Inn & Out (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 2) (3 page)

It dawns on me that he might be as unhappy with the results of the will as I am. But I’m an actual relative, and I’ve no idea what he is.

“Were you surprised by the will?” I ask.

Thor grips the steering wheel tightly until his knuckles turn white. “I’ve been hanging out at the High Tide my whole life. It’s been my second home, and Eleanor was like my mother.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say.

“The High Tide is a magical place,” he continues. “It deserves to be run by someone who loves it, by someone who knows its history.”

“Fine with me. Buy me out, and you can love it forever.”

He grunts and keeps driving. We head away from the village. The island’s landscape is for the most part pretty barren with low scrub and a lot of sand, but the sea air is delicious. It invigorates and relaxes me at the same time. After driving for about ten minutes, Thor turns into a long dirt driveway. Tall eucalyptus trees line both sides of the road. It’s peaceful and lovely, but there’s a small piece of me that wonders if Thor is taking me to the middle of nowhere to kill me in order to keep the inn for himself.

Soon, however, a large sign announces the High Tide Inn, and my worry fades away. One side of the sign has fallen off its hinge and is stuck in the dirt, and half of the letters are rubbed away so that it says, “Hig ide n,” but I get the picture. A second later, I see my half-inheritance.

The inn is a large house. It’s a massive wood structure, which used to be white, but now the paint is chipped and worn to almost nothing. “Oh my God, it’s the Psycho house,” I say.

“It’s not the Psycho house,” Thor growls.

But it is. It’s a large, rundown Victorian, and I’d bet my eighteen dollars that Thor has got a dead woman in a rocking chair somewhere on the property. Maybe I’ll meet my dead aunt after all.

The house is built on a cliff with a lot of land around it. Thor parks the golf cart at the front door, which is massive and made of solid oak. In the center of the door is a large stained glass pane of a dove with an olive branch in its beak. The international symbol of peace.

As nice as the front door is, the place is a total dump. I count three broken windows, a lot of termite damage, and trash everywhere. If it was ever an inn, it stopped being one years ago. Nobody would ever pay to stay here, now. “It’s a dump!” I yell. Even if I sell it, I could never live off the proceeds. In this instant, any glimmer of hope I had is dashed. Who would buy this ramshackle monstrosity?

“It’s not a dump,” Thor says, walking up the steps to the front door with the key in his hand.

“It’s the Psycho house. It’s probably condemned. It’s worthless.”

“It’s not worthless. Take that back.”

I run after him, taking the steps two at a time. “It’s worthless. I’ve been suckered. I’m doomed.”

I grab his arm, and he turns around to face me. He’s really tall, at least six-foot-six. He’s beautiful, and he’s also fearsome. His body is tense, on edge, as if he’s ready to pounce like a murderous, feral cat.

“You can’t be serious about fixing up this place. It would take millions. Nobody on earth would want to pay money to stay here,” I say, stomping my foot.

He stares down at me, his icy blue eyes boring through my head. “Turn around,” he orders, his voice deep and low.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I don’t take orders from you,” I say, my voice high and cracking with doubt.

“Turn around.”

“I will not. We’re having a conversation.”

He sighs and grasps my shoulders. I try to pull away from him, but he’s Hercules kind of strong. I’m about to panic when he manages to turn me around so that I’m facing the other way.

“Wow,” I breathe. Behind me is a stunning view of the ocean. The house sits atop a cliff, and below are caves and rock structures, homes to birds and seals. The waves hit the rocks and tide pools with a gentle, hypnotic crash, and beyond is crystal clear blue water as far as the eye can see.

Magic.

It’s one of the most beautiful spots on the planet. I could stand here all day and look at the view, but I hear Thor unlock the door behind me, and I reluctantly tear myself away and follow him inside. “The view is not enough,” I tell him, remembering my argument. I follow him, as he walks through the house. It smells of wood rot and mildew. Thor works to open the large windows. 

The bottom floor is packed with furniture covered in white sheets, and a huge Gone With the Wind staircase with a broken handrail. I can see where the house used to be beautiful, but that ship sailed a looooong time ago, before the time when dinosaurs roamed the earth.

“It’s going to take a million dollars to fix this place,” I complain, following him. “Do you have a million dollars? I don’t have a million dollars, and I refuse to help pay a million dollars to fix it. Do you smell that? It’s the smell of a giant money pit. A money pit mixed with termites, bed bugs, and probably asbestos.” I pinch my nose and breathe through my mouth. Thor keeps walking, as if he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said. He walks into the kitchen, and I’m still on his heels.

