Page 31 of The Christmas Eve Delivery

I was completely overwhelmed. What would I do now? I had a historical registry of local buildings to help manage. I had to keep the inn in business. I had to face the reality that the man ofmy dreams wasn’t even in a long-distance relationship with me. I was just a convenient local hook-up for him.

I was pretty sure I had messed everything up big time.

Evie was going to be so very disappointed in me. I really didn’t know how I was going to tell my best friend.

16

MILES

Trees passed by the window of the car in a steady rhythmic pattern, like pulses, letting the light through. It was almost like Morse code, the way the light flashed off and on. I really wasn’t looking out the window of the car. I wasn’t looking at anything. I was completely lost in my thoughts. I was tempted to tell the driver to turn the car around and take me back to Brookdale, or take me to the airport and I could catch the first flight to Albany and get a rental to take me the rest of the way north.

I couldn’t do that. That was a dream. I couldn’t give up everything simply to be with Lydia, but that’s certainly what the gaping emptiness in my chest felt needed to happen.

Other than my recent trips to Brookdale, I didn’t get out of the city much. I never saw a reason for it. Business associates could come to me. But today, my driver was taking me out to meet with an investor on Long Island. Normally, I would have insisted that he come to me, but money talks, and this guy had plenty of it, so when he insisted I come out to his office, I agreed. And there Iwas, getting lost in my thoughts of Lydia instead of focusing on the presentation I was headed into.

I found my thoughts turning to Lydia more frequently than not. She was like some elusive drug I could not get enough of. My fingers longed to caress her skin again. Until that could happen, I would have to find solace in my memories. The problem was I was turning into a bit of a daydreamer, and not a man of action. There were so many things that I didn’t understand until after I met Lydia that seemed so clear to me now.

Pulse, shadow, pulse, pulse, long shadow, more pulses, more light. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the trees and light were actually sending me a message to go back to Lydia and confess that I wanted to put a resort into the heart of Brookdale? If the trees were sending me a message, I was completely missing it. I really needed to shake myself up and stop thinking this way.

Putting a resort into Brookdale was the right thing to do. I was aware I was misleading Lydia, but in the end, she had to understand.

I guess it didn’t really matter. We were both clearly lying to each other. She acted as if my short visits were fine instead of confessing that she missed me and wanted me around. I was lying, pretending that I cared anything about that podunk little town when the only thing I cared about was getting in while the property values were low and the return rates were high.

If we were both lying, then were we both the bad guys? I genuinely enjoyed my time with her, so the lies I was telling were clearly to myself.

The car slowed and pulled into an office park. I was genuinely not expecting the bland suburban sprawl for this investor’soffices. Then again, I wasn’t getting a look at where he lived and I knew that tucked away on Long Island areas were some impressive properties.

“I will give you a call when I’m ready to return,” I said as I stepped out of the car.

“Yes, sir,” the driver said.

I adjusted the front of my suit and stepped inside. “Miles Carlisle to see Donald White,” I said to the receptionist.

“Mr. Carlisle, welcome. Mr. White is expecting you. Please follow me.” She stood and led me into the back area of the office. We passed by several rows of cubicles before she tapped on an office door before opening it and announcing I had arrived.

I smiled my thanks as she left, and I stepped into the office with my arm extended, eager to shake Mr. White’s hand and discuss and present the plans for the Brookdale resort.

“Have a seat.” He directed me toward one of the chairs across from his desk.

I cast my gaze around his office quickly, trying to get a feel for who I was dealing with. I was not impressed. The furnishings looked old and cheap, and overall, the office had a school principal field to it. As if everything had been rented and put together, almost like some kind of movie prop. Donald White’s office did not speak to me of investment money so much as investment wannabe.

I pasted a smile on my face and had zero intentions of wasting my trip out here. There was always the possibility that he was playing me. I knew many investors who did not like to present their wealth to the world, almost putting up a front as it were tohide the wealth of resources they had at hand. Yet I knew this man to have backed many projects. He had money.

It wasn’t any more or any less deceptive than what I knew I was doing with Lydia. She did not see the man who wanted to buy up her property. She saw what I wanted her to see, a man who found her incredibly sexy and intriguing. The problem was that neither was a lie and both men were me.

Mr. White sat back in his chair and folded his hands together so his fingers made a crisscross pattern as he rested his hands over his middle. “Tell me,” he said in a booming voice, “why do you think a small-town resort is a good use of my money?”

“People want to get back to nature. People are nostalgic for picturesque small towns, especially when they never lived in one. Upstate New York is an underexploited resource of both nature and the idealistic small-town way of life. The location my group has identified is tucked away right next to the Adirondack mountains with plenty of access to hiking trails and winter cross-country skiing. And this town…” I paused for a moment. “This town is perfectly picturesque and economically struggling. It would charm anyone who stayed there, but they need more tourist attraction resources.” It almost sounded as if I were falling in love with Brookdale, the way Lydia already was.

“So you want to buy it up and replace it with your hotel?”

“The properties we are looking at are in need of rehabilitation and in all honesty, they are money pits. It’s more cost-effective to level them and use them for firewood and put in new construction than it would be to try to save them,” I said.

“How do you explain this grassroots campaign? They are trying to register half of their buildings with the historic record, thusprotecting them against your particular project,” he said with a knowing smirk on his face. It was the kind of smirk that assholes got when they knew something other people didn’t. In this case, he definitely knew something I didn’t.

“I’m sorry. What are you talking about?” I asked.

He slid a photocopied flyer across his desk to me. I picked it up and scanned over the words. Essentially, the flyer announced everything he said about trying to get properties registered and protected based on their original date of construction. The flyer also mentioned help with grants specifically for rehabilitating older buildings.

---