Room for Love (30 page)

“I’ll go get some in a minute,” Carrie promised.

“May as well wait until Nate gets back.” Ruth dug a sharp elbow into Carrie’s ribs, in what she thought was supposed to be a teasing gesture. “You can drag him back up to the attic with you and drop the bottle off on the way.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “You’re awfully persistent about this,” she said, silently cursing herself for even responding when Ruth opened the question up to the floor.

“Hey, everybody.” The seven tipsy women lounging on pink cushions around the room, turned away from the gyrating Patrick Swayze on the screen and stared at Ruth and Carrie instead. “You’ve all seen Carrie’s gardener, Nate, right?”

The chorus of approving and yet disturbing noises in response told Carrie that, yes, in fact everyone had noticed Nate, thanks.

“I’m telling you,” Fiona, one of the bridesmaids, said, “if you don’t want him, I do.”
 

Carrie tried not to glare at the leering bridesmaid. It was surprisingly hard.

Ruth laughed. “I think you might be out of luck there, Fi. He’s only got eyes for Carrie.”

“We’ll see,” Fiona said with a predatory grin.

Carrie wondered if it was too soon to call down and check in with Izzie again.

In the end, she held out until they ran out of champagne, as well as cassis, and Ruth was putting
St. Elmo’s Fire
on the telly. A number of the girls were taking the movie break opportunity to pop back to their rooms to freshen up, make drunken phone calls home to their boyfriends or, in one unfortunate case, Carrie suspected, throw up in the privacy of her own bathroom. Carrie figured that meant she probably wouldn’t be missed for a while, what with all the comings and goings.

Izzie rolled her eyes when she saw her coming down the stairs. “Did you hear the phone or something?”

Carrie blinked. “We ran out of champagne. Could you get someone to bring some more up?” There were a number of temporary staff members milling around, and Carrie couldn’t quite place everyone’s names after all the Kir Royales.

Nodding, Izzie headed into the bar, and Carrie realized she should probably get
 
upstairs before anyone else saw her in her Wedding Planner pajamas. But before she could move, the front door opened, and Nate walked in, looking sober, amused, and way too gorgeous in his dark jeans and shirt.

Izzie called back from the bar doorway, “By the way? I was about to call and tell you the boys are on their way back.”

“Thanks for that,” Carrie said absently.

Nate, smirking widely, said, “The others are right behind me. You might want to...” He made a shooing motion at the stairs. “Unless you want to share that particular outfit with the world.” He stepped forward and reached out a hand toward her head. “I like the hat,” he said, tilting the pink Stetson at an angle over her ear.

“Not my idea,” she assured him.

She was halfway up the stairs before Nate called after her, “Do you still want to talk? Later?”

Carrie paused and smiled down at him. “Yeah, actually. I’ll meet you on the terrace? Say, midnight?” It was already gone eleven, but Carrie wasn’t sure she could wait much longer.

Nate nodded, and there was a heat in his eyes Carrie suspected had nothing to do with her current get-up.

With a mental note to herself to get changed before she went to meet Nate, Carrie headed back to the party, hoping that Izzie made good on the champagne request. It would make sneaking away again all the easier.

* * * *

Nate watched Carrie disappear up the stairs before turning back to help the groom-to-be and his friends find the door to the inn. Given the amount of time it had taken him to get them out of the last pub and into the taxis, he had absolutely no faith they’d be able to manage it on their own.

He hadn’t intended on staying and drinking with the group. The original plan had been to help out the landlord of the Red Lion by getting them the hell out of there, then possibly hang around himself for a thank-you drink from the Lion bar staff.

But Ruth’s fiance had been adamant that more equaled merrier–in terms of people, bars and definitely drinks. He figured they’d probably been drinking for close to nine hours, now, and not one of them showed any sign of giving up. He had to admire that kind of commitment.

Very aware of his role as chaperone and the faint possibility his gran might still be around when he returned to the inn, Nate had chosen to take it easy. With the prospect of a conversation with Carrie on the cards, he was even more pleased with his decision.

