No Reservations (Special Ops: Tribute Book 1) (3 page)

“He offered to help with the plumbing,” she responded.

“I smell trouble,” Leia wrote back, making Bridget realize
it had been a mistake to pick up her phone.

“He seems nice. His credit card checked out okay. I can use
the money, Leia.”

“Give me his name.”

Bridget typed back a single letter. “Y?”

“So I’ll know what name to give to the police when u go missing.”

Bridget rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny that it was a good
idea. “Maddox Kerry.”

“Keep your bedroom door locked and text me in the morning.
If I don’t hear from u by 7, I’m calling 911.”

“Thx.”

She heaved a sigh, setting her phone back on the dresser. She
could hear stirring in the house—probably her guest stealing the new furniture
she’d ordered with her sadly depleted savings.

Leia was right. What had she been thinking? Had she really
been influenced so easily by a set of impressive pecs and a promise of power
tools?

She tugged her laptop over from where it lay on the bed and
opened it.

“Maddox Kerry,” she typed into a search engine and paused to
bite her lip, half-expecting to find some blog professing his desire to lay
waste to humanity.

Clicking the search button, a slim slice of the life of Maddox
Kerry revealed itself at her fingertips. There wasn’t much. He wasn’t on
Facebook, and she had to admire his individuality for that. Tyler had been so
active on that site, which was the way she’d stealthily found out that he and
his new wife had moved out of Annapolis shortly after they’d gotten married—the
only reason Bridget felt comfortable moving back here.

Facebook might have its shortcomings, but it was helpful in
avoiding ex-boyfriends.

She clicked on a link to what appeared to be Maddox Kerry’s
hometown newspaper, featuring an article about some Navy medal he’d been
awarded. A photo of him with his commanding officer pinning something onto his
uniform sent Bridget’s hormones into overdrive.

He definitely was Navy. And after going to undergrad in
Annapolis, she knew enough about the Navy to recognize the SEAL Trident on his
uniform in the picture, even if the article didn’t say anything about him being
a SEAL.

Guys don’t advertise that they’re in Special Ops, Tyler had
once told her.

Maddox Kerry hadn’t lied to her so far, and from the
high-pitched whir of a power drill she heard in her house right now, he’d also
been honest about the tools.

She felt some semblance of relief.

Feeling curious, and just safe enough to venture beyond her
door, she went to the kitchen to grab a couple bottles of Sam Adams. Lord knew
he deserved one if he was actually fixing that damn doorknob.

The floor creaked beneath her feet as she approached him. He
sat in front of the open door on the floor of her foyer, a pile of tools
alongside him, looking like the best fantasy she could have possibly conjured
up tonight.

Tyler? Tyler who?
Maybe having a hot former SEAL hanging
around her place for a while might actually be good for her.

“This is really nice of you,” she said when he glanced her
way with a grin. She extended a beer toward him.

“Hey, thanks,” he replied, acknowledging the drink. “And no
problem. I broke it, after all.”

“Oh, I think it would have broken in the hand of anyone who
grabbed it next. Kind of like everything else breaks in this house.”

“Is it that bad?”

She shrugged, settling herself onto the floor near him. “Well,
it’s a lot better than it
was
.”

He cracked a smile. “How long have you lived here?”

“Only a couple months. My aunt died earlier this year and I
took over her bed-and-breakfast. But it was in pretty bad shape. So I’m fixing
it up before we reopen.”

Setting the beer down on the floor, his hand stilled a
moment. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

They were the same words she’d heard so often from people
these past months. Everyone in this town seemed to like her Aunt Lydia and were
shocked by the car accident that cut her life short. But from him, the words
seemed intensely sincere, as though loss was something he understood on a
deeper level than most.

“Were you close to her?”

She shifted on the tile of the foyer as she sipped her beer.
“Yes, we—” she started, then shook her head. “No—I don’t know. Sort
of. It’s complicated.”

He grinned slightly. “Family often is.”

So, he’s hot
and
smart
, she thought.
Dangerous
combination
.

“Why aren’t you open? The place is in great shape.” Nudging
aside the drill, he picked up a screwdriver and gave it a few turns. Then,
setting it down, he tugged the doorknob. “Especially now that you have a
working doorknob.” He flashed a grin that made her heart melt.

“Thanks… Maddox.” She tacked on his name as an afterthought,
almost hoping that saying it would make her feel more comfortable sharing a
roof with this guy. “I’ve never met a Maddox before.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of unusual. Made my SEAL name pretty easy
for the guys to come up with.”

“Your SEAL name?”

“The nickname your teammates sometimes give you.”

“So what’s your SEAL name?” she dared to ask.

“Mad Dog.”

“Mad Dog.” She smirked. “I think I prefer Maddox, especially
since we’ll be sharing the same roof for a while. So, are you still in the
Navy?”

Shaking his head, he wound the cord of the drill around its
handle. “I left the Navy when I left the SEALs a few months ago.”

There seemed to be a lot of weight in that one sentence, and
she could see a story hidden behind his eyes. But seeing as she just met him an
hour ago, she decided not to pry.

She angled herself as she sat near him so that she wouldn’t
miss out on a single flex of those muscles as he packed up his tools. She was a
woman, after all.

Her eyes diverted from him only an instant to glance in the
direction of the Academy gate. “Did you go to the Academy?”

“No, I went through OCS.” He laughed suddenly. “If I went to
the Academy, then I’d have known better than to try to get a hotel here last-minute
during Commissioning Week.” He tossed back a gulp of his Sam Adams. “And you’re
evading my question.”

