Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door. Jackie Braun
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took another gulp of beer. She was used to red carpets, state dinners and probably parades held in her honor. He’d even botched his attempt to carry her to shore. Still, she’d laughed. And in that moment he’d glimpsed the girl she’d been. The girl who at first had been his fishing buddy and who, later, when he was teenager, had kept him awake and confused on hot summer nights.
Now she was a woman. A beautiful woman. Staying under his roof. And, even though his parents were a couple thousand miles away enjoying their retirement and unable to act as chaperones, Holly was as off-limits as she’d been when his hormones had been raging as a teen. Hank sauntered into the kitchen then. They did have a chaperone after all. Nate couldn’t make up his mind whether to be grateful or not.
“Where’s Holly?” The other man’s beer was empty. He helped himself to a fresh one from the fridge, shooting the cap in the direction of the trash can in the corner.
“Upstairs, probably getting out of her wet clothes.” It was the wrong thing to say, Nate decided, when his imagination kicked into overdrive.
“I didn’t realize you two knew one another. She didn’t mention it on the flight over.”
“We don’t. Well, not really.” Nate shrugged. Since Hank was waiting for more of an explanation, he added, “We spent several summers together when we were kids. It’s been years since I last saw her.”
That wasn’t quite true since all he’d had to do in the interim was pick up a magazine or turn on the television and more times than not there was a feature on Morenci’s future monarch. But then his Holly and Hollyn Saldani had always seemed like separate people to him. Until today. Today he was having a hard time keeping them straight.
“She looks familiar,” Hank was saying.
Nate chose not to reveal Holly’s secret. It was only because the pilot had the loosest lips in three counties, he told himself, and she’d already made it clear she’d come here to get away from the public eye. Besides, the last thing Nate wanted was for his peaceful little island to be overrun with journalists and paparazzi and royal gawkers. That would be bad for business.
Liar, a voice whispered. He ignored it. On a shrug, he replied, “I know. She has one of those faces.”
Hank seemed satisfied with the answer, but he was still curious. “Where’s she from? I know she’s not American. She has an accent of some sort even though she speaks really good English.”
Again, rather than lie outright, Nate chose to be vague. “Abroad somewhere. But some of her family vacationed in these parts.”
He frowned after saying so. Had it really been her grandmother that she’d come to the island with? Or had the older woman been some sort of governess? He still had so many questions about the woman who had been his first love … and a total stranger.
The laid-back pilot appeared to accept the explanations Nate offered. Of course, Hank was easy to please. He had free, ice-cold beer, a place to sleep for the night and cable television, assuming the storm didn’t knock it out.
Nate thought that was the end of their discussion of Holly, until the guy commented, “She sure is a pretty thing.”
Nate swigged his beer and mumbled a response.
“And generous.” Hank grinned. “You wouldn’t believe what she paid me to fly her here.”
“You were risking your life,” Nate reminded him dryly.
The other man laughed loudly. “Maybe so, but neither of my ex-wives thought my life was worth that much.”
The other man’s attitude rubbed Nate the wrong way. “Well, it’s easy to be generous when you’ve done nothing to earn the money in your wallet.”
“She’s loaded?”
Nate shrugged. “Her family’s well-to-do. Old money.” Really old money and a pedigree that could be traced back through the generations.
“Is she single?”
His gut clenched. “Far as I know.” Though rumors were circulating in the media that an engagement was in her future. The first time Nate had heard them aired on a news program he’d not just been angry, he’d felt a little sick to his stomach. Neither reaction made sense. Nor did his reaction upon seeing her today.
“Imagine that. Pretty, single and rich.” The other man pushed back his mop of unkempt salt-and-pepper hair. “Think I stand a chance?”
“Sorry, pal.” Nate clinked the neck of his beer bottle against the one in Hank’s hand in seeming commiseration. “I think she’s out of your league.”
Hank didn’t appear overly troubled by the assessment. “What about yours?”
“Definitely.”
Nate studied the bottle’s label after he said it. He’d done all right for himself in life. In fact, he was quite pleased by how far he’d come.
After high school graduation, he’d gone on to college. Nothing Ivy League, but his grades had been good enough to get him into a Big Ten school. He’d made the dean’s list all four years at the University of Michigan. After earning a bachelor’s degree, he’d moved to Chicago and had taken a management position at one of the hotels on the Miracle Mile.
His parents had been proud of him, though their unspoken disappointment that he hadn’t wanted to take over the family resort had been clear. But they’d given him space and offered him choices. And after four years in the Windy City, he realized how much he missed the slow pace of life on the island. He missed the quiet mornings and spectacular sunrises on Lake Huron. When he’d packed up his belongings and left the island, he’d been so sure he wanted big-city living—the decadent nightlife, the pricey condo overlooking Navy Pier, the designerlabel clothes and gourmet restaurants.
Everything had been great for a while, even if he’d still felt more like a tourist than a resident. He’d enjoyed making a name for himself. He’d enjoyed hearing the praise from his boss, and the predictions from corporate that he would be another rung up the ladder soon, maybe even managing a hotel of his own.
Then his parents had announced their retirement and their plans to sell Haven Resort & Marina. They wanted to move south to warmer climes. Nate had been poleaxed. Oh, he’d expected them to retire at some point. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t talked about it over the years. And he’d long known they had their eye on a condo on Florida’s Gulf Coast. The winters on the island could be brutal and long, especially on achy, aging joints. But talking and doing were two different things.
Confronted by reality, he’d come to a couple of conclusions. One, he didn’t want to live in Chicago. It was a great city, full of energy and excitement, but it wasn’t for him. Not long-term, anyway. And two, he didn’t want anyone but him to own the resort that his grandparents had started from nothing during the 1950s.
So, he’d gone home, not with his tail tucked between his legs, but confident that he’d made the right decision. He’d never regretted coming back. In fact, he’d been damned pleased with the changes he’d made, and those he continued to implement to bring the property up-to-date so that it would appeal to the needs of a new generation of tourists. The marina and outbuildings were in good shape. And he was renovating the cottages as money permitted. He’d completed half of them already, doing much of the work himself in the off-season. Gone were the mismatched furnishings and bedding, the ancient appliances and worn vinyl flooring. What he’d replaced them with weren’t high-end, but they were durable, fresh, contemporary and comfortable. And the cottages now sported neutral color schemes and even some artwork from a local woman who specialized in nature views. They weren’t as good as the ones captured by Lengard, but they complemented the decor and had helped bring some commissions the young artist’s way.
Last year he’d added Wi-Fi and cable television, and he’d partnered with a local couple to offer guided hikes through the huge swath of federally owned land on the northern tip of the island that was home to all