Читать книгу Southern Comforts - Nan Dixon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеRule #11—If cleanliness is next to godliness, then Fitzgerald House must be heaven.
Mamie Fitzgerald
GRAY CHECKED THE time again. The contractor was late. He glanced at his checklist. It was already early February, and he expected to complete the bulk of the work by July.
He shoved at a stack of cardboard piled in the middle of the warehouse floor. He couldn’t wait to get the renovations started, but he needed a contractor that matched his work ethic.
He’d never planned to work anywhere but New England. He had no contacts in Georgia. He shook his head. He hadn’t been able to refuse Derrick’s offer, even though he was sure his frat brother had remembered his phone number only because he’d needed financial help.
Gray slapped his hand on his thigh. Was Gwen any different? If he hadn’t been rich, would she have ever been interested in him? Maybe their similar backgrounds and mutual friends had made their relationship too easy.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t commit. His family wanted him to settle down with Gwen. But he wasn’t convinced a relationship with her would make him happy.
Relationships were a mystery to him, but he trusted his construction knowledge. He knocked on the sturdy interior wall. This place could withstand hurricanes. It had been built on the Savannah River for commercial reasons, but the view would guarantee a good price for the condos.
The sun struggled to shine through grimy windows. He poured coffee from the thermos the B and B staff had sent with him this morning. He took a moment and sipped the strong brew laced with a hint of cinnamon.
At least here in Savannah, he wouldn’t have to attend parties and benefits for causes he didn’t believe in. He could avoid making small talk with people who didn’t share his interests.
His dinner conversation with Abby hadn’t been small talk. They’d talked about creating legacies and restoring a building that would last generations. There’d been reverence in her voice when she’d talked about her family’s B and B.
His phone buzzed. Gray looked at the call display and smiled. “Hello, Mother.”
“Grayson, how are you, dear? How’s Savannah?” Her voice was so Bostonian. So different from the warm drawls he’d heard all morning at Fitzgerald House.
“I’m in hog heaven.”
She groaned. “Gray.”
“Georgia’s great.” He nodded. “The bed-and-breakfast I’m staying at is fascinating. Built in the early 1800s, so you’d feel right at home.”
“I hope you’re not implying anything about my age, dear.”
His laugh echoed in the cavernous room. It sounded—rusty. “Never.”
“Well, no matter how lovely Savannah is, I could never live there. Boston has always been home.”
His mother had grown up in Maine, but he let it go.
“How’s your warehouse?” she asked.
“A disaster.”
“I hear that glee in your voice. You can’t wait to get started.”
“You know me too well.”
“Well, don’t be too much of a perfectionist. I would like to see you sometime. I know you said you’d be there for six months, but you will come home, won’t you? It is possible I might miss my only son.”
And he would miss her. If he was here long enough, he might even miss his sister, Courtney, but not if she kept pushing Gwen his way.
“I’m sure I’ll come home, but why don’t you and Dad come down for a long weekend? I can work something out with the B and B. If my breakfast today was an example, you won’t push away from the table unhappy. Pick a weekend.”
“Your father and I will discuss it.”
“Savannah is amazing,” he said, trying to entice her.
Yesterday, he’d driven through tree-lined streets around squares filled with statues, fountains and people. “I walked to work this morning.” He sighed. “February, and I wore a light jacket.”
The city had sparkled. The air had been cool but springlike. The stress had sluiced off him like paint peeling off a roller. “Come down. Bring Dad and that little pest, Courtney, too.”
“She’s the reason I called.”
“What’s she done now?” He watched a container ship chug up the river.
“Rather, it’s what she says you’ve done. Did you really leave town without telling Gwendolyn?”
“We broke up.” He turned away from the window, fingers choking the phone. “We haven’t seen each other for over two weeks.”
If what he and Gwen had had was special, he should miss her by now. All he felt was relief.
“Gwen’s from such a good family,” his mother said. “I’d hoped you’d suit. She’s lovely and her manners are impeccable.”
Gwen was his match, born of the right people, as his mother would say. She’d forced him to think about more than work. Forced him to get out and do things. She loved parties, loved having throngs of people around her. And she rarely took no for an answer.
Her constant need to be with people, to party, had worn him down. That wasn’t how he wanted to spend his life. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t crowds of people. Peace seemed too nebulous a desire.
“We don’t fit together.” Gray rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the itch that ran up his spine. Why couldn’t he commit? “I’m not ready to settle down.”
“Perhaps absence will make the heart grow fonder. Her mother and I would love to plan a wedding.”
Her words were like the plop of slushy Boston snow invading the collar of his coat.
“I’m not ready to get married,” he said. “My life’s exactly the way I want it.”
“If your life was perfect, I’d have grandchildren.”
“So talk to Courtney.”
The picture of Gwen as a mother didn’t materialize. Abby’s colorful skirt floating around dynamite legs flashed through his mind. He shook his head, but the image stayed.
