Authors: Nic Saint
She carefully placed a picture frame of her mom and real dad on her nightstand, next to one of her pug Pookie, not only the ugliest dog in the world, but also the sweetest.
“You know what would be great?” said Lauren, suddenly sitting up. “That we would meet Chris. I mean, Belgium is about the size of Maryland, right? So how difficult can it be to run into Chris? Didn’t he say he was from around these parts?”
Kate pursed her lips and felt her cheeks flush. “Maryland’s pretty big, Lauren. I doubt if we will run into that man. Besides, if I never see Chris again, it will be too soon.”
Lauren guffawed. “Now you sound just like your mom!”
“I do not!” cried Kate, appalled.
Lauren sat upright and gave her a long, level look. “You’re actually telling me that you don’t
want
to see him again?”
“Not after what he did to me,” said Kate. “And can we please change the subject? I’m with Franklin now. Chris is ancient history and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Oh, have it your own way,” muttered Lauren, and plunked her head down onto the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
Instantly, Kate felt remorse for her outburst. She had a quick temper and was prone to sudden mood swings. She flung herself onto the bed next to her friend and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Forgive me?” she said softly.
Lauren grinned and slung her arms around Kate’s neck. “Of course,” she said. “Promise me you won’t mention Franklin anymore, and I’ll promise not to mention Chris. Deal?”
“Deal,” Kate said.
Chris, a fellow police officer Kate had met during an international police conference in New York, was still a sensitive topic for Kate. They’d instantly hit it off together, and had enjoyed something of a whirlwind romance that had even ended in bed. When Kate awoke the next morning, Chris was gone without a trace. And even though they’d only known each other for three days, she’d taken his sudden departure much harder than she could have ever imagined. Somewhere in those 72 hours, she’d fallen madly in love with him, and his dumping her had broken her heart.
She knew his name, of course, and that he hailed from Belgium, but her pride had kept her from getting in touch. If he didn’t want to be with her, she wasn’t going to run after him. And since it was obvious all he’d ever wanted was to get her into bed, she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Much had happened since that weekend. She’d met Franklin at yet another convention, and after five quiet and respectful dates, she’d taken him home to meet her mother, and soon after that, he’d proposed. If she was absolutely honest with herself, she would have admitted she didn’t feel the kind of passion for Franklin she had felt for Chris. But who wants passion when you can have a perfectly happy life with a man who adores you and worships the ground you walk on? Perhaps she didn’t love Franklin as much as he loved her, but love can grow, and she fully expected to be very happy as Mrs. Franklin Drub. Very happy indeed.
Chapter Three
A
fter she’d finished unpacking
, Kate decided to have a quick lie down. For some reason it was always hard for her to sleep on a plane, and while Lauren had been snoring away like a full-featured chainsaw, she’d been wide awake throughout the flight, going over the wedding preparations, and more importantly, playing out every possible scenario of her first meeting with dad.
It was safe to say she was more than a little nervous about what would happen when they finally did meet. Would they get along? Would he treat her like a long-lost daughter or a total stranger? She really had no idea, though the initial contact had been favorable. She’d suggested they Skype, but apparently he’d never heard of the technology. Fortunately, he did know how to email, so at least there was that. He even had a Facebook page and Twitter account, though Kate was quite sure he wasn’t personally involved. Probably an assistant took care of the social media angle.
Her head had just hit the pillow when a loud banging sound had her groaning in despair. Checking the bedside clock, she saw to her surprise she’d slept at least twenty minutes. The banging continued, and she sat up, feeling grumpy and moody.
“What the hell?” she murmured, rubbing her eyes.
The door flew open and Lauren entered, looking equally dismayed and flustered. She had bed wrinkles on her left cheek, her eyes were half-lidded, and her hair was plastered to her face on the wrinkly side. She’d clearly been fast asleep, just like Kate.
“What’s with the noise!” Lauren cried. Then, searching Kate’s room with the one eye that was open as she made valiant attempts to open the other one, she finally deduced the banging wasn’t coming from here.
“Next door,” Kate mumbled, and they both stumbled to the door like two zombies in search of brains—something that had always surprised Kate: why
are
zombies hungry for brains? Why not roast chicken or a nice parmesan salad?
Out in the hallway, they both pricked up their ears, trying to pinpoint the exact source of the infuriating racket. It appeared to be coming from the room next to Kate’s, which would explain the sensation she’d had of being knocked upside the head.