The lads all poured into the bar, and Henry the part-time barman, made full-time for the week of the wedding, started pulling pints as soon as he saw them, utterly unfazed by the slurred orders being shouted his way. Nate made a note to mention him to Carrie. If the wedding went well and they actually started getting paying guests again, they might even be able to hire him full-time.

Nate joined the end of the queue and took the pint Henry handed him gratefully. Settled into the corner of the bar, he sat back and ignored all the conversations going on around him, and watched the clock instead.

At twenty-to-twelve by the bar clock, Izzie appeared, accepted a pint from Henry and plonked herself down in the chair opposite him, announcing, “I’ve given up men.”

Nate winced as every male eye in the room, including Henry’s, turned to get a good look at her. Most, Nate assumed, taking in the blond hair and great legs, were starting to imagine how they might change her mind.

“Aren’t you supposed to be minding the front desk?” he asked.

“It’s almost midnight, Nate.” Izzie took a long gulp of her beer. “Everyone’s in for the night, front door is locked, and I get to relax for a bit before I head home.”

Nate sighed. “And that includes a discussion with me about your lack of love life?”

“Yes, it does.” Izzie smirked. “Go on, ask me why.”

“Because you’re in love with my cousin and he’s too stupid to notice?” Nate guessed, then wished he hadn’t as Izzie’s blue eyes grew wide.

“I was going to say, because you’ve finally won Carrie over,” she mumbled, holding her glass close to her chest.

“I’m not sure if I have,” Nate offered, signalling to Henry to bring more booze. Urgently.

“Oh, come on. You’re meeting her on the terrace at midnight. Could it be any more romantically blatant?” Izzie sighed and reached to take the tequila shot from Henry before Nate even realized he was there. “Am I really as obvious as you and Carrie?”

“Not...obvious,” Nate said, trying to find a way to say it that wasn’t a lie. “Just in love.”

“Obviously in love,” Izzie translated. “Then why the hell doesn’t Jacob notice?”

“He’s got a lot on his plate, with Georgia and now Gran and everything,” Nate said, wishing it didn’t feel like making excuses for his cousin. “Maybe you’ll have to say something first.”

Izzie shook her head. “If the whole world knows I’m in love with him, he has to know it too. I guess he’s just not interested in doing anything about it.” She looked up at Nate and gave him a wobbly smile. “But thanks anyway.”

“Anytime,” he said. Izzie’s gaze jumped from his face to somewhere over his left shoulder. “What is it?”

“I think you’d better get out onto the terrace,” she said, her smirk returning. “Looks like Miss Archer’s running a little early.” She gestured toward the glass doors, and when Nate turned to look, he could make out a figure on the other side of the pane.

“Are you okay in here?” he asked.

Izzie drained her tequila and nodded. “I’m fine. Time for bed, anyway. I’ll go back to reception and call my brother to come and get me.”

Glancing around the room of drunken stags, Nate decided this was a very good idea. “Wish me luck, then,” he said, and headed to the terrace to find Carrie.

* * * *

At eleven-forty-seven precisely, Ruth hit the stage of her drunkenness Carrie hated the most. Soppy, hugging, I Love You All So Much Ruth was never a lot of fun. Especially when Carrie was trying to sneak off to meet up with the first boy she’d ever kissed to try and persuade him to do it again.

“It won’t change, will it? When I’m married?” Ruth’s arms were looped around Carrie’s waist as they sat on the bed, surrounded by all the pink in the world and two passed out hens. Most of the others were still sprawling on cushions around the television, ogling a shirtless Rob Lowe in his heyday, although a few had disappeared, presumably to bed.

“Of course it won’t change, sweetie,” Carrie said, despite the fact she had no real idea what Ruth was talking about. She smoothed a hand over her cousin’s hair. “It won’t change at all.”

“I hope not.” Ruth gave a wistful sigh.

