Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(14)

This was my dream realized. And part of why I loved it so much was because I could push through the glass doors and walk into the hotel lobby.

As a kid, I’d spent a lot of hours here with Mom. While Dad had been busy running the ranch, Mom had taken charge of the hotel. How many coloring books had I filled sitting beneath her feet at the lobby’s mahogany reception counter? How many toy cars had I sent flying across the floor? How many Lego sets had I built on the fireplace’s stone ledge?

This was the scene of my youth. Griffin had preferred to ride shotgun with Dad on the ranch. I’d tagged along with Mom. When I’d moved home after finishing culinary school and working for years in San Francisco, it hadn’t even been a question of where I’d wanted to start a restaurant.

Mom and Dad had been renovating and updating the hotel for the past five years. Knuckles was the last major project for a while. Eloise had some ideas of her own, but those would have to wait.

At least they would if I took over.

She was talking to a guest at the reception counter. I turned the opposite direction and headed for the laundry room. One of the washing machines was churning while two dryers hummed as the sheets inside tumbled. There was a cleaning cart outside the break room so I moved to the doorway, finding Memphis at the coffee pot.

Her shoulders were slumped forward as she filled a ceramic mug. The phone in her pocket rang and she dug it out, checking the screen. Then as she’d done in my kitchen, she silenced it and shoved it away.

“Thirty-nine,” she mumbled.

Thirty-nine what? Who was calling her? And why didn’t she answer?

Those questions were not my business. And not why I was here.

“Memphis.”

She gasped and jumped, the pot in her hand shaking. “Oh, hi.”

“Sorry to startle you.”

“It’s okay.” She stared at my clean T-shirt. “Sorry about your other shirt.”

“It’s fine.” I eyed the mug. “You didn’t get a coffee from the shop?”

“No, I, um . . . just changed my mind. This coffee is good.”

That was a damn lie. It was bitter and boring, hence why I went to Lyla’s each morning for espresso.

When we’d collided, I’d been focused on my cup, wishing I had put a lid on it. Wishing I hadn’t been texting Talia. I’d sent her a note this morning asking if it was normal for a two-month-old baby to cry so fucking much. She’d replied with yes and an eye-roll emoji.

Memphis’s head must have been down too. And there’d been the distinct sound of coins clattering on cement.

She’d been digging for change. That was why she hadn’t seen me walk through the door. She’d planned to pay for a coffee with loose change. Change that I’d knocked out of her hand.

Maybe she hadn’t collected it after I’d left her on the sidewalk. Or maybe she hadn’t had enough.

“Why didn’t you get a coffee?”

“I changed my mind.” She tipped her mug to her lips. From beyond the rim, she sent me a glare. It was subtle, but fire sparked in those brown eyes. If she let that flame blaze, she’d level me to the ground and leave nothing behind but ash.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m trying not to be everywhere.” Then she breezed past me into the hall.

Yeah, I’d deserved it. And worse.

The cleaning cart rattled as she steered it away, then the elevator doors dinged as they closed.

“Why can’t I say no to my sister?” I muttered before returning to the kitchen, where Skip whistled as he diced a pile of red potatoes.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.” I swiped a clean white coat from the hook and buttoned it up, shoving the sleeves up my forearms. I was about to reach for a knife when I hung my head.

I’d gone to apologize to Memphis.

I hadn’t actually apologized. Fuck.

This plan to keep my distance wasn’t going to work if it took two trips to deliver every message.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Headache, Knox?” Skip asked.

“Yeah.” Her name was Memphis Ward.

She had smooth skin, flawless beneath the moonlight. She had dark circles under her eyes that bothered the hell out of me. She had a men’s black T-shirt that she wore in place of pajamas, and as often as I’d replayed last night, I couldn’t remember if she’d had a pair of shorts on underneath or just panties.

Maybe if we could just coexist, her going one direction while I went the other, we’d survive this short-term lease. With some space, I could banish all thoughts of her toned legs and pink lips.

“I forgot something,” I told Skip, then made my way to the lobby.

Eloise was at the reception counter, perched on a tall chair as she clicked away at the computer screen. The guests she’d been talking to earlier were now sitting on the couch in front of the unlit fireplace. When my sister saw me coming, she smiled. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Memphis. I saw her head upstairs. Do you know what floor she’s on?”

“The second, I think. Why?”

“Nothing.” I waved it off. “Just wanted to talk to her about something.”

“How’s it going with her at your place?”

“Fine,” I lied, then before she could ask more questions, I strode toward the staircase, preferring it over the elevators.