Hotshot and Hospitality by Nora Everly
Chapter 2
Molly
“Shut up, shut up, shut up. You’re not the boss of me…” Talking smack to alarm clocks was useless, yet it didn’t stop me from doing it every morning without fail. Waking up was not one of my strengths. Sleeping, however? I was great at that. There was nothing better than a cozy bed and a dark room. Or a sofa and a sunlit room—who cares? I could sleep anywhere, and I did. Naps were my favorite, but I required multiple loud alarms if I wanted to be up at specific times—my hearing required it. I shut off the bedside clock alarms, then my phone alarm, then did a double take at my phone. At some point during my festival of drunken bumbling the night before, I had changed the background picture from the pic of my family’s inn to one of myself grinning dopily with my cheek pressed up against Garrett’s chest.
Oh my god. What else did I do? Did I have sex with Garrett?
I looked around the room before frantically throwing the covers back. I was still wearing my clothes from the night before. My chest rose and fell with a sigh of relief as I studied my bed, bod, and surroundings. There was no trace of condom wrappers, or any of the other telltale signs that I’d had entirely too much fun last night anywhere to be seen. Thank goodness. Not that it happened often, but who cared if it did? I was a grown-up woman, and sometimes I had needs of the non-battery-powered kind, thank you very much. I didn’t need a boyfriend, but sometimes I required the “D” and a set of fingers that weren’t my own.
Once I came down from my freak-out and regained my senses, I felt foolish. Garrett would not take advantage of me or anyone else that way. I had been more than drunk; I had been mortifyingly and unprecedentedly wasted last night. In fact, I still felt a little bit off. But even if I had been sober, I could not go there and wreck what remained of our childhood best-friendship no matter how fine Garrett was looking lately. I was a disaster at relationships. What would Becky Lee think if I dated him and somehow messed everything up, like I was so prone to doing? I shuddered at the contemplation. She would be horrified, and then I’d lose Garrett and Becky Lee—not to mention the rest of the Monroes.
My head pounded as I got up to shower and get ready for work. Stupid hangover. I needed a cup or five of coffee, STAT. Something carby and loaded with sugar to soak up what was left of the alcohol couldn’t hurt either. I rushed through my shower, blew my hair dry and slapped on some makeup to cover up the dark circles from the night before. I was halfway out the door before I remembered that I would see Garrett today.
And every day for the next several weeks.
My family owned a bed-and-breakfast called The Smoky Mountain Inn. I ran the front desk, supervised the housekeepers, and made sure the guests stayed happy; basically, I was the hospitality guru. My oldest brother, Landon, acted as the final decision maker, but day to day, he handled the gardens and maintenance. His husband, Leo, was our chef. We also had a hostess and a front desk helper, a few part-time housekeepers and landscapers. Without the extra help we’d never get a day off. My other two brothers, Jordan and Cameron, weren’t in the family business, but we all lived together on the family land and owned the property equally since we’d inherited it from our father.
Landon and Leo had dreams of expanding the inn and someday creating a restaurant within it. But they’d decided to start with the kitchen, transforming it from a basic home kitchen to a fully furnished, tricked-out, top-of-the-line chef’s kitchen. Demo work was on the schedule for today. And in Green Valley, everybody went to Monroe & Sons—Garrett being one of the sons—for any and all construction needs. Their reputation was impeccable and had been for over sixty years. Garrett was one of his daddy’s crew leaders, and of course, his crew would be the one working the inn’s kitchen renovation. Of course.
After hesitating at my front door, I decided I had enough makeup on, my jeans and baby blue Smoky Mountain Inn polo were just fine, and gussying up for Garrett would be foolish. If he had indeed been flirting with me last night, repeating whatever I had done to encourage it would definitely be stupid. And these weirdo feelings—the zing tingles, the fixation my naughty mind’s eye had on his gorgeous face, body, big hands, and the curiosity about whatever he was packing in his pants—would go away eventually, they had to. I probably had leftover horny tequila still coursing through my system.
Despite my attempt to reason with myself, I still dashed back through my tiny cottage to the bathroom for more lip gloss.
Dammit.
