Page 13 of The Inn Dilemma

When Mom and Trevor share a long and tender look, anger fills my chest.

Mom and Dad have had a strained relationship since I was a little kid, sleeping in different rooms and interacting as if they’re roommates and not a couple who’s been married for almost thirty-five years. But I never expected either of them to stray from their vows, vows that Trevor is attempting to infringe on.

The hostess leads Mom, Trevor, and me to a table at the very center of the room.

Once we’re seated, Mom rests her hand on mine and whispers, “I wanted to make sure we had the best mountain views.” She motions with her head toward the two-story window that boasts an absolutely gorgeous view of the Rockies behind Denver’s cityscape.

I give her my perfected fake smile. The hostess takes our drink orders and assures us our waiter will be with us shortly. Unable to stomach the way Trevor looks at Mom, my attention continually drifts around the restaurant.

“Are you all right, daughter mine?” Mom asks with a teasing lilt to the nickname, forcing me to focus on her and Trevor.

“Sorry, I'm still trying to get back on mountain time.” I look up from my menu to give Mom a placating smile. I’ve actually been back on mountain time for a week now, but I need some excuse other than “I can’t stand seeing how Trevor stares at you” to tell her.

“Understandable,” Trevor says. “I remember being on assignment in Europe and struggling to adjust to the time change.”

“You were in the military?” I ask, shocked that this suit wearing business professional would have served time overseas.

He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Oh no. Just for work.”

I do my best to smooth my expression into one of curiosity and not irritation. For some reason, it annoys me that he worded it how he did. Maybe it’s because I know a true hero, and this guy screams high maintenance and not selfless duty.

“That makes sense,” I lie and give him a fake smile.

Our waiter places our drinks on the table. Momordered some fancy latte, Trevor a Frappuccino, and me a dark roast coffee, black.

There’s a welcome stretch of silence after the waiter takes our orders and leaves, and I take the moment to sip my coffee. I almost groan at its absolutely delicious taste.

Trevor scoots his chair closer to Mom and leans forward, invading more of her space. My heart begs her to pull away, but other parts of me want her to be happy. And if a beta male who flatters her left and right makes her happy, then maybe I should just let it go. Even as I tell myself that, the thought doesn’t sit right with me.

Despite his obvious flirting, Mom handles herself as the lady she’s always been. It’s a fact I’m coming to find minimal comfort in.

Trevor turns from Mom to me. “So, tell me everything about your time in Paris."

Memories flicker to life in the recesses of my mind, and I fight the urge to cringe at who I was when I was dating Beau. In some strange twist of fate, I turned into the woman Dad always pushed me to be while dating Beau. A woman who sat silently and looked pretty. An ornament for Beau’s arm at functions and someone to come home to after a long day at work. My days were spent going to the gym or a Pilates class, getting my nails done, and interacting with Beau’s friends’ wives and girlfriends. In those four years, I became a mindless Stepford girlfriend who did little else than warm his bed. I try my best to not squirm in my seat at the thought.

“Were there lots of parties and trips to the Eiffel Tower?” Trevor asks when I’ve remained silent for too long.

Mom nudges me under the table with her foot, and Islide on my practiced smile. “Tons. I couldn’t get enough of the sights, nightlife, or boutiques.”

He leans back in his chair and peppers me with more questions. It feels as though I’m being interrogated for information and not enjoying a lovely brunch with Mom and her friend. After I’ve cautiously answered each of his questions, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room to escape for a few moments.

Once I take some time to calm myself and say a few silent prayers for guidance, I start my trek back to the dreaded table. Before I make it to the dining room, I hear a deep baritone voice call my name, and I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face.

“Holt!” I almost shout as he walks toward me.

His expression fills me with warmth. But I do my best to ignore it when he raises a teasing eyebrow over his good eye. “Nice get-up.” He motions to the long sleeve gold wrap dress Mom insisted I wear, almost as if she wanted me to match this restaurant’s color scheme. She even showed up at my cabin with it in a garment bag. I couldn’t tell her no. Even if it is a little much for my taste.

I place a hand on my hip. “Listen, just because all you’ve seen me in since I’ve come home is yoga pants and T-shirts doesn’t mean I don’t still care about fashion.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “I wasn’t making fun. You look nice.” There’s an uncharacteristic shyness in his expression now, and that warmth from earlier intensifies. And this time, it’s harder to fight down or ignore.

“Well, thanks,” I say, trying for nonchalance. “So do you.” I motion to his flannel over his plain white T-shirt and backward ball cap. He looks completely out of place in this restaurant, yet doesn’t appear fazed by it. It’s likehe knows he doesn’t fit in, yet doesn’t care. He never compromises who he truly is for the sake of expectations. I’ve always admired and envied that about him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Picking up some pastries for Aunt Birdie.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “You didn’t hear that from me.”

It’s my turn to smirk. “Hear what?” I wink, and he gives me one of his real smiles. “Well, I better get back in there.” I hook a thumb over my shoulder in Mom and Trevor’s direction. “I guess I’ll maybe see you around.”

Holt’s good eye flashes with something strange…regret, longing maybe?

---