevor says. “I remember being on assignment in Europe and struggling to adjust to the time change.”
“You were in the military?” I ask, shocked that this suit wearing business professional would have served time overseas.
He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Oh no. Just for work.”
I do my best to smooth my expression into one of curiosity and not irritation. For some reason, it annoys me that he worded it how he did. Maybe it’s because I know a true hero, and this guy screams high maintenance and not selfless duty.
“That makes sense,” I lie and give him a fake smile.
Our waiter places our drinks on the table. Mom ordered some fancy latte, Trevor a Frappuccino, and me a dark roast coffee, black.
There’s a welcome stretch of silence after the waiter takes our orders and leaves, and I take the moment to sip my coffee. I almost groan at its absolutely delicious taste.
Trevor scoots his chair closer to Mom and leans forward, invading more of her space.
My heart begs her to pull away, but other parts of me want her to be happy.
And if a beta male who flatters her left and right makes her happy, then maybe I should just let it go.
Even as I tell myself that, the thought doesn’t sit right with me.
Despite his obvious flirting, Mom handles herself as the lady she’s always been. It’s a fact I’m coming to find minimal comfort in.
Trevor turns from Mom to me. “So, tell me everything about your time in Paris."
Memories flicker to life in the recesses of my mind, and I fight the urge to cringe at who I was when I was dating Beau.
In some strange twist of fate, I turned into the woman Dad always pushed me to be while dating Beau.
A woman who sat silently and looked pretty.
An ornament for Beau’s arm at functions and someone to come home to after a long day at work.
My days were spent going to the gym or a Pilates class, getting my nails done, and interacting with Beau’s friends’ wives and girlfriends.
In those four years, I became a mindless Stepford girlfriend who did little else than warm his bed.
I try my best to not squirm in my seat at the thought.
“Were there lots of parties and trips to the Eiffel Tower?” Trevor asks when I’ve remained silent for too long.
Mom nudges me under the table with her foot, and I slide on my practiced smile. “Tons. I couldn’t get enough of the sights, nightlife, or boutiques.”
He leans back in his chair and peppers me with more questions. It feels as though I’m being interrogated for information and not enjoying a lovely brunch with Mom and her friend. After I’ve cautiously answered each of his questions, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room to escape for a few moments.
Once I take some time to calm myself and say a few silent prayers for guidance, I start my trek back to the dreaded table. Before I make it to the dining room, I hear a deep baritone voice call my name, and I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face.
“Holt!” I almost shout as he walks toward me.
His expression fills me with warmth. But I do my best to ignore it when he raises a teasing eyebrow over his good eye.
“Nice get-up.” He motions to the long sleeve gold wrap dress Mom insisted I wear, almost as if she wanted me to match this restaurant’s color scheme.
She even showed up at my cabin with it in a garment bag.
I couldn’t tell her no. Even if it is a little much for my taste.