I could feel it coming on. The crush. My brain was already gooing out while my heart pitter-pattered like a parade of fluffy freaking bunnies in my chest. Don’t even get me started on my stomach. It fluttered with anticipatory glee every time I so much as thought about Garrett. I couldn’t blame it on the tequila forever. At some point, I would have to acknowledge these feelings. But not right now; now was for denial and the impossible hope that this was all a fluke caused by too much alcohol and not the sexy fantasies that had sprouted in my brain the second I felt his lips touch mine. I wasn’t even one hundred percent sure we kissed, but I had a stirring impression of it in my liquor-filled memory banks, so I was eighty percent certain we had.
With a rough swipe, I removed the lip gloss. I took down my cute ponytail and redid my hair, fashioning an old lady bun at the back of my neck and adding plenty of hairspray so absolutely no curly tendrils could escape. This bun had to be severe. I gave myself an encouraging, determined nod. I had this. I was cool, like a cucumber or maybe a whole entire bag of ice—the good kind from Sonic. Sonic ice always made everything better.
After one last glance in the mirror, I buttoned the three tiny buttons on my polo shirt and spun on my heel. Whether or not Garrett was a boob man was a fact unknown. But there would be no cleavage on display today, just in case. Which was hard for me and my big boobs; I usually had cleavage everywhere, even when I wasn’t trying to show it off.
“Ha!” I said to no one as I crossed the tiny living room of my little carriage house to leave again. With a firm slam, I shut the door and locked it. Since I lived on-site with my three brothers, I only had to walk across the meandering trails distributed over the sprawling lawn to get to work.
Landon and Leo lived on the top floor of the inn while the rest of us lived at the back of the property. Jordan, my second oldest brother, and his six-year-old daughter, Abbie, lived in a house right next to me, while Cameron, big brother number three, lived closer to the forest in an Airstream trailer. My mother and stepfather took another Airstream on the road for an early retirement the second I turned eighteen. We heard from them on holidays and our birthdays and sometimes they popped in for visits.
The inn was situated up front, close to the road and surrounded by white picket fencing, lushly landscaped gardens, and various sitting areas meant for the guests to sit a spell and relax. Our land backed up to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park—the perfect location to attract tourists. And we attracted a lot. Business was booming. Green Valley’s two big industries were tourism and lumber. My family made its living from both, as Jordan and Cameron worked at the Payton Mill.
I crossed over a small hill and smiled when I caught sight of the sprawling Victorian mansion, painted pale blue with white trim. The constant mist filtering down the mountains from up above shimmered in the sunrays that had managed to break through the surrounding trees, dappling the inn with bright spots and giving it a magical glow. A few years back, we’d hired Everett Monroe—Garrett’s carpenter big bro—to create custom railings and whitewashed wooden furniture for the wraparound porch, along with a massive attached gazebo. Everett had a gift. What he’d done was add a feeling of serenity to the house with his whimsical floral details and the soft sweeping lines of the furniture. I loved it here, and I adored seeing our guests relaxed and smiling. Happy families, newlyweds, girls’ getaway trips and even the occasional wedding—all of it represented the best days of our guests’ lives, and I loved being part of their stories in some small way. Making sure our guests had the best time possible was my mission and I never, ever wanted to leave this place.
Leo was a stickler for schedules and, as such, breakfast was served every morning at seven sharp. I supported that since I was the type who never ever knew what day it was. One last breakfast would be prepared here before the Monroe crew tore it apart for the remodel. A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over me as I pushed the kitchen door open and recalled early mornings before school with my dad in this kitchen.
“Hey, Little Miss Molly! Try this.” Leo greeted me with a huge smile, arm outstretched and brandishing a plate full of scones. Strawberry—my favorite.
“You’re awesome, Leo. Marrying you was the best thing Landon ever did for this family, even though he stole you from me. Where is he?” I snatched the plate while his blue eyes twinkled, and he chuckled at my enthusiasm. His dark blond hair was short and spiky, his white chef uniform was immaculately crisp, and his imposing physique hinted at his gym-rat habits. He’d come a long way from the scrawny kid who used to cut school to drink beer in the woods behind the library with me and our friend Clara, and sometimes her older sister, Sadie. Leo was now a regulation hottie and a brilliant chef. He was one of the best friends I’d ever had, and I loved him to pieces. Landon and Leo were a “best friend’s older brother” romance novel come to life, starring me as the best friend.
