A Bride Until Midnight / Something Unexpected. Wendy Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ the alcove that distinguished the bedroom from the living room, he padded quietly to the window. He stood in the shadows looking up at the sky. There, in the west, was Pleiades. According to an ancient Greek legend, the bright cluster of stars represented seven sisters who’d been openly pursued by a relentless hunter named Orion. Zeus, the ruler of the gods, took pity on the beautiful maidens and changed them into doves before setting them free into the heavens.

      Those ancient stargazers sure knew how to tell a story. They must have spent a lot of time studying the night sky. Kyle wondered if they’d been insomniacs, too.

      The inn settled around him. Somewhere a car downshifted. The air outside his window was still, the night so quiet he could hear the river flowing over the rocks in the distance. The dark windows of the neighboring houses reflected the crescent moon. Old post lamps lined the driveway and lit the inn’s front lawn. The only illumination in the backyard was a square patch of yellow stretching onto the grass close to the inn. He couldn’t see the origin of that light but he could tell from the angle that it was coming from the first floor.

      He wasn’t the only one awake at this hour.

      Summer swirled the pale wine in her glass. After enjoying a generous sip, she returned to the stove where she stirred hot cream into a bowl containing beaten egg yolks and sugar. Humming with the radio, she then poured the mixture into the saucepan, adjusted the flame and began to slowly stir.

      She loved cooking at night, loved the rhythm, the aroma and the steam. The process of measuring and mixing, folding and stirring was soothing. It cleared her mind, which helped her contemplate solutions to problems.

      Take Kyle Merrick for instance. He was an investigative reporter. Of all the legitimate professions in the world, his had the potential to be the most damaging to the new life she’d built. That made this attraction anything but safe.

      No wonder she’d been genuinely relieved when she’d learned he wouldn’t be attending Madeline’s wedding. Now he was staying in The Orchard Inn. What were the chances of that happening? she wondered.

      She’d fairly melted in his arms when he’d kissed her in this very kitchen. She couldn’t very well pretend indifference now without raising his suspicions. Besides, she wasn’t that good an actress.

      As she stirred the mixture in the saucepan, it occurred to her that having Kyle under her roof might not be so terrible after all. She needed to set some boundaries, for sure, but having him in close proximity meant she could keep an eye on him.

      She took another sip from her fluted glass and turned down the flame under the front burner. The stove was forty-five years old and was often cantankerous, but tonight it was cooperating beautifully. Her crème brulee would be a masterpiece. She stirred and hummed, and hummed and stirred, her mind on the sweet concoction and the little oasis of light she’d created in the otherwise dark inn.

      She liked nearly everything about her life as an innkeeper. Keeping this place running smoothly and in the black brought her a sense of accomplishment she hadn’t known until she’d taken on the responsibility shortly after coming to Orchard Hill. She enjoyed serving breakfast and especially liked meeting new people and hearing all about their lives and dreams. She’d come to appreciate the steady progression and the one hundred and one tasks from check-in to checkout. She didn’t mind the daily punctiliousness of freshening rooms and shopping and seeing to her guests’ needs. The daylight hours belonged to them.

      The night was hers.

      Tonight the air was unseasonably warm. Thanks to the apple trees in the nearby orchards resplendent with blossoms, it was also wonderfully fragrant.

      Turning off the flame beneath the thickened concoction, she sniffed the rising steam. With a moan, she closed her eyes.

      When she opened them, she was no longer alone.

      Kyle stood in the doorway where the light was faint, one hand on his hip and an easy smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Am I interrupting?”

      Always with that lilting sensuality. Deciding there was no time like the present to implement the boundaries she needed to set, she gave him a friendly smile and said, “You’re welcome to come in, on one condition.” She scooped up a spoonful of the hot mixture and gently blew on it. “Try this.”

      He sauntered to the stove wearing loafers, faded jeans and a T-shirt with wording in French. Bringing his nose close to her spoon, he took a trial whiff.

      There was a certain level of trust involved as he touched his lips to the still warm dessert. It was his turn to moan.

      She reached for another spoon and sampled some, too. “That’s not half-bad, is it?”

      “Half-bad? Are you kidding? It’s magnificent.” Kyle moved slightly to make room for Summer as she went to the sink and washed her hands. She was wearing a white tank top and those knit pants that looked so damn good on women. Hers rode low on her hips and were held up by a string tied in a loose bow.

      “Do you always cook when everyone else is sleeping?” he asked.

      “It’s when I enjoy it the most, and when I have the most time for it. The first strawberries of the season are ripe,” she said as she dried her hands on a yellow towel. “I thought I’d spoon the crème brulee over them and offer a bowlful to my guests with breakfast which, by the way, is served every weekday between seven and nine.”

      Her movements were fluid, her voice quiet, as if in reverence to the night. She must have seen him looking hungrily at the crème brulee, for she took a bowl from the cupboard, filled it, added a clean spoon and handed it to him.

      The bottom of the dish was warm in his palm, the aroma wafting upwards so sweet smelling his mouth watered. He didn’t dig right in, though.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked.

      “Aren’t you going to have any?”

      It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. Soon they were leaning against opposite cupboards, ankles crossed, bowls in one hand, spoons in the other.

      “So,” she said between bites, “are you going to see Harriet again?”

      Kyle didn’t know whether to laugh or scoff. Everything about Summer Matthews was a contrast. The way she’d ladled her concoction into bowls and daintily ate it was refined. Her reference to his date bordered on brazen. Earlier she’d been sipping tea. Now her wine glass was empty. She was as regal as royalty, and yet she seemed to run this inn single-handedly. It couldn’t be easy to keep up with the repairs of a building this old—floors pitched, doors didn’t close, pipes rattled. And yet every item in the house had so obviously been chosen. The retro range and state-of-the-art refrigerator and the scratched oak table and cane-bottom chairs sitting tidily on an aubusson rug didn’t scream good taste. They whispered it.

      “I think I met Harriet’s secret tonight,” he said, scraping the bottom of his bowl.

      Summer’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Her secret?”

      “Walter.”

      “You met Walter?”

      “He joined us for dinner.” Kyle emptied his bowl only to have it miraculously refilled. It happened again before he’d finished telling Summer about the evening.

      Walter СКАЧАТЬ