Unforgettable
Page 26
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Tegan looks back and forth between us, smiling. “I told you about that cute Italian place we found down the coast, right, Ash? You should take Noelle, you guys would have fun.”
“Tegan—” Ash tries to interrupt her, but Tegan talks over him.
“And don’t give me that bullshit about being too busy with work, because you’re on vacation here. And so is she, kind of. It’s perfect!”
She looks at us expectantly, and I can’t help it: I feel my hopes rise too. Sure, a set-up is cheesy, but if it gets Ash to relax around me a little, I’ll take it.
But he clearly doesn’t see it that way. “Drop it, Tegan.” He says, warning her.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, look at her.” Tegan displays her hands like a TV model showing off the big prize. “She’s awesome, you’re not too bad yourself. What’s the big deal with just—”
“I said drop it!” Ash’s voice echoes; everyone turns to watch, but Ash doesn’t notice.
“I’m not interested in taking her to dinner, or a movie, or any other place, OK?” Ash tells his sister sharply. “So in the future, just keep your ideas about my personal life to yourself!”
Tegan gapes, shocked. There’s silence as his words sink in.
Rejection slices deep through my chest.
“I should go,” I say quietly. Ash turns. His eyes widen, like he’s realizing for the first time that I’m standing there. I heard everything.
“Noelle—“ he starts, looking guilty.
“I have a big day tomorrow.” I cut him off, forcing a bright smile. “I need to finish up at the house. Thanks again for your help, everyone!”
The group looks awkward as hell, and I don’t blame them after Ash’s outburst. Quickly, I grab my purse and hurry out of the bar, before anyone can say another word.
I feel so humiliated. Our night together in New York was the best night of my life. I’ve never felt that way about anyone before, and I thought there was a possibility it could happen here too—the way he looks at me, the moments he actually lets his guard down and relaxes.
But Ash couldn’t be clearer, he doesn’t want anything more to do with me, not romantically at least. And I’ve been too blind to take a hint.
Not anymore.
11.
Bunny Vanderberg’s BMW pulls up in front of Rose Cottage at 9:00 a.m. precisely. Our official check-in isn’t until the afternoon, but I had a feeling she’d be early; I’ve been up since five, going over every last inch of the house, making sure everything’s perfect.
And reliving the painful humiliation of Ash’s public rejection.
I shake off the hurt and take a deep breath, rushing to throw the door open before Bunny even has a chance to reach for the bell.
“Welcome to Rose Cottage!” I beam brightly.
Bunny stares back, unimpressed. She’s exactly the way I pictured her: an immaculate woman in her sixties, wearing caramel slacks and a Chanel jacket. Her silver-blonde hair is perfectly styled in a sleek bob, and a diamond bracelet twinkles on her wrist as she points behind her. “My bags are in the car,” she says imperiously.
“Of course. Would you like me to check you in first, or get them right away?” I offer.
“Why, now of course.” She stares at me like I’m dumb. “And be careful, please. I don’t want any scuff marks.”
My smile doesn’t slip an inch. “Sure thing.”
I go retrieve her bags from the car and carefully haul them inside. She’s standing in the lobby, sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?” she demands.
I sniff. “That’s the cinnamon rolls,” I explain. “I bake them fresh, every morning. Just the way my grandmother always did.”
I know I’m laying it on thick, but I’m nervous as hell, and Bunny isn’t giving anything away.
I wait for her to say something, and finally she looks over. “Well? Are we going to stand around here all day, or will you show me to my room?”
“Right this way. You’re in the honeysuckle suite,” I tell her cheerfully. “It has the most beautiful ocean views.”
She makes a harumphing noise behind me, following me up the stairs and down the hall. I step inside and set the bags carefully on the floor at the foot of the antique four-poster bed. The linens are crisp and white, and I put the prettiest hand-stitched quilt over the covers. With the seashore paintings and fresh-cut flowers everywhere, the room looks beautiful.
Bunny sneezes.
“I’m allergic to pollen,” she snaps, sneezing again. “My nasal passages are ever so sensitive.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I grab the vases and whisk them outside. Strike Two. I brace myself before heading back in. “Your private bathroom is right here,” I point out, opening the door to the charming, blue-tiled room. “There are spare blankets in the chest, and we also have a library of books downstairs; you’re free to borrow whatever you like.”
I stand, waiting nervously as Bunny slowly tours the room. She runs a finger over the top of the dresser and examines it, then goes to the window.
“You can see, the view can’t be beat!” I know I’m babbling, but this woman is impossible to read. She gazes out at the gorgeous bay, the window framed in honeysuckle and roses like a storybook, then turns back to me with a brisk nod.
“It’ll do.”
Do? I bite my tongue and keep smiling. “Would you like a tour of the rest of the property?” I ask. “We just finished breakfast, but there are plenty of fresh-baked pastries and muffins.”
