Holiday Man (12 page)

“Hmm. I don’t know about that. I think that boy really likes you.”

Shannon shrugged this off. “I don’t. Besides, it’s a moot point. I’m with Bram now, and Jake can go to Europe, Africa, Antarctica or wherever he chooses. I can’t go anywhere until I figure out what to do with the inn.”

“Sell it,” Margaret said. “Sell it to someone who can handle it skillfully or, better yet, sell it to me.”

Shannon looked into her mentor’s warm eyes for a hint of some ulterior motive. As usual, she couldn’t detect a single one, and she felt a flush of embarrassment for even thinking she might.

“Thanks, Margaret. You’re so kind to offer, but I know you don’t need to take on another venture when you’ve got so many huge hotels to run.”

“Look, sweetie, I know you think I’m just a cute old lady with a fondness for rich foods.” She patted her substantial belly. “That happens to be true, but I’m also an astute business woman. Holiday Quinn is a darling place, but I’ve grown rather attached to its owner.” She beamed a warm look at Shannon. “I’ll do what I need to do to entice you into higher management at my hotel chain. Good help is hard to find,” she winked, “and you’ll find me a benevolent and always delightful dictator.”

Shannon laughed. “I have no doubt of that. And, again, thanks. I’ll keep thinking about your offer.” Although she couldn’t forget how big-business-minded Margaret was and how the woman could turn a sleeper lodge into a bustling tourist spot almost overnight.

If Shannon did find a buyer for Holiday Quinn, she’d have to seek out someone who’d preserve the integrity of the inn the way her family had envisioned it. Someplace small. Someplace quaint. Someplace only open on holidays.

“You do that, honeybunch. What’s holding you back, though?”

“Questions, I guess. I don’t know where I’m going or what I should do next. But I’m sure the right set of circumstances will align soon, and then I’ll have a better idea of the direction I need to head.”

The older woman gave her a considering look. “This Bram that you keep mentioning—should I meet him? Is this becoming a serious thing?”

Shannon felt her face heat up. “I—I’m not actually sure. He’s one of my big questions. We’re from two different worlds, Bram and I. I’m me…and he’s very sophisticated and experienced and—”

“
Oooh
, I see.” The grin on Margaret’s face broadened. “He’s the body lotion guy, right? The one that lives in the Twin Cities?”

Shannon nodded.

“There’s an Ashland Hotel in Minneapolis, you know,” Margaret hinted. “Something you should, perhaps, consider, in light of the circumstances.”

“The circumstances?”

“Your impending engagement. Surely, the man will come to his senses soon, stop jetting around the world and propose to you like he should.”

Shannon gulped. “Well, I don’t know if that’s where he’s—” She scored her fingers through her tangled mass of hair, trying to come up with a way to explain to her friend the real state of her relationship with Bram when she wasn’t even sure of it herself. “I mean, I’m not sure he even wants to—”

But Margaret’s imagination had gotten caught up in the fairy tale she’d spun like cotton candy in her mind, and she didn’t seem interested in being given a reality check.

“You could hold the reception in The Ashland’s Grand Ballroom,” Margaret suggested, “or even here at Holiday Quinn, if you’d like. Regardless, Ricardo will prepare a sumptuous feast of filet mignon, fit for a Celtic princess such as yourself, and you’ll dance the night away in a gown of flowing white satin, your man by your side. Oh, you parents would be so proud.” She dabbed at a tear in the corner of her eye.

She wasn’t done yet. “Then, after your month-long honeymoon to all the romantic hotspots in Europe and Asia, you’ll both return to the Twin Cities where you’ll take over management of my hotel up there. Perfect!”

“Hmm,” Shannon said.

“What? You don’t like the filet idea, darling? Never mind. Ricardo’s grilled salmon is excellent or, if you’d rather go the poultry route, you know he makes a phenomenal chicken
marsala
.”

“I’m not worried about the dinner menu, Margaret. It’s all the stuff that precedes the wedding and reception that has me wondering. Like whether or not Bram actually wants me to be the bride.”

“Nonsense, of course he does!”

Shannon laughed. “You’ve never met the guy. How would you know?”

“Because I’ve met the girl,” Margaret said simply. “How could he resist you?”