Her brow scrunched. “What was your question?”

He pushed his bucket of tools to the side of the foyer. “Why
aren’t you open?”

She laughed at his perceptiveness. She
had
been
dodging that question—not just from him, but from herself. “Well, the
renovations took a lot longer than I thought. I had some wet basement problems
and—”

“Still evading…”

Her eyes rolled upward. “Now you’re being mean. But okay. I
had some finishing touches I wanted to put on—new faucets in all the
bathrooms. I’ve got a door that won’t quite close properly and those
bookshelves…”

“And all that could be completed in a day.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Okay, okay. I guess I just have a
case of—I don’t know—cold feet.” She used the words that her
parents seemed to say every time they called.

“Cold feet?”

“Yeah. I mean, I want it to be perfect. The place had some
pretty mediocre reviews online when my aunt ran it just because it was in need
of some updates, you know? And reviews like that kill a business. She was
really struggling. And I guess I was just a little scared about opening to a
full house. Commissioning Week is huge here. People look forward to it all
year. And visitors expect perfection.”

“So you want to open when things are a little slower, so
that you can kind of ease into it?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s it.” Or at least it was a simpler
explanation. “I’m changing the name so I can kind of wipe the slate clean
online.”

“What are you naming it?”

“The Shifting Sands.”

He tilted his head. “That’s unusual for an inn.”

She bit her lower lip. “Is it bad?”

“No, no. I like it. I like unusual. Why Shifting Sands?”

“It’s something my aunt told me once. About how people are
all like sands shifting on the beach. A wave comes, brushes two grains of sand
together for a short time, then another wave comes along and pulls them apart. And
those grains rest next to other ones.”

“Kind of like people in an inn. You meet. Then they go their
separate ways and new people come in.”

“Exactly,” she answered, surprised he saw the metaphor in
it. “And with all the waterfront around here, I thought it would work.” She
tilted her head. “So enough about me. Tell me about this place you’re opening
with your friends. Ice cream, you said, right?”

 “Yeah. I’m on a bit of a reconnaissance mission right
now. I’m going to check out some rentals on Main Street. Maybe along City…
Square, was it?”

“You mean, City Dock?”

“Yeah, that was it. I’m probably the wrong guy on our team
to be doing this since I’m the only one of us who’s never set foot in Annapolis
till today. But most my partners are OCONUS now.”

Her face pinched upwards, straining to recall the many
military acronyms Tyler used to toss around. “OCONUS?”

“Sorry. Outside the Continental U.S.” He grimaced. “I guess
I have to stop talking in acronyms now that I’m a civilian. They’re still
active duty, so really more of the silent partner type. We’re woefully underqualified
to open an ice cream shop. But we’ve got a secret weapon who has an ice cream
recipe that is the closest to heaven you’ll ever get on this planet.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. Becca. She’s always wanted to open up a shop,
and so I kind of got sold on the idea. Then I had a few of the guys sample some
flavors, and they’re all plunking down their money, too.”

Becca
, Bridget thought, not hearing much of what he said after he
uttered her name. She couldn’t help noticing the way his features softened the
moment he spoke of her, and that look of near-reverence that told her Becca was
much more than a business partner.

Seeing as he left the Navy to open an ice cream shop with
her, they must be pretty serious.

Bridget couldn’t help the stab of envy, wishing someone was
standing at her side while she tried to make this B & B work. She couldn’t
even manage to wrench an encouraging word from her parents about this venture.

Taking a swig of his beer, he stretched his legs. “Becca’s
still in Sedona getting ready to move out here. But if I can find a place by
the end of the month, get the equipment and furnishings, she’ll join me by the
end of the summer, or maybe fall if we hit some snags along the way.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Bridget said with a nod. So, the strapping
Navy SEAL had a girlfriend. That certainly simplified things. It wouldn’t have
been smart to have a fling with the first visitor to her bed-and-breakfast.

And he was definitely fling-worthy.

“What about you, Bridget? Any idea when you plan to open?”

“The minute it’s perfect, I guess.” She sighed. “I’m crazy
for doing this, really. I don’t know anything about running an inn. I have no
hotel experience. I can barely even fix
myself
breakfast let alone for a
house full of guests. I mean that literally. I’ve existed on dry cereal in the
morning up to this point.”

“What were you before this?”

“A lawyer,” she admitted with a half-laugh.

Sputtering, he pulled the beer bottle from his lips. “No
kidding? Well, at least you can defend yourself if someone dies from your bad cooking.”

She grimaced. “Not nice. I might take back that beer.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He shifted, his eyes locked on
hers in a way that made her shiver.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the desperate state of her
life right now, but she felt a connection with him. But he already had someone
in his life, she reminded herself.

Becca.
Lucky Becca.

 “So what are you planning on feeding guests in the
morning? Pop-Tarts and Yoo-Hoo?” he asked.

“That’s actually my Plan B.”

“And Plan A?”

“I was going to take a few days this week and try out some
recipes I found online. I figure I only need a few good ones. No one stays in a
B & B too long, right?”

His arm shot up like an enthusiastic fifth grader. “Oh, pick
me as your guinea pig. I’ll eat anything.”

“You really want to be my guinea pig? How good is your
health insurance?”

“I’m used to eating MREs. Believe me, no food kills me.”

“Okay. It’s your stomach.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the
passersby from their perch on the threshold of the doorway, their legs extending
out onto the damp front stoop. She savored the company for some reason, able to
enjoy the evening so much more now that she wasn’t alone.