The door to the room—according to the sign called the Orchid Room—was closed, and without bothering to knock—whoever was doing this hadn’t asked their permission either—they simply barged in.
“Could you please keep this infernal noise down?” Kate exclaimed, then suddenly recognized the occupant of the room, and her face fell.
A man was standing on a stepladder, hammer in hand, and was about to give a nail he’d been driving into the wall another good wallop when he saw Kate, and his eyes widened considerably. He was a handsome man; all thick, curly hair, blue eyes, square jaw and a body to die for. But more than that, he was the man who broke her heart six months ago in the Royal Metropolitan hotel in New York, when he’d walked out on her after giving her the best night of her life.
“Chris!” she exclaimed, feeling her legs give way beneath her.
For a moment, something flashed in Chris’s eyes, and his lips curled up into a spontaneous smile, but then he regained his composure and gave her a curt nod.
“Kate,” he said rather formally. “Nice to see you again.”
Whereas a moment before, he’d seemed glad to see her, now he appeared cold and distant, and the small sprinkling of hope that had awakened in Kate’s heart, died out and was replaced by the dull ache she’d been feeling for months. He wasn’t the least bit happy to see her again, that much was clear, and who could blame him? No man likes to be reacquainted with a one night stand. Especially when she suddenly turns up on his own turf.
“I didn’t know you lived around here,” she said softly.
“Born and bred in Bruges,” he said.
“I, erm, I’m on vacation here,” she offered, even though he hadn’t asked.
“That’s nice,” he said in that same awkwardly flat tone.
They both looked away, not knowing what to say.
“Aren’t you gonna introduce me?” another voice rang out, and when Kate looked up, she saw that Chris hadn’t been alone in the room. This new addition was a bear of a man. A full head shorter than Chris but easily twice his size, with jet black hair and warm, brown eyes. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, but he had a goofy smile that lent him a certain charm.
“This is Kate,” said Chris curtly. “Kirt, my associate.”
“And who are you?” said Kirt, eyeing Lauren with interest.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” said Lauren. “I’m just along for the ride.”
“Hey, that makes two of us,” said Kirt. “I’m Chris’s sidekick. Van Damme Security & Co.” He tapped his chest. “I’m Co. We provide security solutions for all businesses, great or small. So if you have a security concern, ladies, be sure to knock on our door.”
“Well, since you knocked on ours, I’ll be sure to return the favor,” said Lauren with a smile that made Kirt blink.
“Any time, Lauren,” said Kirt, returning the smile.
Gesturing to Chris, still perched on top of his ladder, and now looking bored, Lauren added, “So what are you doing here? Installing cameras to spy on the guests?”
“Good one,” said Kirt affably. “No, as a matter of fact we’re installing a burglar alarm in all the rooms.”
“Burglars?” said Lauren, surprised. “Here in Bruges?”
“Oh, it’s just a precaution,” Kirt was quick to assure her. “No one has ever burgled this place. But these days you can’t be too careful. You never know when you might receive an unwelcome guest.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Lauren, chipper.
All this time, Chris had stood with his back to them, and Kate felt herself shrinking more and more. She just wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Meeting with her old lover was affecting her in the most devastating way. As if he hadn’t hurt her enough the last time, by giving her the cold shoulder treatment now, it was clear the man simply despised her, and she didn’t know why. She felt tears stinging in her eyes, and rather than break down in front of him, she decided to keep what little dignity she had left, and quickly turned away and walked out.
“Great seeing you again,” she muttered, and closed the door behind her.
“Kate, wait!” said Lauren, but her friend was already running down the hallway, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Nic Saint is the pen name for writing couple Nick and Nicole Saint. They’ve penned 40+ novels in the romance, cat sleuth, middle grade, suspense, comedy and cozy mystery genres. Nicole has a background in accounting and Nick in political science and before being struck by the writing bug the Saints worked odd jobs around the world (including massage therapist in Mexico, gardener in Italy, restaurant manager in India, and Berlitz teacher in Belgium).
When they’re not writing they enjoy Christmas-themed Hallmark movies (whether it’s Christmas or not), all manner of pastry, comic books, a daily dose of yoga (to limber up those limbs), and spoiling their big red tomcat Tommy.
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The Mysteries of Bell & Whitehouse
Copyright © 2015 by Nic Saint. All rights reserved.
Published by Puss in Print Publications.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
Editor: Chereese Graves.