A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2) Read online

  Two couples were checking in at the end of the week, but she would have five entire days alone before that.

  It was almost . . . orgasmic.

  A giddy giggle broke from her lips. Again, she didn’t care. She spent her entire life serving her guests, and it had become a stubborn point of pride to give the very best to each of them. Just like her mother had.

  The thought of her mom brought a pang. It had been five years since cancer had finally won the battle, but Ophelia knew her mother would be proud of her for carrying on the inn’s traditions. She’d made the Robin’s Nest B & B her very own, bringing her personal style and flair, finding the delicate balance between her own life and the career of sharing her home and daily existence with endless strangers.

  Memories stirred, but she refused to poke the beehive. Yes, once she’d imagined a different life for herself—one more glamorous and creative. She refused to deal with regrets. Her days were happy, mostly stress free, and the family legacy gave her a satisfaction she’d never take for granted.

  She had enough.

  She stepped back to inspect the living room, enjoying the look of antique furniture paired with bright colors and comfortable fabrics. The balance was key—high end with a welcoming warmth. First impressions were important, and every room reflected her vision. Of course, she didn’t intend to use this room until the weekend, but she had terrible OCD tendencies about having things perfect, just in case. She’d mostly be living in the kitchen and her own private rooms in the back, but she loved the sight and scents of a well-cleaned room. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about it till Friday, when her first guests of the new year arrived.

  She headed to the closet to grab the vacuum and morphed into the haunting strains of “If Ever I Would Leave You” from Camelot, her mind filled with moody visions of Lancelot and his queen.

  That’s when she heard the knock on the door.

  She cocked her head and frowned. Her family never knocked, and she didn’t expect any drop-ins since the town was pretty much shut down.

  She put down the vacuum, eased toward the door, and peeked out from behind the lace curtain.

  No.

  Shock barreled through her, along with a burning pain and emptiness she’d thought was impossible to ever feel again. She stumbled back a few steps and mashed her fingers against her trembling lips.

  Kyle was here. At her front door.

  Why was he here? What did he want?

  Maybe he’d go away.

  She kept silent, as if a mass murderer was waiting to attack her rather than her childhood friend-turned-lover. Another round of pounding rose in the air, this time with more demand.

  “Ophelia! I saw you through the curtain, so it’s too late to pretend you’re not home.”

  She closed her eyes and mentally cursed.

  Unbelievable.

  She’d been crooning sappy love songs—and conjured up the one man she never wanted to see again.

  “For God’s sake, I’m freezing my ass off out here. Can you open the door?”

  Damn, damn, damn.

  She held her breath. She couldn’t let him in. Wasn’t there a law against ex-lovers seeing each other after nearly a decade—especially when one wasn’t looking hot? Right now, she was so far from hot she was on the edge of the mental-patient look. Her hair was tangled and stuck up in a clip. She had no makeup on and was wearing old, dirty clothes with no bra.

  His fist shook the door. “Ophelia, I have nowhere else to go right now. You can yell at me and throw me out later, but I’ve just had a three-hour drive from the airport and I need a bathroom. Please.”

  It was the last word that sealed her fate.

  Guess even all this time couldn’t dull the effect of Kyle Kimpton asking her for what he needed.

  She shoved away the memory of him saying that same word over and over while she was on her knees.

  Dear Lord. She had to open the damn door.

  It took her a few moments to force her feet forward and her stiff fingers to turn the knob. The blast of icy air hit her full force, and she reveled in the shock, preferring frostbite to the silly leap of her heart when she gazed at the familiar, solid body before her. She schooled her features into resting bitch face and hoped she’d finally pulled it off. How badly she wanted to be one of those women like Mia, her brother’s girlfriend, who could command a room with an icily lifted brow. Ophelia’s emotions were always too close to the surface—especially around Kyle.

  “Come in.”

  He stamped his boots a few times and pushed through, closing the door and dropping his bag at his feet. When he turned back to face her, Ophelia thought she was prepared. Defenses firmly up, bitch face arranged, breath firmly dragged into her lungs, she met his gaze head-on.

  And found herself dragged back to being that helpless, lovesick, teenaged girl.

  The years had been kind to him. His face now held carved lines that took away the pretty-boy looks from youth and added character. Those famous dimples and classic square jaw were now covered by scruff that emphasized the sharp, almost aristocratic, blade of his nose. His white-blond hair had turned a softer dark gold, the burnished strands a bit on the longer side to spill over his brow and cover his ears.

  He used to wear old jeans and T-shirts, and had no idea what designer clothes were. Now, it seemed he had his own tailor. He wore a black wool coat that fit his trim frame like it was custom made and a plaid Scottish wool scarf wrapped around his neck. Rich leather gloves hid his long fingers. Snow dusted his hair and the shoulders of his coat. But it was his eyes that told her how he’d really changed.

  Those forest-green depths were still highlighted by lush lashes, but instead of the zeal and inner light that had always shone like a beacon, there was a weariness that halted her breath. His force had dimmed. The knight who’d promised to fulfill all her dreams now wore tarnished armor, and the familiar passion seething under the surface throbbed with something brand new.