Carrie knew if she just told Ruth why she needed to leave, her friend would be pushing her out the door to go get Nate. The only concern was that she might follow her to watch what happened next, along with a gaggle of pretties in pink.

Ruth’s sighs turned into a light snore, and Carrie closed her eyes with relief. Gingerly, she unwrapped Ruth’s arm from around her waist and laid her back on the pink sheets Cyb had found from somewhere. Then, as quietly as possible, she got to her feet and stepped away from the bed. She glanced down and bit back a cheer; Ruth was still asleep.

But when she looked up, she realized the same couldn’t be said of the TV gang, all of whom were now staring at her. Straightening her Stetson, Carrie tried her hardest to look professional. “I need to go and check on some of the details for tomorrow,” she said, and a few of the other women turned back to the screen, no longer interested. “Can you get her into bed?” she asked the others, feeling a smidge guilty.

Ruth would understand, she told herself, as she let herself out of the bridal suite. Hell, if she was awake, she’d be cheering her on.

Carrie slung her hat over the end of the banister and checked her watch. Nearly midnight; no time to get changed. She glanced down at her Wedding Planner pyjamas, and shrugged. Too late now.

Skipping down the stairs and into the lobby, she danced barefoot across the cold tile floor, into the dining room, and toward the open terrace door. She was already cold, and wishing she’d had time to grab a coat, at least. But, she thought with a smile, hopefully she wouldn’t be out there too long.

After all, given the weather, it only made sense to invite Nate back up to her room to get warm, didn’t it?

She’d only really suggested the terrace for the sense of nostalgia, anyway. She just wanted to see him again in the moonlight.

Carrie pushed aside the curtain and stepped onto the chilly wood of the terrace, then stopped. There was Nate, standing before her, looking just as he must have done that first night, fourteen years ago. Right down to the girl he was kissing.

Chapter 12

Carrie stumbled back into the darkness of the dining room, unable to take her eyes off the sight before her.

“Carrie?” Izzie appeared in the kitchen hallway, coat on and sausage butty in hand. “What are you doing in here? I thought you were outside with Nate?”

“He’s...busy.” Carrie turned away from the windows. Why prolong the torture? “Why are you still here, anyway?”

“Just waiting for my brother to come and pick me up,” Izzie explained, her eyes wide. “But if it wasn’t you on the terrace, who’s he gone to meet?”

“Given the way he was kissing her, I’d guess it’s someone he knows pretty well,” Carrie said, hating the bitter edge in her voice.

Izzie’s eyes grew even wider. “Ohhh.”

Wrapping her arms around her middle to try to keep in the small amount of heat she had left, Carrie said, “Look, if he comes back in, could you tell him I called down to say that I couldn’t leave Ruth, and I’ll see him tomorrow?”

Izzie nodded, slowly. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Because being humiliated was one thing. But Nate knowing he’d humiliated her was far, far worse.

As she climbed the stairs to her attic room, Carrie couldn’t stop herself wondering how many girls he’d kissed on the terrace over the years.

* * * *

Nate had shut the terrace door behind him and felt Carrie’s arms slip ’round his waist even as he stepped away from the glass. Her lips were on his before he even had a chance to register the black hair where he’d expected red.

He’d blinked, put his hands to her shoulders and disentangled his lips. “Mel?”

“Surprised?” Melody gave a throaty laugh. “I did try the front door, but it was locked. Thought I’d try my luck at the side doors.” She ran a hand down his arm. “And look how lucky I got.”

She’d reached up to kiss him again, and he’d stepped back a moment too late. “No, Mel. Wait. Come on. We talked about this.”

“You talked about this,” Mel corrected, moving to stand with her back against the terrace rail, her voice sharp and short in the night air. “You said it was a bad idea. Just like you said you’d had enough of my program, two years ago. And you walked out when I didn’t agree with you.”

Nate had stared at her across the darkness of the terrace, at the hard, tense lines of her body, and barely recognized her. “That’s not what happened. I just–”