Authors: Sophie Pembroke
The third page was about the Avalon itself. And about Carrie.
I know you love this place every bit as much as I do. And I know you’ll want to make it your own. Just remember, the Avalon is, and always has been, a home, first and foremost. Make it earn its keep, certainly. But never lose that love.
Carrie folded the pages and returned them to the envelope, blinking against threatening tears. How could Nancy think the Avalon would ever be anything but home to her?
She just needed it to be profitable, too.
It was even later, now, and Carrie knew if she didn’t sleep soon, she’d never get half of what she needed done the next day. So she gathered up the files, tucked Nancy’s letter into the back of her notebook and headed into reception.
With everyone gone, an eerie silence shrouded the inn. Carrie didn’t think she’d ever been all alone there before. There was always Nancy, or the staff, or the guests, or Puss.
Which begged a question in itself. She could understand the absence of everyone else, but where was old Pusscat the Fourth? Nancy would have written if something had happened to him, which meant either no one had been looking after him since Nancy died, or else that he was skulking around somewhere, and she just had to find him. She could always rely on Pusscat for company on cold nights. Even if he did like to sleep on top of her head.
Nate would know, she realized. He knew everything that went on around here, it seemed, and Nancy had trusted him. If anyone knew where Puss had got to, it would be him. Besides, if she went to find Nate, and Puss, she could put off fetching her suitcase from Nancy’s room for another half an hour or so, which was no bad thing at all.
The autumn night was drawing in fast, the evening breeze chilly through the open doorway. Carrie dumped her files on the reception desk and grabbed a coat from the rack tucked away beside the front door, only realizing once she’d shut the door behind her that it was one of Nancy’s old knitted cardigans. It came down to Carrie’s knees, and the waist tie wrapped around twice, but the soft wool and the scent of roses comforted her enough to ignore even the garish cerise color.
The summerhouse sat on the edge of the woods, through the gardens and past the fountain. Last time Carrie had been there, it had been filled to the rafters with Nancy’s boxes of junk. But theoretically it was a proper lodging; she’d even stayed there herself one summer when the inn proper was full. It would be interesting to see what Nate had done with the place.
The lights of the summerhouse were visible from a way back, glowing yellow against the dark of the woods, warm and inviting. Carrie wrapped her cardigan tighter around her, and stepped up the three wooden steps to the door.
Nate answered her knock quickly, a paperback in hand, and didn’t look in the least surprised to see her. Stepping aside with a quirk of a grin, he motioned her inside, and shut out the night air behind her.
“Drink?” he offered, moving to the kitchenette in the corner of the main room, which held a microwave and mini fridge. “I’ve got wine or beer, I think. Or whiskey.” He looked up and saw her still hovering by the door and said, “Sit down, won’t you?”
Still Carrie hesitated, as he stuck his head back into the fridge. The summerhouse looked nothing like she remembered. It looked like a proper home now, with a sofa, and a desk under the window, and even lamps and one of Nancy’s traditional lumpy patchwork blankets. The door to the bedroom was open, and she could see a real bed beyond, not just a camp bed. And she knew farther back was the tiny bathroom Nancy had put in when she had some idea of this being staff quarters one day. Which it was, now, Carrie supposed.
Nate stared at her from the kitchenette, a bottle of wine in one hand and whiskey in the other. In a burst of movement, she threw herself down on one end of the sofa and said, “Actually, whiskey would be great.”
The glass tumblers Nate provided looked like the odd ends of Nancy’s old sets, and probably were. As he settled onto the other end of the sofa, Carrie took a sip of the smooth amber liquid and started to feel properly at home for the first time that day.
Nate watched her, caution behind his eyes, and she tried to smile for him. “Nancy started me drinking whiskey when I was sixteen,” she said. “Just a half measure, before bed, when I couldn’t sleep. The next summer she decided that if I was going to drink it, I should at least learn what was decent and what would rot my insides.” She took another sip. “This is good stuff.”
