A Moment of Bliss Read online

  A short bark of a laugh escaped him as he turned toward her again. “Bolted down? Are you being serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Do you think your clients will steal it?”

  “Excuse me?” Madison gaped.

  Roark’s full laugh came out, as he put a hand up. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you.”

  She fought not to smile. “I think you kind of are.” He was joking with her. People never did that. She owned a sense of humor, just most were afraid to look for it.

  “Maybe a little. But bolted down? Come on.”

  “You’d be surprised at the things I’ve seen while looking for wedding locations. Furniture that’s bolted into place is the least of it.”

  “I thought they only bolted stuff down at the Super 8.”

  She shook her head. “I wish. This was at a well-known hotel that shall remain nameless.”

  “And you’ve seen worse?”

  As a rule, she kept the dirty details she learned top secret, but sometimes she wanted to vent so badly. The crazy stuff she went through, most people wouldn’t believe. Sharing one or two anecdotes with Roark couldn’t hurt. Perhaps it’d even butter him up when she lowered the boom about the kind of deal she wanted. “Once, I toured an outdoor amphitheater with a shoddy sound system that would blast bluegrass music without warning. I convinced the couple not to use it because who wants the Soggy Bottom Boys in the middle of their vows?”

  “You’re joking.”

  She relaxed a fraction. “I wish I was. But the best was the barn wedding with the wayward cows. They got out of their barn—the non-wedding barn across the property—and migrated toward the ceremony. I’ve never moved so fast in heels in my life. Luckily, the owner of the place was a cow whisperer or something. He got the herd moving back in the other direction.”

  She was sharing too much and she knew better, but her job was the one thing she loved to talk about. Every event was a challenge and even when she planned everything down to the tiniest detail, something always came up at the last minute to keep things thrilling.

  “You didn’t want to try your hand at cow herding?” A teasing note played through Roark’s question.

  She was about to laugh but caught herself and cleared her throat. Too chummy, too early in the deal. “Um, no. So that’s a no on the bolted-down furniture?”

  “Definitely a no.”

  A handful of guests strolled by and Roark greeted them with a “good afternoon” while Madison made notes in her portfolio. “What about the rest of the common area?”

  Roark showed her every inch of the great room, the groupings of furniture, the comfy yet elegant leather chairs and sofas, the enviable chessboard setup, and the reading nook, which was occupied by exactly one person.

  “We also have modernized yurts if your clients have any adventurous wedding guests.”

  She stopped writing mid-word. “A what?”

  He pulled out his phone. “Yurts. Souped-up tents. Circular. Ours come with amenities.” Roark leaned in to show her the picture on his phone. The yurt was indeed a tall, round thing that was probably twenty feet in diameter.

  But the tent with the funny name wasn’t the issue. Roark still smelled like dessert and he stood so close. Close enough that his body heat warmed her side.

  “No thank you on the yurts,” Madison said, and refused to be disappointed as Roark stepped away.

  “I didn’t think so, but I love to offer.”

  They continued walking through the great room. The inn’s restaurant, Bradley’s, was in the back left corner. The back of the inn opened up with floor-to-ceiling windows and three sets of double French doors.

  Before her was a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains like nothing she’d ever seen.

  Everyone online said the inn’s location was its crown jewel. Sitting on a westward-facing slope, the panorama and multicolored sunsets one could witness from Honeywilde were supposed to be its top draw. Her client bride had waxed poetic for a full five minutes.

  Roark touched one of the French doors’ S-shaped handles. “These of course lead to our veranda. In warm weather we set tables up out there and serve from the restaurant. It’s a prime spot to see the mountains and where most people want to have their wedding ceremony.”

  Madison stepped forward. “So, you’ve shown me the view first anyway, only in a roundabout way.”

  Again he stood close, and when she looked over, she could make out the details of his pale gaze, the touch of blue in otherwise storm-gray eyes.

  He glanced down, and quickly back up. The effect of his little eyelash flick might not have been intentional, but that didn’t make it any less potent. Heat shot through her body like an electrical surge.

  “This is more like second or third on the tour by now, right?”

  Her face felt like granite as she fought not to fall into his gaze. “Second. Still, you got your way.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” He defended himself with a smile. “The veranda simply is where it is, and the view is undeniable.”

  Yes, the view was definitely undeniable.

  “We can ignore it for now if you prefer. Just close your eyes. Look away and we’ll pretend it’s not there.”

  “Too late.”

  “Would you like to go outside?”

  She tapped her pen against her portfolio and looked around, at anything but her tour guide. “I think I’d like to see the restaurant now.”

  “But you said . . . I mean, sure. Let’s go check out the restaurant. We can just avoid the ki—”

  “I’ll need to see the kitchen too, of course.” If he insisted on working the view in early, and doing that thing with his eyes, then she could insist on seeing the kitchen.

  “A heads-up though,” Roark said as he opened the restaurant door for her. “Our chef is still probably mid-cookie prep, and he’s a messy yet amazing chef. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

  The restaurant was quiet and mostly empty, which made sense for midafternoon. A small bar took up the wall to the left, just inside the door, and only a bartender milled about. At the table nearest the bar, a dark-haired man sat, fully focused on his laptop, paperwork spread out around him, cell phone clutched to his ear.