  Disillusionment and the faint waft of regret.

  A cocktail she knew too well.

  Emotion surged upward from her very core, but this time, she’d had nearly a decade to practice blocking any chink in her defenses. She stared back at him, refusing to retreat from the raw chemistry that still crackled between them. It would always be there, but her calm acknowledgment hopefully gave him the message she was finally in charge.

  “Ophelia.” His voice seemed deeper, more gravelly, but it still stroked all the sweet spaces between her spine like one long shiver. Trying desperately to mask her reaction, she allowed herself a few steps back, her name lingering in the air like a question. “It’s been a long time.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her braless state. Best to keep the conversation polite, yet cold. He’d use her bathroom, and she’d throw him out of her inn.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He rubbed the top of his head. It was a signature move that always told her he was frustrated or uncomfortable. Right now, he looked both. “You’re not going to like it.”

  She kept quiet, cocking her head with a touch of impatience that Mia would be proud of. Maybe it would intimidate him.

  “Ethan invited me to stay here for the next few months.”

  Ophelia blinked.

  Impossible.

  On Thanksgiving weekend, her brother had brought up the idea of Kyle staying at the inn to write some script, but she’d quickly shut it down, telling him in no uncertain terms that Kyle was not welcome. He’d been confused by her vehemence, but Ophelia had pushed back hard. Ethan had finally agreed to find Kyle another place.

  “There must be some kind of mistake. I specifically told Ethan you couldn’t stay here.”

  Kyle rubbed his head harder and muttered something under his breath. “I swear, I’m going to kill him for this.”

  “For what?”

  His jaw clenched. “Ethan never told me I wasn’t welcome. He said he spoke to you and you had a room
specifically set up for me through March.”

  Her voice rose a few pitches. “He lied?”

  “Yep. When I called from the plane to tell him I was landing, he confessed you had no idea I was coming. Said he was sure you would change your mind and it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Oh, she was going to murder her brother. Painfully. But right now, she had to deal with the fallout of his dumbass decision.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you a room. You can’t stay here.”

  “You’re booked up, then?”

  She opened her mouth to lie, but nothing came out. All she had to do was say yes. It didn’t matter—he’d never really know, and she’d threaten Ethan if he breathed a word of the truth. “I’m very busy,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing. He nodded, and relief coursed through her. “Maybe you can stay with Ethan tonight and catch a flight back tomorrow?”

  “No, I can’t go back to California. I have to write this script here. In Gardiner.” He paused, his gaze delving so deep she felt captured. “Every single room is booked?”

  She wet her lips and looked slightly to the right. “I’m sure you can find a local hotel or stay at your father’s.”

  He flinched, and his voice turned stone cold. “My father doesn’t know I’m back. I intend to keep it that way.”

  How many times in the past had she tried desperately to help the two men mend their relationship? Kyle’s pain from his father’s verbal and emotional abuse broke her heart, but she knew how important family was, and she had always been hopeful one day his father would make amends. Of course, that was no longer her business. Her old need to fix everything bad in Kyle’s life was permanently deleted, like a corrupted computer file.

  Unfortunately, there were still aftershocks.

  Why did he still smell the same? A delicious combination of washed cotton, soap, and sunshine? Why was there still this tightening awareness that practically vibrated in the space between them? Why did he still affect her on such a basic level of lust and want?

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Maybe Ethan can help, since he got you into this mess. He moved into the old cottage down the road with Mia. Why don’t you drive over? I’ll let her know you’re on the way.” She knew the cottage was too small for guests—they had plans to renovate and expand it in the spring—but she needed to get this man out of her house so she could breathe again.

  “Ophelia.”

  The quiet way he spoke her name seared through her. It was the same intimate growl he used to whisper in her ear while he pinned her beneath him, driving inside her over and over in a quest for pure possession, wringing endless cries from her lips.

  Her palms grew damp. She didn’t want to dredge up the past or make polite chitchat as if nothing mattered. She wanted to get back to her cleaning and her empty inn and forget that the man she’d once loved and trusted with her entire soul was here.

  She motioned to the hallway. “The bathroom is the second door on the right. I’ll call Mia now. I can put some hot coffee in a thermos for you to take with you.”

  “Stop.”

  Her gaze slammed to his, those dark-green eyes burning into her.

  “Stop treating me like some guest. I know you’re pissed. And I know you’re lying to me about there not being room at the inn.”

  She flinched but held her ground. How dare he? It wasn’t her responsibility to make things right. She refused to give over her safe haven to the man who had almost broken her.

  Ophelia straightened up to her full height, unpinned her arms from her chest, and welcomed the prick of glorious, clean, hot anger heating her blood.

  “Fine. You want to push? Want to know the truth? You’re right, Kyle. I have plenty of available rooms, but space has nothing to do with it. I don’t want you here.”

  Pain flashed in his eyes, but she refused to let him affect her. Not this time.