“It should be,” Nate said, with a half smile. “It was a Christmas present from Nancy.”
“That explains it, then.”
They sat in silence for a moment, until it started to feel awkward, and Nate said, “Did the papers tell you all you needed to know?”
Carrie sighed. “And much, much more.” She remembered the second page of Nancy’s letter. “Apparently I have to keep you on.”
Nate blew out a short breath. “Is that a problem?”
“Not as much as the bookings we apparently have until the end of time.”
“Ah.” Nate winced into his whiskey. “The Seniors.”
“Yeah.” Carrie tried to catch his eye, but his attention was firmly focused on his drink. “You knew about that bit?”
Nate shrugged those wonderfully wide shoulders again. “Nancy mentioned she wanted them to still feel welcome at the Avalon.”
Carrie sipped at her whiskey and considered. “It’s that important to them?”
“It’s their home.” Nate looked up, finally, and caught her eye. When he spoke again, it was with such conviction, Carrie almost wished he hadn’t. “None of them really have anyone, or anywhere, else. It’s not just the three of them, you realize. There’s a whole crowd of people for whom the highlight of their week is playing Bridge with Stan, or dancing with Cyb. It’s important.”
“A community service,” Carrie said, with a half smile. “Only problem is, I don’t see how it’ll go side by side with a boutique wedding venue hotel.”
Nate settled back against the arm of the sofa, his left leg folded up over his right. It couldn’t be comfortable, Carrie thought, being such a tall man in a very small summerhouse. “That’s what you’ve got planned for the place?”
Carrie nodded. “It’s what I do; I’m a wedding organizer. When I was a child, I thought the Avalon would be the most perfect place in the world to have a wedding. I thought... Well, I guess I thought that was why Nancy left the place to me.”
“She left the inn to you because she loved you,” Nate said, and Carrie had to look away. She was going to have to work with this man. She needed to trust him.
“There was a financial summary in the pile,” she started, and Nate winced.
“Yeah. It’s not great, I know.”
Carrie bit her lip. “I sort of have a plan for that.”
“Really?” Nate sat up so fast he sloshed whiskey over his fingers, and brought them up to his mouth to lick them off. “What?”
“My boss, Anna. She’d been talking for a while about having a bespoke Wedding Wishes venue, somewhere we could offer our brides, in addition to the usual hotels. I mean, we know what they’re looking for, and what’s needed. I wasn’t sure how serious she was about it. But with the Avalon just a couple of hours from Manchester...”
“She thought it would be perfect.” Nate was looking less excited now. He took a sip of his whiskey. “How would it work?”
“We’re still hammering out the details.” Carrie twisted her glass around between her hands. “Basically, I’ve got this week to figure out if it’s feasible. Anna’s coming up Monday next week to take a look at the place.”
“Not a lot of time.” Nate stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “Especially given the length of your to do list.”
Shaking her head, Carrie said, “I won’t get any of that done by then. I just need to have a plan. To show Anna it’s possible.”
“And you think it is?”
“I hope so.” If it wasn’t, she’d have to sell the inn. Go back to her everyday life in Manchester and never see the Avalon again.
“What if it isn’t?” Nate pressed, his eyes dark and serious in the lamplight.
“It will be,” Carrie said, with more confidence than she felt.
Nate nodded. “Okay. So once we’re up and running as a specialist wedding venue, looking after all your clients, what about you? Will you stay and run the place?”
“I’ve never... I don’t...” Carrie took a breath and started again. “I think Anna plans to put a manager in to run it.”
“But it’s your inn.”
“Yes, but...she needs me, you see. To run things back in Manchester.”
Nate was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I’m still not seeing what you get out of this.”
“I get to keep my inn, and visit as often as I can,” Carrie said. Then, in the name of honesty, she added, “And to be a partner in the company.”
“So a share of the profits, then.”
Carrie nodded.
“I see.”
“What did you think I was going to do?” she asked, honestly curious.