“Jordan got called into work last night, so Landon’s over at his place babysitting Abbie. And hey, I added a little somethin’ extra to your dad’s famous scone recipe. Let me know how you like it.” I sat on the stool at the side of the counter and shoved half of one in my mouth with a groan.
“Almonds and chocolate chips. Yum.” I glanced up as he slid a cup of coffee in front of me in my favorite mug, followed by a plate filled with bacon and eggs, sunny-side up. Another one of my favorites.
He knew about last night.
“Who told you?”
His eyes darted to the window, then quickly to the floor. That’s how I knew he was about to tell a fib. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can’t I make your favorites, just because?” His puppy dog eyes landed on me, brimming with false sincerity.
“Uh, yeah, and you should do it every day. But who freaking told you, Leo? Was it Jackie? I can’t believe she’s your sister, let alone your twin. How could the two of you come from the same womb? It’s like the devil-and-angel-on-my-shoulder thing come to life. Ugh!”
“The mystery is everlasting, and we may never know the answer. Kind of like we may never know the reason why you keep blowing off Friday night dinners with me and your brothers.” Like usual, I ignored that pointed barb. “And yes, she couldn’t wait to text me all about it. In fact, she woke me up last night. I told her to move on—again.”
“I do not get her. It’s not like we told her she couldn’t hang out with us back then. One of these days, I’m gonna forget she’s your sister and punch her right—”
I almost fell off my stool and Leo jumped a foot as the outside door swung open to bounce off the springy doorstop thing with a huge boing. “Y’all, did I miss it?”
“Give us a coronary, why don’t you, Clara? Miss what?” Leo shouted, hand to his chest, from the other side of the kitchen, where he had dashed off to.
“The hard hats, the muscles, the sweaty construction crew man-candy! I’m ready for bulging biceps, heavy lifting, and the grunting sounds of exertion.” She stopped when she caught sight of my plate. “Oooh, scones. Am I early?”
“Yeah, Clara, you nut. You’re about an hour early,” I said with a laugh.
“The man-candy is scheduled for eight,” Leo confirmed.
Clara sidled up to my side to hug me. “I’m sorry about last night, Molls,” she whispered in my ear.
“Dang it! Who told you?”
“Willa, of course. You should have called me. I was at the farm with Momma and Sadie last night.” Clara’s mother owned a lavender farm called Lavender Hills, located in the foothills above town. Clara sometimes stayed there to help at their farm stand.
“Oh, ugh. How did that go?” Leo asked. Clara’s mother was a difficult woman. They did not get along. A fact we’d been discussing ad nauseum since our delinquent beer-drinking days of yesteryear.
“It went exactly like you said—ugh. But I don’t want to talk about that. What’s with the hair, Molly? A bun?” She let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, did you have sex with Garrett last night? Finally?” Her eyes got big, then she scrunched her face and shook her head. “That isn’t it. If y’all two banged, you’d be off hiding somewhere freaking out . . .” I sat back and let my raised eyebrows do the talking. Clara was good at one-sided conversation. “I know! You kissed him and now you’re all swirly-whirly inside your girlie parts. Did she finally get a clue?” She addressed Leo, who only chuckled in response to her question. Rude. I let out a huff and looked away. “Ha! You’re so predictable, Molls. Buttoned-up shirt, strapped-down boobs, bad hair, no lip gloss. You want him real bad. We all know it.” She snatched a scone from the plate with a self-satisfied expression. “Well?”
I let out another huff. “Shut up.”
“I knew it. Another Monroe is about to bite the proverbial dust.”
“We’re friends. Like we always have been. Just like usual,” I insisted.
Leo snorted. “Just friends. Okay. Nothing about the two of y’all is ever usual.”
“Et tu, Leo?”
He laughed at me. “Yeah, et me. We’ll see what happens when they get here. The truth will come out and that’s all I’m saying.”