  “I can’t pretend to be best buds reunited while we drink beer and talk about the good old days. I’m not comfortable with you sleeping under my roof while you create another hot screenplay to make you more millions. Go back to California. Go back to your sun and fake smiles and cutthroat deals and your real life. Leave me my damn memories. How’s that for the truth?”

  She waited for him to either turn and leave or pummel her with his own accusations. Instead, he laughed. The sound came out dry—it contained none of the joyful buoyancy she’d known so well.

  He closed the distance between them, forcing her to lift her chin to keep his gaze. “There you are,” he murmured. His body practically crackled with heat and anticipation, like fur boots dragged over a carpet, ready to ignite a shock. “That’s the girl I remember. The one who looked at you straight and told you the truth whether you liked it or not. The one whose temper simmered beneath the surface and kept me off guard. God knows I’m starting to lose my instinct on what’s real or fake anymore.”

  She refused to engage in memories of who they’d once been. He’d chosen to stay across the country and carve out a new life in Hollywood alone. Her voice dripped icicles. “Yes. Karma can be a real bitch. And don’t think you can pretend to be the cynical, rich screenwriter who suddenly tires of his plastic life and returns home to find himself again—along with his first love he hasn’t forgotten.” A touch of meanness flared inside. “Trust me, it’s been done to death. I’m hoping you’ll at least be original.”

  “Maybe that’s what I’m really afraid of,” he said quietly. “That I’ve been kidding myself all along. That I’m really just a trope.”

  He’d only been here a few moments and already she was choking on emotion. She wouldn’t allow him to torture her for the next few months. She might not live through it.

  “Go home, Kyle.”

  “I know I hurt you. We hurt each other. Together, we’re a tangled mess. I have no right to ask this of you, but I am. I have a screenplay I need to write and I have to do it here, surrounded by the memories of my childhood and what it means to return home. And you’re part of it, Ophelia. I need to sequester myself from the world and see if I can really do this thing, or I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  She gritted her teeth against the anguish. His regrets would always revolve around his career, but she had no right to feel bad about it. She was only part of his past. They may have loved each other once, but he hadn’t come back to make amends. His reasons were purely selfish. At least now she knew the rules so there would be no false expectations. She despised the brief disappointment she felt but swore she’d never let him tip her off balance again.

  “You can stay at another B & B or hotel. Go to Mohonk Mountain House.” The popular resort attracted visitors from all over for its gorgeous views of the mountains, shimmering lake, and endless activities set around the giant, rustic lodge.

  “It’s too commercial and crowded. The nearest B & B or hotel is almost an hour away. It won’t work.” He half closed his eyes, as if fighting to try and explain it right. “I need to be near Ethan and the farm. I’ve never felt safer anywhere in my life than this inn, where your mother cooked for me and made me feel like family. Where I found my best friend and my first love.”

  She couldn’t help the grunt that escaped her lips.

  He forged on, his voice a touch pleading. “Somehow, I’ve lost a part of me along the way. I stopped writing.” He lifted his hands up. “I’ve been blocked for almost a year now, and I know if I can stay here this winter to connect with my past and write this script, I can get my life back. I’m asking to stay.”

  His final words exploded in the air like fire and dissipated slowly like smoke. After eight years, he was at her doorstep. He needed her help. She’d dreamed of this day, but it usually occurred in a fantasy where she looked really hot and wore spiked heels and tossed her hair over her shoulder in dismissal while he begged for forgiveness for letting her go.

  Instead, he stood in her home with his fancy boots and briefcase and requested to spend the winter so he could wr
ite the script of his dreams. Then he’d return to Hollywood in restored glory, leaving her without a backward glance.

  Ophelia dragged in a breath. Then another. Soon, calm radiated from her core, soothing the rough edges and the wicked emotional roller coaster he always took her on.

  “I understand,” she said.

  Relief skittered over his features. His shoulders relaxed, and a slow smile curved those luscious lips that used to plunder hers with such sweet, spicy passion. “Thank you, Ophelia. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. Where can I bring my things?”

  She smiled back, stretching out the glorious moment so she could savor it over and over in her dreams. “Back out to your car.”

  The confident expression on his handsome face vanished. “What?”

  Her smile grew brighter. “I heard you, and I understand your dilemma, Kyle, but you can get your life back on somebody else’s property. Good luck with your project. I’m sure it will be another Fast and Furious hit.”

  “I didn’t write those screenplays.”

  “Oh, sorry. Sometimes they all seem the same.” His wince confirmed she’d made a direct hit to his ego. “I am not now and will never be your consolation prize, or the vehicle needed to reconnect with your past. Whatever we felt for each other died long ago—including our friendship. I’d advise we leave the dead untouched. Don’t you agree?”

  She walked past him, opened the door, and waited.

  Slowly, he backed up, took his briefcase, and stepped into the cold. He paused only briefly. His gaze pierced hers, holding her captive. Those dark-green depths mixed with seething, raw emotions.

  Then Ophelia shut the door.

  Her fingers shook. She held her breath and counted.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven . . .

  Footsteps clattered down the porch steps. Soon, headlights cut through the side window, arced high, then disappeared into the night.

  It was like he’d never even been there.