The kitchen is massive and a carbon copy of the one in Practical Magic, one of my favorite movies ever, except that half of the cabinet doors are hanging off their hinges, and the floor tiles are cracked. Even though it’s a dilapidated mess like the rest of the house, if I ever wanted to cook, I would be thrilled to have this kitchen. Even I can see the potential, but the potential has a lot of dollar signs attached to it.

Thor stands at the sink and turns on the faucet. As the water flows, there’s a loud clanking, groaning noise throughout the whole house, as if it’s about to fall through the earth.

“I think the Red Baron is attacking,” I say. “Or the entire Luftwaffe. Different war. Same idea.”

Thor washes his hands and turns off the faucet. The noise stops with the water. “It’s just the pipes,” he says, taking a frying pan from underneath the mammoth-sized stove. “They’re old.”

“Yeah, they were made during the Iron Age. Caesar stopped here on his way to conquer Gaul, and he complained about how old the pipes are. Methuselah came by and said the pipes were old. Everything in this dump is old.”

Thor ignores me. He’s very good at ignoring me. As an orphan, I’m used to being ignored, so I’m not dissuaded. “Do you know how much it costs to replace pipes?” I continue. “Four hundred million dollars. At least. Maybe five hundred million. In any case, a lot. You might as well buy a fighter jet instead. Or marry Kanye West. Hey, that smells good. What are you doing?”

I peek around Thor to see him busy chopping and throwing ingredients into a pan. My stomach growls, loudly. I’ve eaten nothing but a handful of banana taffy today. “You’re making enough for two, right?” I ask.

He looks down at me and frowns. “Fine,” he says after a moment and dumps another handful of onion into the pan. It smells so good. Like real food, something I never got in prison. Thor opens the fridge and takes out a butcher paper-wrapped package. Yum. Meat. My stomach growls, again. I haven’t had good meat in two years. I used to be a vegetarian, but now I would take down a cow with my bare hands if it walked into the kitchen.

“Are you sure you’re doing that right?” I ask, ducking my head around him. My face rests on his arm. It doesn’t feel like human flesh. He’s more like the Terminator or a Calvin Klein underwear model. Thor shrugs me off.

“I’m sure. Can you go sit down?”

“Oh, okay. I’ve never met a man who can cook.” I take a seat at the butcher block table in the center of the kitchen.

“The greatest chefs of the world are men,” Thor growls.

“They are? I don’t know anything about great chefs. My idea of a fancy restaurant is Sizzler. Are Sizzler chefs men?” I love Sizzler. I wonder if there’s one on the island. My stomach growls again. Thor’s cooking smells even better than the Sizzler.

He’s working the kitchen like he’s a line cook at Delmonico’s, like he owns the place. Wait a minute…didn’t he just get the key? “So Aunt Eleanor left this food behind? Aren’t you afraid it’s spoiled? She’s been dead for weeks.”

“I stocked the kitchen myself,” he says. He begins to set the table with blue pattern china.

“When was that? Before you half-owned the house?”

He finishes the table and leans down and talks into my face, as if we’re sharing a doobie’s communal smoke. “I’ve half-owned the house for a while.”

“Oh,” I breathe and squirm in my seat. He has a way of looking at me that gets my juices flowing. It may be an I’m-attracted-to-you look or an I’m-going-to-stab-you-in-the-neck-while-you’re-sleeping look. It’s a toss up. Either way, I’m pretty sure my pupils are dilated, along with my cervix. Perhaps it’s just because the only men I’ve seen in the past two years threatened to tase me if I left my cell, but I can’t deny I find the man who stole my future attractive.

Damn it.

Thor serves the food and sits next to me. I dig in. Yum. It’s even better than banana taffy. “You’re welcome,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say with my mouth full. “You’re eating on my plates,” I say.

“You’re eating my food.”

“Well, you’re eating in my kitchen, so I guess we’re even.” Everything I say is a lie. The only thing I really own is a key. I feel a big ball of guilt in my stomach, blocking the delicious meal.

“It’s our kitchen, and it will be my kitchen once I buy you out.”