“It sure will.” Clara leaned in. “Listen, if you finally have a chance with him, Molly, take it. I stayed with Willa and Everett at their place last weekend to help decorate the new nursery. He is an entire husband, that one is. Miz Becky Lee raised those boys right. He makes her green smoothies every morning now that she’s pregnant. He won’t let her lift a finger around the house, and—” She turned, bouncing her head from Leo to me with big eyes. “This is classified information.” He nodded and zipped his lip while I shrugged and bobbed my head in agreement. “I heard things, y’all. Those Monroe boys have stamina. Like, hours of it. If you don’t marry Garrett, at least, please screw him and tell me how it was. There’s no hope for me anymore. All the good men have been taken. No more available Winston brothers—my chance at Beau and/or Duane is gone forever. That hottie Tucker Haywood was single for about five minutes before getting snatched right the frick up by that new girl, and there are no more Monroes now that you’ve finally scented Garrett. I could use a vicarious thrill; my well has run dry. The last man I dated said he was thirty, but I swear, y’all, if you told me he was really two fifteen-year-old boys stacked up inside of a trench coat, I would believe you.”
Leo smirked and shook his head at her. “What about one of those Erickson boys, the fighters?”
“They’re superhot, but too overtly athletic for me. I get the feeling they’re the type to run five K’s on holidays, or you know, like, 'Hey, let’s go out and toss this football or whatever ball around after dinner.’ That’s against my religious beliefs. I like to undo my top button and eat my weight in dessert on holidays, thank you very much. Hard pass.”
He chuckled. “You know, the Monroes have cousins, right? And what about Barrett? He’s divorced.”
“No, sir, I did not know that. Tell me of these cousins of which you speak. And Barrett is taken. He doesn’t know it yet, but he is. Sadie claimed that boy way back in middle school, you know that. Always following him around like a sneaky little puppy. She was so stealthy I thought for sure she’d end up joining the FBI or something but no . . .” She shook her head. “Anywho—cousins? I need some names and I need them right the-ever-loving-heck now. Tell me they’re hot and where I can find one. I’m getting desperate.” She batted her eyes beseechingly at Leo. She had gone full Blanche-Deveraux-southern-belle dramatic. It was known far and wide that Sadie’d had a hopeless crush for years on Barrett Monroe, the oldest of the Monroe brothers. We used to tease her about it years ago every time we drove past the Monroe house in town for her to catch a glimpse of him in the yard, where he was usually shooting hoops in the driveway or tossing a ball around with his brothers. Some would call that stalking, we called it . . . okay, there really was no other word for it. We stalked him.
“Becky Lee has six brothers and all of them have at least two kids each. One even has eight. I can’t believe you didn’t know this—everyone does.” I informed her as I sipped my coffee.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Y’all know how I am. I pay little attention to things outside of my immediate orbit. They aren’t from around here, obviously.”
“No, Becky Lee is from Knoxville. I guess some of them might be there. I know one of her brothers is in Oregon, and one is in Texas? I think? I don’t keep track of her entire family, Clara.”
“That’s right. You just keep track of Garrett. You were lookin’ to get a peek at him just as much as Sadie was lookin’ for Barrett back then. Don’t bother trying to deny it,” she shot back.
Leo barked out a laugh. “It’s almost man-candy time, Clara. Let Molly be—for now.”
“Fine, you’re off the hook, sugar plum—for now, anyway. Just know, the time for denial is over.” She winked at me and crossed the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee.
I decided to go back to eating my breakfast and ignored them. “Whatever, y’all,” I mumbled.
“The time is nigh, and you know it. Change is afoot. The era of dickhead Chrises is finally over. You don’t just kiss the love of your life at Genie’s and then let him slip away.” She held out her hand and Leo smacked it as he walked by to go out to the porch.
The pfft of air that escaped me would have blown my curls back if my hair had been down. “Again, I say whatever, and I would also like to add that y’all have lost your dang minds. I’m not even a hundred percent sure we kissed anyway.”
Clara’s eyebrows shot up as she sipped her coffee. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” she finally asked.