Travis arched a single brow and sipped his coffee. “You got me. I stuck to myself because I—”
“Didn’t have the patience for the bullshit?”
He nodded and lifted his index finger away from the mug to point at him. The motion made Bailey notice how lithe his hands were, veins running up the back of them. Travis, in general, was a slim guy, but there was a hidden kind of strength in his frame. Or maybe that was just his confidence.
Either way, Bailey couldn’t help but stare, at least for a moment before he averted his gaze and swished the coffee around in his mug.
Temporary.
“So, I’m going to be working around the house today. If you need anything, you can come find me.”
“What do you do?”
“I just help Mom with stuff. While she’s gone, I try to get all the big things taken care of. Laundry, most of the cleaning, stuff like that.”
Travis cocked his head. “Does she know you do these things?”
“She does once she gets back and finds them done.” Bailey flushed. “By now she knows not to argue.” It worried him, all the work his Mom did. She couldn’t run an entire inn by herself. Okay, so she wasn’t in bad shape by any means, but Bailey would do anything he could to help her out.
With a chuckle, Travis grinned over at him. “That’s sweet of you. I’m sure she appreciates everything you do.”
“Even if she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. I’d do it anyway.” He glanced out the window behind Travis as he finished off his coffee. “I’m gonna get to it. If you need anything—”
“I’ll come find you.”
From the look in Travis’s eyes, Bailey didn’t know if it would be a good thing if he did, or a bad thing.
After rinsing his mug, he sat it in the drying rack and bid Travis goodbye before he made his rounds. Even though they didn’t have another guest, it was still important to keep the rooms tidy and spotless, just in case someone dropped in unexpectedly. If they didn’t have a guest, they still washed all the linens every two weeks, so Bailey went from room to room, collecting the pillowcases and sheets. It didn’t take long, but as he worked, his thoughts kept returning to their lone visitor.
Travis was writing again.
The thought excited him, and not just as a fan of a talented artist, but as a friend. Bailey knew how it felt when writer’s block hit, and it was one of the worst feelings. Digging deep for that inspiration often took more out of him than just waiting for it to strike. Thankfully he hadn’t been shy of inspiration lately, and Bailey thought it might have something to do with their visiting guest.
Shaking his head to banish the thought, he tugged off the duvet and stripped the sheets of the last bedroom, tossing them into the hamper he’d sat just inside the door.
He tried to put all of his focus into the task, but it was mindless busywork, and his thoughts kept wandering.
In the headlines, Travis was depicted as a heartless party boy. Irresponsible to the point of recklessness, in a new club every night with an equally new twink on his arm.
But just in the short time Bailey had talked to Travis, he was able to see that it was all lies. A story Travis wanted them to tell for his own purposes.
The real Travis was… lost, it seemed. And part of Bailey wanted to help him find himself again. The idol he’d looked up to his whole life wasn’t just some irresponsible loser.
Bailey had been there in the audience of the show Travis had talked so fondly of. In the dark, singing along with no lights and no instruments except for his guitar and the sounds of their voices filling the air. At the age of sixteen, Bailey had finally decided that music was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, and it had been because of that show. The energy in the room, even without the lights and the fog and the special effects, had been something to remember. He’d never forgotten that show, and he’d become a lifelong fan of Travis Cherry from that day forward.
He’d played music ever since he was little, but in his mind he’d always seen himself taking over the inn when he became of age, or when his parents became too old to handle it. But when they’d all been singing at the top of their lungs, shouting the lyrics together and experiencing music in its purest form, Bailey had known instantly that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. So he’d thrown himself into his music, into practicing and writing until he’d developed a sound that was all his own.
At least until his father had died.
Now he had no choice but to help with the business. Already, he didn’t like the stress his mother was under to balance the cleaning and the upkeep along with the vendors and the guests and their needs. He tried to help as much as possible without stepping on her toes, but she was a prideful woman who didn’t know how to relax.
After he replaced the sheets, he took the full laundry hamper to the basement of the house and began two loads of laundry. He set a timer on his phone to alert him to rotate the cycle, then straightened up the kitchen while he waited for a flower delivery. Fresh flowers were his mother’s touch, and he wouldn’t dare mess with her cycle, even though he thought they were a little unnecessary—at least in the off season. During the summer, they were much busier, so he understood the little touches she added to make each stay special.
At the last second, he decided to dip into his bedroom and grab his guitar before retreating to the main living room. He sat right across from the window so he’d be able to see the delivery truck pull up, and absently strummed his guitar while he waited. At first, it was just a few songs he’d written a while ago, but after the timer went off to rotate the first cycle of laundry and he returned, he played a riff that had been stuck in his head since the day before.
His mind wandered as he strummed, staring blankly out the window as the chords that had been bouncing around his head finally manifested into real life. He grinned at the sound of them together, and he played the same progression a few times before he was satisfied.
It was a sadder song, even though he’d felt anything but lately. With Travis Cherry staying in his damned house, he’d been on cloud nine. Especially ever since he’d watched him interact with his kids in the program, and then the intimate way they’d talked until sunset at the greenhouse?
Yeah, sad was the last emotion Bailey had been feeling recently.
Try excited, nervous… happy? Bailey wanted to know everything about Travis—what he loved about music, what he hated. He wanted to know his entire life story and his ideas for the future. In return, Bailey wanted to—
Temporary.
Bailey paused with his fingers hovering over the strings as that voice rang through his head again. He’d left out one emotion—frustrated.
Because Travis was only temporary, and he couldn’t seem to keep that straight. Travis was visiting as he dealt with and got over a recent trauma, and eventually he’d return to the city and continue with his music career.
But Bailey was destined to stay in Holdengate, take over the inn, and live out his life right here. He glanced around the living room, a sigh leaving his lips as he sat the guitar to the side. The crunch of snow under tires interrupted his thoughts and he glanced out the window as the vendor arrived with their flower delivery.
He stood and grabbed his coat before sliding his feet into his boots and meeting the driver. Within fifteen minutes, he’d signed the delivery slip and helped the driver carry the flowers into the kitchen, where he’d trim and then arrange them in the vases around the house.