The Love Trilogy. Sophie Pembroke
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“You know your gran,” Nate said, looking down at her with something like pity in his eyes. “Always meddling. She left you the inn, and the land, with the caveat that I had control over the gardens. For as long as I wanted it.”
“And I suppose you still want it.” Looking up, she met his eyes, and knew his answer long before he said it.
“Yes. I do.”
It was hard to tear her gaze away. Something about his slate-grey eyes that drew her in, made her want to be closer.
“Besides, I think you’re going to need me,” Nate said, breaking the moment. Carrie pulled a face, staring down at her shoes.
She had to remember that Nate wasn’t who she’d thought he could be. Wasn’t a sturdy, trusty sidekick. Instead, he was one more person who thought she couldn’t do it alone. Wasn’t capable. Wasn’t good enough.
One more person to prove wrong.
And one more person who would try and tell her what to do. Would want her to do things his way.
Well, he was going to be severely disappointed.
“Need you?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “And why is that, exactly?”
Nate blinked at her. “Well, because this place is a wreck. And because I’m the one who’s been running it for the last six months, since Nancy got sick. I know what we need to do here.”
“Look, I get that we’re going to have to work together,” she said. “But Gran left me the inn. I appreciate you keeping the place going until I could get here but, like you said, it’s a wreck, and six months in your care hasn’t changed that. This is my place now. And I’m the one who’s going to fix it.”
Nate stared at her for a long moment, his dark eyes a little too knowing. “You really are just like your grandmother, aren’t you?”
Carrie thought about how Nancy never let anyone tell her what to do, always struck out on her own path. “I hope so, yes. Now, how about you give me the tour of this place, so I can see what I’m dealing with?”
“You don’t want to check out the paperwork first?” he asked, and for a moment Carrie started to second-guess herself. Then she shook her head.
“No. I want to see my inn.”
Nate gave a sharp nod. “Then let’s go.”
* * * *
They started in the dining room.
“I’d forgotten about this carpet,” Carrie said, staring down at the green and purple monstrosity, her face sour.
Involuntarily, Nate glanced down too. “You don’t notice it after a while,” he lied. He’d told her the place was a wreck. But her words, six months in your care hasn’t changed that, were stuck in his brain now, and he knew he didn’t have a chance of getting them out. She didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, of course. But still, the need to defend the Avalon Inn against this outsider was undeniable.
“Denial won’t fly with most clients.” Carrie pulled a notebook out of her handbag and started scribbling. “You only get one chance to make a first impression.”
Nate wondered how much she’d paid for the all-cliché business course to teach her that one. Almost not wanting to know, he stepped closer to see what she was writing.
The list, headed up ‘Renovations’, read:
—Replace dining room carpet
—And probably chairs, tables and crockery
—Definitely replace curtains
“At least you’re leaving the walls intact,” he muttered, and Carrie glanced up in surprise, as if she hadn’t realised he was there. “Come on, you can mentally tear down the kitchen, next.”
Actually, he thought as he waited for Carrie to trot after him, it was possible the kitchen might prove a saving grace. Not the room itself, although it was at least hyper-hygienic, thanks to his cousin Jacob’s obsessive nature, but what it stood for. The Avalon had always been famous locally for its food. Nancy liked to put on a good spread for any occasion, and hired the best chefs to make it happen.
Yes, ten minutes chatting about roast lamb and sticky toffee pudding with Jacob should have Carrie falling in love with the inn, he reckoned. Especially if Jake provided samples.
“Actually, I’ve already seen the kitchen with Izzie. It seemed that your chef was having an issue with his childminder, though, so we didn’t stay.”
Nate closed his eyes for a moment. Of course Jacob’s unreliable ex would flake out on them today. “I assure you, Jacob is usually—”
“Izzie said it happens all the time.”
“Izzie was mistaken.” Nate bit the words out, already planning the talk he was going to have with the receptionist. Nancy had to have left him the grounds for a reason and, so far, the best he could come up with was to make sure that he stayed here to help Carrie. Or, the thought had come late one night, to stop her, if she tried to change too much about what made the Avalon home for so many people.
They had to stand together, now Nancy wasn’t there to stand for them. And Izzie needed to get on side, quick.
“Why don’t we head upstairs, then?” he suggested, and Carrie nodded. “Great.” Nate shepherded her in the direction of the stairs. “I’m not sure how well you know the inn,” he said, desperate to change the subject.
Carrie made a noise that was almost a snort. “I practically grew up here.”
Which didn’t explain why she hadn’t been back since he’d arrived, Nate thought. Didn’t explain why she hadn’t been there when Nancy got sick.
He pushed the thoughts away. He had to work with this woman—for now, anyway.
None of them knew what she had planned here. They were all nervous; the Seniors most of all. They had the most to lose, Nate supposed. If Carrie Archer decided to sell the inn or turn it into flats, or any other inconceivable idea, he’d get by. He’d work for the new owners, if they wanted him, or he’d get a new job. He still got offers often enough. People who wanted to be able to show off their new garden and say, ‘Oh, yes. We got that chap who used to be on the telly to sort it for us. You know, the Singing Gardener.’ At least, the ones who didn’t mind the fact that he hadn’t had a programme in almost two years. He’d manage well enough, he supposed.
Only he didn’t want to ‘manage’. The Avalon Inn had become home, from the moment he’d pitched up on Nancy’s doorstep and said, “Remember me?” Nancy had let him in, made him hot chocolate and sent Izzie to make him up a bed in the summerhouse. That was two years ago too. He’d headed straight to Wales from the meeting with the producers, the meeting where he’d said, ‘No, no more. Enough. I want to do it my way.’ He hadn’t really expected them to decide his way wasn’t good enough.
He didn’t want to leave the Avalon Inn, even if it felt strange every single morning, heading up to the house and not finding Nancy drinking coffee in her office or berating Jacob in the kitchen. But he didn’t want it to change, either. It was comfortable. It was home. And Nate liked it just the way it was.
Which meant he had to work with Carrie Archer to keep it that way.
“Well, if you know the inn then you’ll know we’ve got twelve bedrooms here, each individually decorated. Shall we start at the eastern-most end?” he suggested.
The bedrooms didn’t meet with Carrie’s approval, either. By the time they reached number twelve, the largest of the rooms, her renovations list stretched onto its sixth page, and Nate could feel a serious headache building behind his eyes.
“It’s not what you were expecting,” he said, watching Carrie