“Tegan—” Ash tries to interrupt her, but Tegan talks over him.
“And don’t give me that bullshit about being too busy with work, because you’re on vacation here. And so is she, kind of. It’s perfect!”
She looks at us expectantly, and I can’t help it: I feel my hopes rise too. Sure, a set-up is cheesy, but if it gets Ash to relax around me a little, I’ll take it.
But he clearly doesn’t see it that way. “Drop it, Tegan.” He says, warning her.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, look at her.” Tegan displays her hands like a TV model showing off the big prize. “She’s awesome, you’re not too bad yourself. What’s the big deal with just—”
“I said drop it!” Ash’s voice echoes; everyone turns to watch, but Ash doesn’t notice.
“I’m not interested in taking her to dinner, or a movie, or any other place, OK?” Ash tells his sister sharply. “So in the future, just keep your ideas about my personal life to yourself!”
Tegan gapes, shocked. There’s silence as his words sink in.
Rejection slices deep through my chest.
“I should go,” I say quietly. Ash turns. His eyes widen, like he’s realizing for the first time that I’m standing there. I heard everything.
“Noelle—“ he starts, looking guilty.
“I have a big day tomorrow.” I cut him off, forcing a bright smile. “I need to finish up at the house. Thanks again for your help, everyone!”
The group looks awkward as hell, and I don’t blame them after Ash’s outburst. Quickly, I grab my purse and hurry out of the bar, before anyone can say another word.
I feel so humiliated. Our night together in New York was the best night of my life. I’ve never felt that way about anyone before, and I thought there was a possibility it could happen here too—the way he looks at me, the moments he actually lets his guard down and relaxes.
But Ash couldn’t be clearer, he doesn’t want anything more to do with me, not romantically at least. And I’ve been too blind to take a hint.
Not anymore.
11.
Bunny Vanderberg’s BMW pulls up in front of Rose Cottage at 9:00 a.m. precisely. Our official check-in isn’t until the afternoon, but I had a feeling she’d be early; I’ve been up since five, going over every last inch of the house, making sure everything’s perfect.
And reliving the painful humiliation of Ash’s public rejection.
I shake off the hurt and take a deep breath, rushing to throw the door open before Bunny even has a chance to reach for the bell.
“Welcome to Rose Cottage!” I beam brightly.
Bunny stares back, unimpressed. She’s exactly the way I pictured her: an immaculate woman in her sixties, wearing caramel slacks and a Chanel jacket. Her silver-blonde hair is perfectly styled in a sleek bob, and a diamond bracelet twinkles on her wrist as she points behind her. “My bags are in the car,” she says imperiously.
“Of course. Would you like me to check you in first, or get them right away?” I offer.
“Why, now of course.” She stares at me like I’m dumb. “And be careful, please. I don’t want any scuff marks.”
My smile doesn’t slip an inch. “Sure thing.”
I go retrieve her bags from the car and carefully haul them inside. She’s standing in the lobby, sniffing the air. “What’s that smell?” she demands.
I sniff. “That’s the cinnamon rolls,” I explain. “I bake them fresh, every morning. Just the way my grandmother always did.”
I know I’m laying it on thick, but I’m nervous as hell, and Bunny isn’t giving anything away.
I wait for her to say something, and finally she looks over. “Well? Are we going to stand around here all day, or will you show me to my room?”
“Right this way. You’re in the honeysuckle suite,” I tell her cheerfully. “It has the most beautiful ocean views.”
She makes a harumphing noise behind me, following me up the stairs and down the hall. I step inside and set the bags carefully on the floor at the foot of the antique four-poster bed. The linens are crisp and white, and I put the prettiest hand-stitched quilt over the covers. With the seashore paintings and fresh-cut flowers everywhere, the room looks beautiful.
Bunny sneezes.
“I’m allergic to pollen,” she snaps, sneezing again. “My nasal passages are ever so sensitive.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” I grab the vases and whisk them outside. Strike Two. I brace myself before heading back in. “Your private bathroom is right here,” I point out, opening the door to the charming, blue-tiled room. “There are spare blankets in the chest, and we also have a library of books downstairs; you’re free to borrow whatever you like.”
I stand, waiting nervously as Bunny slowly tours the room. She runs a finger over the top of the dresser and examines it, then goes to the window.
“You can see, the view can’t be beat!” I know I’m babbling, but this woman is impossible to read. She gazes out at the gorgeous bay, the window framed in honeysuckle and roses like a storybook, then turns back to me with a brisk nod.
“It’ll do.”
Do? I bite my tongue and keep smiling. “Would you like a tour of the rest of the property?” I ask. “We just finished breakfast, but there are plenty of fresh-baked pastries and muffins.”