Oh, so very easily,
Shannon wanted to reply, but she didn’t. Her strong, capable mentor wouldn’t understand the kinds of fears she had to battle. Like, despite their fireworks in bed, how would a guy like Bram keep himself from getting bored with her?

Would he want to show her all the places and things in the world she longed to see, even though he must have seen them all a dozen times before?

Would he be willing to share the ins and outs of his business empire with her, or would he act as if she couldn’t be trusted to understand the details?

And, after the initial honeymoon period wore off, would he stop working so much overtime so he could spend most of his evenings and weekends with her, or would she soon become just another one of his business acquisitions?

“We’re not even close to that stage yet,” Shannon said to Margaret instead. “Besides, I have a lot of exploring yet to do. If I do sell the inn, I want to see some of the world, but Bram’s plans could well be very different from mine.” She sighed, remembering their frustrating weekend in Madison and their inability to do anything outside of the B&B together without tension.

“Fair enough, my young friend. As I’ve advised before, just keep your options open. And never forget that you have a job waiting for you in any city where you can find an Ashland Hotel, okay?”

“Okay.” She hugged the wonderful lady who’d been her support, her guidance, her family, and she wished she could pledge employee loyalty to Margaret for life. But the truth was starting to dawn on her that, no matter how attached she was to her longtime friend, and despite her growing feelings toward Bram, doing the same things she’d always done but in a new city might not be the adventure she’d been seeking.

What would be?

Before she and Margaret made the trek to the ballroom to take a look at its transformation into “The New World,” the older lady posed one more question. “Do you know what you’d find about a four-hour train ride south of Madrid?”

Shannon shook her head.

“Seville. A city known for its flamenco dancing.” Margaret winked at her. “With Jake or with Bram—or without either—you ought to go there, sweetie. Take a chance...and dance a little.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Halloween

Shannon rose up another step on the ladder, her hands filled with the creepy remains of her old pal “Skeleton Sam.” Where to hang him up this year?

She considered the window in front of her. To the left? To the right? She stepped a bit higher on the ladder and held him from his bony, plastic arms in a number of unflattering positions.

Hmmm. No.

From the ceiling, maybe?

She looped her index finger through the thin rope at the top of Sam’s skull and let him dangle precariously, his emaciated body swaying as if in eternal limbo.

Yeah, she knew how he felt. If she didn’t get somewhere outside of these four walls soon and take a few serious strides in a new direction, she’d probably lose all her skin, muscle and sense of initiative, too. Frustration could do that to a person.

She reached into her pocket for the screw-in hook, attached Sam to the ceiling and felt an irrational pang of guilt for committing him to a weekend of suspended misery.

“Was he misbehaving?” an all-too-familiar voice asked.

She swiveled around on the ladder step, nearly losing her balance. “Bram! I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“Too busy entertaining another man, I see.” He grinned and strode toward her. “If he weren’t in such bad shape, I’d have to fight him for you. But, apparently, you’ve already punished the poor guy for his misdeeds.”

God, she’d missed her hotshot businessman. She jumped off the ladder and, a second later, he caught her in his arms, encircling her with tenderness. He was all warm skin, taut muscle, hot breath—nothing bony about him.

Well, okay. That wasn’t strictly true. Something decidedly solid and unyielding pressed hard against her, alerting her to Bram’s intentions, not that she was unwilling to comply. The delectable kiss that followed was a happy premonition of the erotic evening to come.

And amen to that. It’d been far too long since the last time. If only
everything
about their relationship were as simple, as straightforward and as satisfying as their sexual life.

She eyed his designer garment bag draped over his monogrammed duffle near the doorway. “So, what costume did you bring for the Masquerade Ball tomorrow night?”

He lifted a corner of his lips. “Not telling, sweetheart. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“What? No hints?”

“Nope. Just deal with the mystery.”
 
He paused as the mini grin morphed into one far more devious. “But don’t worry. You’ll end up in the right bed after the party. I guarantee it.”

She kissed him again, feeling the swirl of adventure that naturally surrounded him as it spiraled to encompass her, too. He brought that effortless sense of the unknown to every one of their interactions and, while it still made her pulse race with the sheer novelty of it, she couldn’t deny the thrill that this quality of his brought her every time either.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said. “But don’t think you’re the only one who can pull off a surprise, Bram. I expect to keep you on your toes this weekend, too.”