  He glanced up and gave Roark a cursory nod, his gaze like a laser beam even from this distance. His dark hair was longer, but with the jawline and intense glare, he was definitely a Bradley.

  Roark nodded back, but neither of them smiled or made any effort to approach the other.

  Interesting.

  “So this is Bradley’s.” Roark presented the restaurant without moving farther into it. “Steve is our bartender and he’s a genius. The restaurant is full service, but we can do catering in or out of house, depending on what you need.”

  “Who is that?” Madison played clueless and nodded to the man still hard at work on whatever he was doing.

  “That’s my brother, Devlin. He’s our hospitality manager. I can introduce you later.” Roark held open one of the white swinging doors that had to lead to the kitchen.

  Madison went first and the scent of rich sweetness hit her before she even made it in the door.

  Her mouth fell open at the display before her, and she wasn’t the type to ever let her mouth fall open. “That is a lot of cookies.”

  Several different types of cookies lay carefully arranged on three silver platters. The usual chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and peanut butter, but also a decadent, deep-orange colored cookie with a ribbon of creamy white, and the most elaborately decorated sugar cookies she’d ever seen. Thick frosting in chocolate, vanilla, and several other colors swirled over the tops. Some were even topped with a monogrammed H.

  “Those look. . . .” Madison swallowed back a little bit of drool. “Good.” Would it be bad form if she face-planted into one of the serving trays?

  “I tried to tell you, it’s dangerous in here right now. Wright is messy, but he prides himself on his desserts, and what used to be a f
ew simple tea treats has turned into this.”

  “Wright?”

  “Our chef. He’s probably outside with a produce vendor right now, but these are his pride and joy. He makes way too many. We always have leftovers, but every day he takes the remaining cookies to the children’s hospital or an assisted living facility, sometimes the school. I can’t complain about the extras without sounding like a—”

  “A jerk?”

  “Yeah.” Roark puffed with a laugh, rocking back on his heels. “So I keep my mouth shut and let the chef do his thing.”

  Madison would’ve rolled her eyes at the halo polishing about giving cookies away to kids and the elderly, if he hadn’t been so honest about having to keep his mouth shut.

  “What are the orange ones?” she asked.

  “Pumpkin Pleasure Rolls.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Now I have to ask.”

  “Wright named them that. Says it’s because they’ll make your eyes roll back in pleasure. His words, not mine. And he calls the frosted ones Frosty Fixations.”

  She rubbed at her mouth to hide her grin over the ridiculous names.

  “He’s a fanatic, I’m telling you. But I can’t eat just one. Would you like to try a Pumpkin Pleasure Roll?”

  Would she like to try one?

  She barely managed not to laugh like a hyena. Hell yes, she would like to try a whole plate of them and then roll around in the crumbs, but she was not going to fall victim to the inn’s goodies yet. Not until she knew this deal wasn’t going to blow up in her face.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Seriously?”

  She couldn’t believe it either. The self-restraint she was practicing right now would impress a nun.

  Roark stepped aside. “Suit yourself then. Feel free to have a look around the kitchen. You’ll see the enormous vat of vanilla mixture over there. It’s been known to attack. Give it a wide berth.”

  Madison turned away so he couldn’t see her smile. She was here to work; to broker a deal that meant she was capable of succeeding on her own. That deal meant practically taking over his inn for a weekend and pulling off the impossible in about three weeks. She was not here to smile and laugh with the good-looking inn owner.

  The kitchen was clean but recently used and cluttered. Wright might be a messy chef, but he tidied up afterwards. The revamps Roark had mentioned showed in the new commercial oven and appliances.

  Luckily, she was capable of doing a thorough yet speedy overview of everything. The longer she spent in this kitchen, the more tempted she was to stuff a cookie in her mouth.

  A scenario ran through her mind. What was the likelihood she could scarf down one, possibly three, cookies without anyone noticing?

  She finished checking out the kitchen and wound back around to the front, right in time to find Roark polishing off a Pumpkin Pleasure Roll.

  His cheeks full, he dipped his chin, color rushing to his face. When he got done chewing, the strong line of his jaw was back in place, but his cheeks were still pink. Roark’s flush was a complete contradiction to his steady gaze and serious look. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and smoothed his shirt down, as though straightening a tie that wasn’t there.

  “Busted.” He smiled, showing the tiniest hint of a dimple in his right cheek.

  In that moment, Madison finally admitted the truth to herself. Between the cookies and the resort owner, Roark Bradley was the yummiest choice.

  Chapter 2

  “I need to see the outside now.” Madison bolted past him like the kitchen had caught fire.

  Roark followed, tossing the napkin aside. “I thought you said—”

  “I know what I said. I changed my mind.” She beat a quick retreat through the restaurant, to the French doors.

  “The view from outside is pretty amazing,” he called after her.

  “Good.” Madison stepped out onto the veranda and kept going.

  The sudden urgency shouldn’t surprise him. She’d done nothing but confuse him so far. Almost smiling, and then straight-lipped. Wowed by the cookies, then glaring at them and him.