I toss my fork down on my plate and mop up the last of the meal with a slice of bread. “About that, I don’t think it’s fair for me to wait until you make a go out of this dump. That could take decades, and since you’re not exactly Warren Buffet, as far as I can tell, no way can you afford to get this place up and running. I mean, you’re wearing shorts. You’re wearing a superhero shirt.”

“It’s a mixed martial arts fighter shirt. Brock Lesnar. A great amateur wrestler. How can you not know that?”

I wave my hand, like I’m swatting flies. “Whatever. I lost you at ‘It’s.’ I want to put this place on the market now. It won’t get much, but at least it will be enough to give me a start. And I want a start. I demand a start.”

Thor finishes his meal and mops up the sauce with a piece of bread, just like I did. After wiping his mouth with a napkin, he stares me deep in my eyes, his mouth a tight line. He’s got a five o’clock shadow coming in. Dark and bristly. Sexy as hell.

“No,” he says. “T-shirt and shorts aside, I’m going to get this inn up and running. That’s what I’m going to do. If you don’t like, lump it. That’s how it’s going to go. My house. My inn. My business. Believe me, this is going to happen. I’m going to buy your little ass out. I don’t want to be in business with you, either.”

“Business? Business?” I shriek. “There’s no business. There’s wood rot. There’s clanking pipes. I’m going to call the lawyer right now and get out of this horrible situation. You have to buy me out or sell right now. I’m calling the lawyer. Do you hear me? I’m getting the law on my side.”

Thor clears the table. “Fine. Call the lawyer.”

“Fine. I’m calling right now. You can’t stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you. Call. Knock yourself out.”

“I don’t have a cellphone. May I borrow yours?”

***

The law sucks. The founding fathers were tripping balls when they wrote the Constitution. They wasted a lot of energy about freedom of press when they should have been focusing on an amendment about sharing inheritances. I’m so screwed. Where’s my amendment?

“No amendment,” the lawyer says on the phone. “Life isn’t fair. Shit happens. Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. Get used to it.”

“Do you keep a book of these peppy sayings handy or something?” I ask.

“Besides, someone like you should be grateful,” he continues. “You got a place to stay. Kick back and enjoy it.”

“Someone like me?” There it is. My scarlet A. It’s never going to wash off. I’m an ex-con. For all society cares, there’s no difference between me and Manson.

“I have to go. I have yoga in ten minutes,” he says. “I like to get a place in the back to watch the action, if you know what I mean.”

The lawyer clicks off, and I hand Thor his phone. “Fine. You win,” I tell Thor. We’re halfsies. But I’m not giving up. If I can’t get any money out of the High Tide until it’s up and running, I’m going to make sure it’s up and running fast. I may not be smart when it comes to men, but I’m not stupid otherwise. I’ll figure something out. I’ll escape the money pit dump somehow.

“I win?” he asks. He puts the dishes in the sink and turns the faucet on, making a horrible racket throughout the house, again. “You mean you’re leaving?” he asks, raising his voice over the din.

“No,” I yell to make myself heard. “I’m staying here. I’m going to help.”

“So where’s the winning part?”

I put my hand out. “So, it’s a deal,” I say.

Thor stares at my hand. “What deal?”

“I’m going to help you get this dump up and running. But it’s totally business. No pleasure. You get me? You understand? I will not go out with you.”

“I didn’t ask you to go out with me,” he says, unblinking.

“I’m not falling for that, Thor.” I put extra emphasis on his name. Being named after a Viking god is inciting, as far as I’m concerned. “No mouth hockey, no hide the salami, no what’s-in-there-let-me-check. You got me? Nothing. Pure business. Professional. Above the waist, clothes on. No longing, no pining, no begging, no unrequited or requited anything. No sidelong glances, no I-didn’t-mean-to-touch-you-there. You keep to your private space, and I keep to my private space. Anything private is hands off. Keep your genitals in a Ziploc bag. The double zipper seal kind. No slippage, no accidental boners. Am I being clear, here?”

“If crazy is clear, then, yes. Crystal clear.”

“So do we have a deal?” I ask with my hand still extended.

“I’m all for the business-only approach, but I want to clarify the business relationship. This is my inn. This is my business. You’re only tagging along for the ride long enough for me to buy you out. Deal?”

“Uh…Sure.” I look down at my fingernails and shuffle my feet. Obviously, he needs my help, but I’m willing to let him believe he’s in charge to expedite things. It doesn’t matter to me if he thinks he’s in charge. I’ll know the truth.