And she did. If all went well, she hoped to start to tell him about her plans to leave Door County soon and to begin challenging herself with experiences away from here. Surely, he’d be excited by a change like that. He’d appreciate her decision to broaden her staid, conventional world. Her interest in taking on a life that was a little more like his stimulating and sophisticated one.

“Promises, promises,” he said, as if disbelieving her ability to ever astonish someone as confident, suave and hard-to-ruffle as he.

Well, maybe she couldn’t compete with him on an adventure-seeking level, but she was so very ready for something new. She could face significant change, and she
would
.

She winked at him. “All I’m saying, Bram, is be prepared for anything. Surprising a
surpriser
can be very exciting.”

The look that crossed his face was intrigued but, if she weren’t mistaken, there was a flash of apprehension, too. This was the first time since they met that she felt she might just have the upper hand in something.

Interesting.

Maybe Bram
Hartwick
was no longer as stony-faced or as inscrutable as he’d once seemed.

***

They were nibbling on a late-night fruit platter in the Astaire Suite—post-coital, pre-dawn—when Shannon decided to drop her first hint.

“You know, I’m thinking of taking some time off to visit Milwaukee.
The Phantom of the Opera
is going to be performed there soon,” she informed him. “I can’t remember which theater, but the show is set to run for several weeks, and I’ve always wanted to see it.”

He gave her a blank look.

“Don’t you like musicals?” she asked.

“They’re okay.” He snagged a couple of red grapes, popped one in his mouth and rubbed the other against her bottom lip until she opened to receive it.

“
Mmm
, thanks,” she said, chewing. “But Andrew Lloyd Webber’s songs are amazing. Wouldn’t it be fun to see one of his best shows performed live onstage?”

He shrugged. “Depends. Is it a community theater production or a touring Broadway show?”

She had no idea and said so, then added, “Does it matter?”

He laughed briefly. “Well, yeah, Shannon. There are good and bad actors everywhere, but usually the Broadway standards are higher and more exacting than your average community theater ones. The voices in a Broadway cast are exceptionally well trained and can handle the dramatic musical range necessary to pull off a score like Webber and Hart’s. Sure, you can find loads of young talent in any city across America, but aspiring actors and singers flock to New York City for a reason, especially if they’re serious about their craft. As the saying goes, ‘If I can make it there…’”

“‘I can make it anywhere,’” she finished for him.

Having always had to work, either to help her parents out at the inn or to manage things at Margaret’s hotel, she’d rarely gotten away for a weekend. She’d only seen a handful of musicals at the college and, one memorable Christmas,
The
Nutcracker
with her mom in Milwaukee. She’d enjoyed each show tremendously, but maybe they weren’t as good as she’d thought. Maybe she didn’t know the difference.

“So, you’d recommend seeing only a Broadway production?” she asked him.

“If you want to count on it being excellent, yes, a touring Broadway show brought in to Milwaukee or Chicago would be a strong bet. Although, you couldn’t go wrong with a West End performance either—but they tend not to tour around here.”

“West End?” She’d heard that term before. Where was that? Los Angeles? San Francisco?

“London’s theater district,” he clarified. “That’s where I saw
Phantom
the first time. The cast was phenomenal.”

She raised her eyebrows. He saw
Phantom
in London? The
first
time? Meaning: One of many times. God, she was so far out of her cultural league here it was frightening.

“I guess that would be especially great. I suppose I should try to go there sometime, huh?” she told him, reaching for a strawberry and ripping off the green stem and leaves.

Heck, she’d have to go to the top source on
everything
now just to converse with him. Forget about small-town art shows, if it wasn’t the Louvre in Paris, it didn’t count. Why bother with any old dance performance if it couldn’t be the Bolshoi Ballet or a troupe of real flamenco dancers in Seville?

She bit into the strawberry and watched as Bram grinned at her. “Hey, why don’t I take a look at what’s playing in London and New York,” he suggested. “Maybe we can steal away for a long weekend after the holidays and catch a few shows. I can show you around a bit, too.”

She nodded but had a hard time swallowing the fruit. His indulgent smile was like that of a world-weary parent looking down at an impressionable child. Just because she hadn’t had the opportunity to have these cultural experiences didn’t mean that she was a dumb kid incapable of learning about life on her own. She just needed a little time to catch up.

