“That’s right!” Moira beamed. “And I remember you running in here with grass stains on your knees and your hair full of twigs from climbing the trees in the woods.”
Carrie winced. “I like to think I’ve grown up a little since then.”
“Of course you do,” Moira said. “Now, I suppose you’ll be wanting to see my Nate.”
“Your Nate?” What was it with this guy? Why did everyone think he was so important?
“Nate is Moira’s grandson,” Stan explained. “And I think he was in the kitchen with Jacob, last I saw.”
“I’ll take you!” Izzie said, too quickly. “We were headed that way anyway.”
Carrie allowed herself to be dragged across the dining room, and through the side door that led to the kitchen corridor. When she’d stayed at the inn the chef had been a terrifying woman called Frieda, so Carrie had never really spent much time in the kitchens.
But it seemed as though Izzie had.
“You’ll love Jacob,” she chattered as they walked. “He’s great. And his beer-battered fish and chips with homemade tartar sauce is to die for!”
Carrie’s stomach rumbled. Maybe food wouldn’t be such a bad idea…
“Who were those people?” she asked, to distract herself from her hunger. “Stan and Cyb and Moira, I mean?”
“The Seniors?” Izzie shrugged, which looked odd while she was still walking. “Just friends of Nancy’s.”
But Nancy was gone, and they were still there. “But what, exactly, do they do around here?” she asked.
But it was too late. They’d reached the kitchen door and Carrie no longer had any of Izzie’s attention.
Unfortunately, neither of them seemed to have the much-lauded Jacob’s either.
“I know that, Sally. But she promised...” The guy Carrie assumed was Jacob stopped shouting into his mobile and ran a hand through his disordered hair. “Look, I’m at work. Can’t you just—?-” Looking up, he spotted them in the doorway and abruptly fell silent.
“Don’t mind us,” Izzie said, smiling too brightly as she shuffled Carrie into the hallway. “We’ll come back later.”
“Who’s Sally?” Carrie asked, glancing back over her shoulder.
Izzie’s face clearly showed the debate that was raging in her head as she tried to choose between telling her new boss the truth and protecting Jacob. Carrie raised her eyebrows and waited patiently.
“Childminder,” Izzie said eventually. “Sounds like Jacob’s ex wasn’t able to pick Georgia up today. Bloody woman. She’s only supposed to have her daughter two afternoons a week. Not exactly hard to arrange, now, is it?”
“Happens a lot, does it?” Carrie asked. This was the kind of information she needed. She needed to know where things at the Avalon were weak. Not to use it against them, as Anna would have, but to help. To improve things.
God, what would Anna have made of a chef who kept having to run off to collect the kids? Her ex-boss had never been big on people having a life outside work.
“God, all the time,” Izzie said, rolling her eyes. “She’s such a...” She cut herself off, obviously aware she was approaching the TMI point. “Well, Nate obviously wasn’t there! He’s probably outside. Come on!”
Grabbing Carrie’s arm, Izzie dragged her out of the side door, onto the terrace. Carrie stumbled a little before finding her feet. Apparently Izzie had got over the intimidated-by-the-new-boss phase pretty quickly.
The terrace was exactly as Carrie remembered. Shady and cool, smelling of damp wood and wet grass. She wanted to take a moment, to remember sitting out here on folding chairs with Gran, talking about everything and nothing as they sipped lemonade. Maybe even remember the night of her first kiss, when everything had seemed possible.
But Izzie yelled, “There he is!” and tugged Carrie towards the sound of hammering, so private moments would have to wait.
“Nate!” Izzie called as they approached the edge of the terrace. “Look who’s here!”
Carrie couldn’t see anyone, but the repetitive banging of metal on wood stopped at least. Then, appearing over the wooden terrace rail like a swimmer from the sea, a man unfurled and stood, and leant against the bar.
“Carrie Archer,” he said, his voice low and warm. “You made it, then.”
She blinked. How did he know who she was? And why, of everyone she’d met today, did he feel so familiar?
“Hi. You must be Nate,” she said, holding out a hand over the rail. “I’ve heard…well, nothing about you except your name, actually. And that you’re the gardener here?”
Nate took her hand in his larger, warmer one, and Carrie felt something unfamiliar spark up her arm. Heat? Attraction? It had been so long since she’d felt either she wasn’t sure. But there was something beyond either of those. A feeling of comfort, maybe?
It was probably just the reassuring bulk of his presence. He was a good two feet lower than her, down on the grass below the terrace, but he barely had to reach up at all to shake her hand. He had to be well over six feet, and with the broad, strong shoulders of someone who spent his days working outdoors, lugging trees around or something. He was one solid thing, in an inn that was falling apart.
Maybe Nate was exactly what she needed here at the Avalon. A trusty support team was important to any manager, or leader. If she could get him on side, to help back her up, he could be a great asset.
She was already starting to feel better about the whole thing when Nate’s next words made the terrace shift under her feet and face a new reality.
“Not heard of me, huh? Well, that’s kind of weird, given that your grandmother left me control of the grounds to this place in her will.”
Carrie drew her hand back from Nate’s. “I’m sorry? She did what?”
“Didn’t you read the will?” Carrie shook her head, which made Nate tut. Moving along the grass, he climbed the steps up onto the terrace. Now they were on even ground, he stood a good head and shoulders higher than Carrie. Suddenly, she wished she’d worn higher heels.
“Mr Norton, Gran’s lawyer, he said he’d go through the details with me once I arrived. He just told me that she’d left me the Avalon.” He hadn’t mentioned caveats, or another heir. Hadn’t told her that even Nancy hadn’t thought that Carrie could do this alone.
Someone else she had to prove wrong, then.
“You know your gran,” Nate said, looking down at her with something like pity in his eyes. “Always meddling. She left you the inn, and the land, with the caveat that I had control over the gardens. For as long as I wanted it.”
“And I suppose you still want it.” Looking up, she met his eyes, and knew his answer long before he said it.
“Yes. I do.”
It was hard to tear her gaze away. Something about his slate-grey eyes that drew her in, made her want to be closer.
“Besides, I think you’re