Nate shrugged. “There were a number of theories. You could have sold the place for development into flats, for example.”
“I’d never do that!”
“Yeah, well, we couldn’t be sure.” Nate sighed. “Stan will be relieved, anyway. He’s been imagining the worst for weeks.”
“You think they’ll come to a compromise?” Carrie asked, hopeful. “About the dance nights and the Bridge?”
He eyed her speculatively. “I think it will be fun to watch you try,” he said, finishing off his whiskey.
“As long as I’m entertaining,” Carrie said, and swallowed the last of her drink.
“I think you might be.” Nate got to his feet, unfolding slowly from the sofa. “Well, you can’t do anything about it tonight. So can I pour you another, or do you want me to walk you back to the inn?”
Carrie handed him her glass, finally remembering why she’d actually come down to the summerhouse in the first place. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew what had happened to Pusscat? I haven’t seen him...”
Nate chuckled and, covering the room in two long strides, pushed the door to the bedroom fully open. There, nestled in amongst a collection of pillows, lay Puss, curled up and cozy and fast asleep.
“Please, take him with you,” Nate said. “I could do with a night’s sleep that doesn’t involve a cat hat.”
“Well, if you insist.” Without thinking about it, Carrie stepped forward and scooped him up. It was only as she turned and saw Nate still in the doorway that she realized she’d effectively invaded his bedroom. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and hoped it was too dark in there for him to notice. “Sorry. Right, well, I’d better get back.”
“I’ll walk you,” Nate said with a nod.
Carrie tried to protest, but he stood firm. “What if Pusscat escapes? He’s been on a diet this summer, you know. Might be able to run a couple of meters a minute, now.”
He was pretty heavy, Carrie had to admit. “More likely I’ll need your help to carry him.”
“Well then,” Nate said, grabbing his coat.
The gardens were invisible in the black night, which was a shame. Carrie would have liked to ask Nate what he was doing with them, but it would have to wait another day. And lovely as the gardens might be, the inn itself had to be a priority, anyway. She wondered if he was any good at DIY.
She’d turned all the lights on when she’d left earlier, knowing she wouldn’t want to come back to a dark and lonely inn. At least with Puss with her, she wouldn’t be totally alone. And knowing Nate was down in the summerhouse was reassuring, somehow.
To her surprise, Nate headed not for the front door, but for the terrace, and held open the folding glass doors for her and Puss. “Don’t forget to lock these behind you,” he said, and Carrie nodded.
On impulse, she paused on the terrace before the door and turned to him, Puss asleep in her arms between them. “Thank you for your help today,” she said, realizing suddenly that, Puss aside, Nate was really very close.
Close enough that she could watch his smile widen as he looked down at her, his dark gray eyes warm. So close that, when he bent his head to hers and kissed her, very softly, right on the lips, she couldn’t really have moved away if she’d wanted to.
“Welcome home, Carrie,” was all he said, before disappearing into the darkness of the night and leaving Carrie alone on the terrace with Puss.
“Apparently this is my number one spot for kissing,” she murmured to the cat, remembering her first kiss there, half a lifetime ago.
With a deep breath she went inside, locked the doors behind her, and took Pusscat up to Nancy’s attic room to sleep. Time to start dealing with things.
* * * *
Carrie knew the first step in any insurmountable task was prioritization. She’d written her list while touring the hotel the previous day, and she had Nancy’s survey, so she’d already identified what needed to be done. Now she just needed to make a schedule based on priorities and timescales.
Really, it was just like organizing a wedding, if you looked at it right. Most things were, Carrie had found.
It was Sunday, so Carrie was hoping for a peaceful day pottering around the inn, working on her lists and drinking tea. Nate would probably be sticking to his garden, hopefully embarrassed by his audacity at kissing the boss the night before–an incident Carrie had decided to chalk up to the notorious effects of Nancy’s best whiskey, and chosen to ignore. Even if his lips had been much softer than she’d expected.