He leaned back against his pillow and speared a melon chunk with a long toothpick. “
Ahh
, so peaceful here,” he whispered, almost to himself. “I think I could stay in this relaxing place forever.”

Boy, not her.

But she didn’t tell him that, let alone mention the possibility of selling the inn, because something vague and unsettling had grown clearer: He might
like
her, a whole lot even, but it was Holiday Quinn that he
loved
.

She cringed thinking about it. Yes, he kept coming back here but not so much because he wanted to see her. Instead, it was because of this place she ran. This quiet environment he’d grown so attached to was a haven of sorts for him. When they were together in Madison but away from the inn, it hadn’t been the same, had it? Now, unfortunately, she knew why.

She decided to test out her theory. “Well, there’s no rush to get away,” she told him. “It’s nice to spend time together right here.”

“Exactly,” he said with a contented sigh, kissing her on the nose then slinking down further into his pillow and closing his eyes. “Nothing’s better than this.”

Precisely what she was afraid of.

As Bram drifted off into dreamland, she put the fruit platter back in the kitchenette’s refrigerator and snuck out of the suite, certain she was equally unnecessary to him now that he’d fallen asleep.

And the pain she felt at that realization shocked her by being almost as strong, almost as powerful as the death of a loved one. She tiptoed back to her own room to grieve the loss.

***

Bram adjusted his mask in the hallway mirror and let his long, black cape swirl behind him as he descended the staircase toward the ballroom.

He’d arrived at the inn with all the accoutrements to transform himself into a fearsome Count Dracula but, after Shannon’s professed interest in
The Phantom of the Opera
last night, he’d managed to make some slight alterations.

Discarding the vampire teeth he’d brought along, he’d escaped this morning to one of the party shops in the next town over and procured a white, half-faced mask à la Phantom style to complete this newest incarnation of his costume. He hoped Shannon would be pleasantly surprised by the result.

He ran his fingers across the top of his heavily gelled hair to make sure it was still slicked back, as it should be. He spotted a werewolf, a lady villain in black bodysuit (
Catwoman
?), a Queen Elizabeth look-alike and some unfortunate guy with the ears and complexion of Spock, but none of them resembled Shannon, whatever her choice of costume.

Would she be dressed as a princess? An historical figure? A sexy librarian, maybe?

He allowed himself a slight smile at the thought. Or, perhaps, she really was a burgeoning theater aficionado and dressed up as a stage character. If her interest in musicals was more than just a passing fancy, he would look forward to taking her to a major production someday. Hell, he could fly in a halfway decent cast to perform for her in Holiday Quinn’s ballroom if she so desired.

Anything to make her happy.

But, what if this weren’t enough? What if this latest cultural interest wasn’t really about spending time with him but more about getting away from here? From several of the remarks she’d been making recently, he’d begun to worry this might well be the case.

Last night she was fascinated with seeing musicals in some other city. But that hadn’t been all.

In one of her e-mails at the beginning of the month, she’d written about wanting to learn the art of Tuscan cooking. In Italy.

Then she’d made a handful of comments on the subject of wildlife photography and asked him nearly fifty questions about African safaris and how someone might go about studying this. As if he, Former Crowned King of the Workaholics Guild, would know anything about the pursuit of such a hobby.

Then, on the phone last week, she came out with some craziness about flamenco dancers in Seville. Why would she suddenly want to go to Spain to start dancing? It was just plain bizarre.

As he strode into the ballroom and scanned the crowd of early revelers for his auburn-haired lady, a thought crossed his mind that stole his breath: What if she was saying these things only because of
him?
What if she thought these were the types of activities that he, as a big businessman with global interests, would want to participate in?

He felt the corners of his lips tilt upward another notch. He’d just have to reassure her yet again that this wasn’t the case. That there was nowhere he’d rather be than with her in her beautiful inn. Maybe then she’d relax a little about this whole sophistication thing. God knew, she was intelligent and adorable just the way she was.

And he was falling in love with her and with the possibility of leading a life together right here in the Midwest.

Yep. That was the honest-to-heaven truth. Just like Bill Murray’s character in the movie
Groundhog’s Day
, he was coming to realize that he didn’t have to “get ahead” anymore. He could live in a small, unassuming town like this and fly out to the Twin Cities for business a day or two each week. On the other days he could work via phone and Internet. The idea mesmerized him with its appeal, and Shannon was bound to love it, too.