The summerhouse sat on the edge of the woods, through the gardens and past the fountain. Last time Carrie had been there, it had been filled to the rafters with Nancy’s boxes of junk. But theoretically it was a proper lodging; she’d even stayed there herself one summer when the inn proper was full. It would be interesting to see what Nate had done with the place.
The lights of the summerhouse were visible from a way back, glowing yellow against the dark of the woods, warm and inviting. Carrie wrapped her cardigan tighter around her, and stepped up the three wooden steps to the door.
Nate answered her knock quickly, a paperback in hand, and didn’t look in the least surprised to see her. Stepping aside with a quirk of a grin, he motioned her inside, and shut out the night air behind her.
“Drink?” he offered, moving to the kitchenette in the corner of the main room, which held a microwave and mini fridge. “I’ve got wine or beer, I think. Or whiskey.” He looked up and saw her still hovering by the door and said, “Sit down, won’t you?”
Still Carrie hesitated, as he stuck his head back into the fridge. The summerhouse looked nothing like she remembered. It looked like a proper home now, with a sofa, and a desk under the window, and even lamps and one of Nancy’s traditional lumpy patchwork blankets. The door to the bedroom was open, and she could see a real bed beyond, not just a camp bed. And she knew farther back was the tiny bathroom Nancy had put in when she had some idea of this being staff quarters one day. Which it was, now, Carrie supposed.
Nate stared at her from the kitchenette, a bottle of wine in one hand and whiskey in the other. In a burst of movement, she threw herself down on one end of the sofa and said, “Actually, whiskey would be great.”
The glass tumblers Nate provided looked like the odd ends of Nancy’s old sets, and probably were. As he settled onto the other end of the sofa, Carrie took a sip of the smooth amber liquid and started to feel properly at home for the first time that day.
Nate watched her, caution behind his eyes, and she tried to smile for him. “Nancy started me drinking whiskey when I was sixteen,” she said. “Just a half measure, before bed, when I couldn’t sleep. The next summer she decided that if I was going to drink it, I should at least learn what was decent and what would rot my insides.” She took another sip. “This is good stuff.”
“It should be,” Nate said, with a half smile. “It was a Christmas present from Nancy.”
“That explains it, then.”
They sat in silence for a moment, until it started to feel awkward, and Nate said, “Did the papers tell you all you needed to know?”
Carrie sighed. “And much, much more.” She remembered the second page of Nancy’s letter. “Apparently I have to keep you on.”
Nate blew out a short breath. “Is that a problem?”
“Not as much as the bookings we apparently have until the end of time.”
“Ah.” Nate winced into his whiskey. “The Seniors.”
“Yeah.” Carrie tried to catch his eye, but his attention was firmly focused on his drink. “You knew about that bit?”
Nate shrugged those wonderfully wide shoulders again. “Nancy mentioned she wanted them to still feel welcome at the Avalon.”
Carrie sipped at her whiskey and considered. “It’s that important to them?”
“It’s their home.” Nate looked up, finally, and caught her eye. When he spoke again, it was with such conviction, Carrie almost wished he hadn’t. “None of them really have anyone, or anywhere, else. It’s not just the three of them, you realize. There’s a whole crowd of people for whom the highlight of their week is playing Bridge with Stan, or dancing with Cyb. It’s important.”
“A community service,” Carrie said, with a half smile. “Only problem is, I don’t see how it’ll go side by side with a boutique wedding venue hotel.”
Nate settled back against the arm of the sofa, his left leg folded up over his right. It couldn’t be comfortable, Carrie thought, being such a tall man in a very small summerhouse. “That’s what you’ve got planned for the place?”
Carrie nodded. “It’s what I do; I’m a wedding organizer. When I was a child, I thought the Avalon would be the most perfect place in the world to have a wedding. I thought... Well, I guess I thought that was why Nancy left the place to me.”
“She left the inn to you because she loved you,” Nate said, and Carrie had to look away. She was going to have to work with this man. She needed to trust him.
“There was a financial summary in the pile,” she started, and Nate winced.
“Yeah. It’s not great, I know.”
Carrie bit her lip. “I sort of have a plan for that.”
“Really?” Nate sat up so fast he sloshed whiskey over his fingers, and brought them up to his mouth to lick them off. “What?”
“My boss, Anna. She’d been talking for a while about having a bespoke Wedding Wishes venue, somewhere we could offer our brides, in addition to the usual hotels. I mean, we know what they’re looking for, and what’s needed. I wasn’t sure how serious she was about it. But with the Avalon just a couple of hours from Manchester...”
“She thought it would be perfect.” Nate was looking less excited now. He took a sip of his whiskey. “How would it work?”
“We’re still hammering out the details.” Carrie twisted her glass around between her hands. “Basically, I’ve got this week to figure out if it’s feasible. Anna’s coming up Monday next week to take a look at the place.”
“Not a lot of time.” Nate stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “Especially given the length of your to do list.”
Shaking her head, Carrie said, “I won’t get any of that done by then. I just need to have a plan. To show Anna it’s possible.”
“And you think it is?”
“I hope so.” If it wasn’t, she’d have to sell the inn. Go back to her everyday life in Manchester and never see the Avalon again.
“What if it isn’t?” Nate pressed, his eyes dark and serious in the lamplight.
“It will be,” Carrie said, with more confidence than she felt.
Nate nodded. “Okay. So once we’re up and running as a specialist wedding venue, looking after all your clients, what about you? Will you stay and run the place?”
“I’ve never... I don’t...” Carrie took a breath and started again. “I think Anna plans to put a manager in to run it.”
“But it’s your inn.”
“Yes, but...she needs me, you see. To run things back in Manchester.”
Nate was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I’m still not seeing what you get out of this.”
“I get to keep my inn, and visit as often as I can,” Carrie said. Then, in the name of honesty, she added, “And to be a partner in the company.”
“So a share of the profits, then.”
Carrie nodded.
“I see.”
“What did you think I was going to do?” she asked, honestly curious.
Nate shrugged. “There were a number of theories. You could have sold the place for development into flats, for example.”
“I’d never do that!”
“Yeah, well, we couldn’t be sure.” Nate sighed. “Stan will be relieved, anyway. He’s been imagining the worst for weeks.”
“You think they’ll come to a compromise?” Carrie asked, hopeful. “About the dance nights and the Bridge?”
He eyed her speculatively. “I think it will be fun to watch you try,” he said, finishing off his whiskey.
“As long as I’m entertaining,” Carrie said, and swallowed the last of her drink.
“I think you might be.” Nate got to his feet, unfolding slowly from the sofa. “Well, you can’t do anything about it tonight. So can I pour you another, or do you want me to walk you back to the inn?”
Carrie handed him her glass, finally remembering why she’d actually come down to the summerhouse in the first place. “Actually, I was wondering if you knew what had happened to Pusscat?
I haven’t seen him...”