  Earlier she’d made it very clear she wanted to tour in a particular order, jabbing her pen around like a weapon, defending her choice of itinerary as though Roark wasn’t going to let her have her way.

  He didn’t care how they toured, but she’d been so insistent, he couldn’t help picking at her, just a little.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go to a room?”

  Madison spun on him, her eyes so wide the green practically sparked. “What?”

  Roark skidded to a halt so he didn’t plow into her. “Whoa, what?”

  “What did you just say?”

  “You sure you don’t want to tour a guest room? You said before, the order in which you wanted to tour: first the great room, a guest room, the restaurant and kitchen, and then the outdoors.”

  “Oh.” She clutched her portfolio in front of her. “No. It’s fine.”

  Surely she didn’t think he’d meant . . . Oh.

  “I didn’t mean it like go to a room.”

  Madison pinned him with a dead-eyed stare.

  Damn. Damn. He’d guessed way off base. “Not that . . . I’m not saying that’s what you thought. I’m saying, just in case it came out like that, I don’t want you to misinterpret . . .” He was making it worse. A lot worse. Not quite as bad as being caught with a mouthful of two, count them, two cookies, but still pretty damn awkward. “Never mind. So, this is the veranda.” He held an arm out toward the view.

  He was a lot of things, but the smarmy guy who hit on a woman with some two-bit line? Hell no. She was undeniably attractive, but a woman involved in his business was strictly that.

  “It’s fine. I know what you meant.” Madison took off walking again, her heels clicking on the stone flooring of the veranda.

  A wave of relief blew over him like cool air and he hurried to join her. With her height, and a pair of long legs that he was working very hard not to notice, he had some catching up to do.

  All right, that much was a lie. He’d noticed her legs. Wearing tailored gray pants and a matching jacket, cinched in to highlight her waist. The lady knew how to wear a business suit, but he was trying to be a gentleman and not fixate on . . . things.

  Like the sharpness in Madison’s green eyes, the smooth arch of her neck, the way she fought smiling, so that the corner of her lips curled up mischievously.

  Dammit.

  Devlin was right. He needed to get out more.

  She finally stopped speed walking when she reached the wrought-iron banister. “This is lovely.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath, her blond hair in a perfect twist at the nape of her neck.

  “I told you.” He finally caught up to her.

  Roark threw a covert glance in her direction, under the guise of checking out a view he’d seen hundreds of times. All he could do was try to get a read on what she thought of the place.

  She seemed to like Honeywilde, but she wasn’t exactly telegraphing her reactions.

  Everything about Madison was hard to read. She started to joke with him one moment, then completely shut down. She shared some information and went airtight on the rest. Roark was playing guessing games when it came to Madison Kline. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, but it wasn’t helping his confidence about this deal. Booking a wedding could be a boon for the inn, and they desperately needed a boon right now.

  In the midst of their quietly taking in the view, Madison suddenly sparked to life. She stepped away from the banister and did a 360-degree turn, studying the veranda. “I think you could comfortably seat forty people out here. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Forty would be comfortable.” He hopped topic trains to keep up with her. “You’d still have nice space for the ceremony official, wedding party, and musicians if you want them. Seating for fifty-five would be cozy but doable. The one time we had more seating
than that, it was too much. Most people shoot for fifty.”

  “Thank you for the insight,” she said without smiling.

  “You’re welcome.” Part of owning an inn and resort was selling it, and he had to sell people on Honeywilde. He and his family relied on it, and he’d learned at the wise old age of seven, that if he didn’t take care of his family, nobody else would.

  “I bet the sunsets here are nice.” She held her portfolio tight and looked out over the mountains again.

  He joined her, taking in the sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains beyond and Lake Anikawi below. “Better than nice. They’re amazing. That’s not a line either, by the way, but my honest opinion. Legend has it the sunsets seen from here can soften even the hardest heart, and bring love and prosperity.” That part was complete bullshit if you asked him, but so were most legends. Lots of visitors believed them, so who was he to point out the ridiculousness of it?

  “I’ve heard that bit of folklore about the inn in general. Bringing love and luck and all that. Do you believe it?” Madison leaned her elbow on the banister and met his gaze.

  She clearly wanted his opinion, but more importantly, a forthright answer.

  As the inn’s owner, he ought to weave in a little love and storytelling to improve a guest’s experience. As a boy who grew up at Honeywilde, hearing about a legend that had done nothing to help his parents’ troubled marriage, he had a hard time buying the myth. “No. The whole thing is mostly hype, but guests love the notion. Guess that’s all the reason I need to play along.” A long-nurtured bitterness crept into his voice, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

  Madison studied him long enough that heat spread over the back of his neck, then she gave him a quick nod. “I don’t buy it either, but most people eat up that sort of thing.”

  “What are those over there?” She pointed to the spattering of cabins along the slope, next to the inn.

  “Those are ours. We have a few private properties. Cabins, all heated with electricity, fully furnished. For guests who want more of a secluded feel.”

  “A compromise between an inn and a yurt.”

  She spoke the words with such contemplation, Roark had to chuckle.