Chapter Fourteen
Soft scraping sounds woke Clara from a deep sleep. “What the heck is that?” Whatever it was, it came from outside. She struggled out of bed, still exhausted. She’d been up way too late, tinkering on the keyboard she’d bought a few days ago. Unable to let go of the music Zane inspired in her heart, she’d hit the music shop the other day and purchased a keyboard, after they put up the first tree. Last night, after hanging new lights and garland in the entry hall, which was gorgeous with the antique ornaments hanging from it, she’d holed up in her room composing. The tune wasn’t complete, nor was it ready to be put down on paper, but it was slowly taking shape.
She peeked out her bedroom window. A tall man, bundled against the morning cold, his back toward the house, was shoveling her walkway. She glanced at the clock. “Who shovels at five in the morning? And why is he clearing my walks? The man turned around.
“Zane,” she whispered. “What are you doing?” A smile crept over her face. How sweet that he’d clear away last night’s snow. It didn’t look like more than a skiff. But still…
She hurried to get dressed. Luckily, she’d showered last night and could skip it this morning. She slipped into some navy dress pants and a snowman patterned sweater. Ten minutes after spotting him outside, she was in the kitchen with muffins almost ready for the oven and had coffee perking. She was rummaging in the fridge for sausages when he entered the kitchen. He didn’t make a sound, but she was aware of him instantly. Like a sixth sense, or something.
“Good morning, Zane.” She pivoted to face him, a welcoming smile on her lips. “Coffee’s nearly ready. Thanks for shoveling.” He’d been up before her every morning this week.
“Good morning, Miss Clara.”
There he went again with the Miss Clara thing. She didn’t understand why he refused to call her Clara. She’d asked him to call her by her given name at least a dozen times. She resisted the urge to ask him again. She didn’t like the barrier it put between them, but maybe that was his point. Maybe he was trying to keep her at a distance. Could he be attracted to her? Lord knows she was attracted to him. Not only his body, though it was smokin’ hot, but to his kindness, and generosity as well. His enormous mind was mildly intimidating but he didn’t lord it over her.
“You’re up early, again.” She put a question into her tone, hoping he would think her friendly and not prying. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her distance from him. He drew her like a moth to a flame and if she didn’t watch herself, she’d get burned when he left.
“Something about this place wakes me early. I’ve always been an early riser, but there’s a peace in the morning stillness that I never find in the city. I like time alone in the silence. It helps me work out plot ideas.” He turned away abruptly, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t.
She mulled his words over. Plot ideas! “Is there any way I could help with that?” she asked softly, not wanting to scare him from the conversation.
He turned back and scraped his fingers through his hat-mussed hair. “I’m trying to write this novel. Some days it’s hard. Way harder and entirely different from a technical report. Being outside before dawn helps clarify my thoughts. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Good grief. Why would I mind? You’re welcome to come and go as you please. You don’t need to shovel, but I do appreciate it. Thanks again.”
“I like the workout. There wasn’t much snow, but it’s cleared off and will be sunny today. Close to zero. I didn’t want it to melt and turn to ice. Someone could get hurt. You can repay me with coffee.” His wink and rogue grin set her pulse clattering.
“Pretty sure you’re paying me for the coffee.” Clara poured him a mug and handed him the creamer he liked. She’d fix it for Zane, but she didn’t want him to realize how closely she watched him. Funny how she’d gone from slightly wary of him when he arrived, to eagerly waiting for her first morning sight of him.
“Tell me about your book.”
“I’d rather not, if that’s okay.” He returned the creamer to the fridge and sat at the small table. She didn’t mention that the kitchen was supposed to be off limit for guests. She loved having him here with her.
“Can I help cook?” He cradled him mug between his hands.
“You’ve already made my morning easier, so you can sit and rest. Youarea guest. Is your book personal?”
“It’s personal, yes. But not a memoir or anything like that.” He cleared his throat. “It’s personal because it’s fresh and new. I’m not ready to share it. When I am, you’ll be the first.”
“Thank you. I’m honored. I understand not wanting to share fresh and new. This bed and breakfast wasn’t my dream, but when my dream was shattered. I came here to recover from the loss of my career, and the aunt I barely knew. As I went through her things, the inn became my dream. For the longest time, I doubted I could do it. I don’t have training. I kept my plan to reopen Sweet Dreams a secret because I didn’t want to be made fun of. Does that make sense?”
“Nobody wants to be ridiculed.”
“Yeah, that’s the word. You have a great vocabulary.” She smiled even though she was a bit jealous of his grasp of the English language. He used bigger words than she did. She was picking up new words here and there and he was reminding her of words she’d heard but rarely, if ever, used. He was making her smarter, and that was a good thing.
She busied herself cooking sausages while he drank coffee. They didn’t talk but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just two people seemingly content in each other’s company. Even so, she was achingly aware of his every move. The man was darn near irresistible. If she didn’t know he was leaving all too soon, she’d be busy thinking of ways to attract his attention. She gave a mental snort. As if a man as smart as Zane would be interested in her.
“Why two frying pans?” he asked after a few minutes.
“One of the guests who checked in last night doesn’t eat meat. She’s okay with cheese and dairy, but not meat. One pan is plant-based sausage. I try to accommodate everyone where I can. She’s here with her husband and their daughter is adorable. You’ll like her.”
“Very nice of you to consider her needs, even if I can’t imagine eating plant-based sausage. I’ll take the real meat, thanks.” He chuckled.
“It’s not bad. Before I opened, I tried a dozen brands before I found a good one. I wouldn’t eat it every day, not by a long stretch, but at least I didn’t have to spit it out.”
“Spit what out?” the very pregnant Wren asked, waddling into the room. Her baby bump bulged hugely in her snug maternity T-shirt. Her slipper made slapping sounds on the floor. “Coffee, please.” She groaned and yawned.
“Good morning, Wren. Give me five minutes to whip up a fresh pot of decaf. We’re talking about vegan sausages.”