“You’re thirty-three,” his mother began. It was a familiar refrain and not one he wanted to listen to again.
A door banged, rescuing him.
“The contractor is here.” Finally. “I’ll call when I can.”
No time to argue grandkids with his mother. He had a building to finish.
* * *
CHERYL CLOSED THE back door of her car with her hip. “Here’s your backpack,” she said, handing Joshua the Spider-Man bag filled with his few toys.
They walked through a garden leading from the B and B’s small parking lot. God, her car looked out of place among the guests’ late-model SUVs and luxury sedans.
Her car was more rust than metal. The gray hood didn’t match the green paint on the rest of the body. And it sucked gas and oil like a drunk with a bottle of hooch. But it ran.
They passed a small table in a secluded section of the courtyard. The table was all but hidden from the house and the rest of the grounds. This would work.
She swallowed. “Okay. Wait here for me.” She pulled out Josh’s crayons and a pad of paper. “Draw a picture. I won’t be long.”
Josh looked up at her, his big brown eyes so like Brad’s her heart ached. “Can’t I come with you?”
“I wish you could, but I have to talk to a woman about working here.” She had to get this job. To keep Josh safe, she had to earn a living. She couldn’t go back.
“The rainbow house?”
“Yes, the rainbow house.” She knelt and cupped his cheeks. “Don’t talk to anyone. If you get scared, run to the car and lock yourself in.”
“Like you taught me when Uncle Levi smelled funny and got mean.” He looked solemn and older than a five-year-old ever should. “I run fast, jump in the car and slam down the lock.”
“Yup.” She was a terrible mother, leaving her son alone in a strange place like this. She brushed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’ll be right back.”
She hurried around the corner of the house and up the stairs.
The entry was empty. She pushed the buzzer on the desk.
The house was big. She hadn’t really noticed the day before. When they’d walked up the steps, Joshua had spotted the rainbows and taken off before she could get much sense of their surroundings.
“Can I help you?” An older woman came down the hall.
“I’m here to see...” Her mind went blank.
“Are you Cheryl? No last name?” the woman filled in.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re here to see me. I’m Marion. Last name Winters.”
“Cheryl Henshaw.” After running from Atlanta, she’d decided to use her mother’s maiden name. Levi shouldn’t be able to find them, since he’d never heard the name before.
Marion pointed to a small parlor. “We can talk in here.”
“This house is beautiful.” The words rushed out.
“That it is. And it takes dedication and elbow grease to keep it that way.”
The rich smell of coffee mingled with the scent of lemon wood polish. Cheryl stared at a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of banana bread. The aromas intensified her light-headedness, and she sank onto the sofa.
“Take a sip.” Marion pointed. “You won’t find coffee this good at any of those chain places.”
“Thank you.”
Marion picked up a second mug. “Are you from around here?”
“Atlanta most recently. Before that, Fort McPherson, though I grew up in Richmond.” Cheryl took a sip. “Oh, this is good.”
“How many years have you been cleaning?” Marion asked her.
Cheryl took another sip and then set her mug down. “I’ve cleaned all my life, but I’ve never...been paid to clean.”
“Oh.” Marion frowned.
“I know how to work hard. I won’t let you down.” Please, please, please.
Marion watched her, not saying a word.
Cheryl figured the interview was over. Sighing, she grabbed her wallet. Her Coach purse, a gift from Brad, had been hocked along with her wedding ring. She knew Brad would have understood; she needed to keep Josh safe.
She stood.
Where are you going?” Marion asked.
“I...assumed...” She pointed out of the room.
“Sit on down. Have a piece of that banana bread.”
Cheryl sank into her chair. She couldn’t swallow much more than the coffee.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Marion tapped her finger on her nose. “We’ll try you out for a couple of days.”
“You will?” Had she really heard Marion right?
“Sure. Miss Abby says you’ve got a little boy.”
“I do.” She wanted to tell this woman with the warm brown eyes that her son was waiting in the garden for her. If she did, would Marion rescind the offer? “He’s an angel.”
“I’m sure he is. Can you start today? That damn fool, Kikki, took off for California with her boyfriend. Going to be movie stars or some such nonsense. Put me in a bind leaving without notice.”
Today? “I... I’d love to. But my son. He’s here, outside, waiting for me in the courtyard.” Her words ran together.
Marion tilted her head. “He’s here?”
“I don’t...” She took a deep breath, her face burning with embarrassment. “Miss Winters, I don’t have money for day care.” Without money for rent, how could she pay someone to watch her child?
“Is he in school yet?”
Cheryl shook her head. “He just turned five. He won’t start kindergarten until September.” If they were here that long. Staying away from Levi was more important than staying in one place.
“I’ll bet he would love some of this banana bread.” A grin spread across the older woman’s face. “It’ll keep him busy while I show you the ropes.”
As the meaning of Marion’s words sank in, Cheryl burst into tears. “Thank you!”
Marion moved over and laid a gentle hand on Cheryl’s arm. “Now, now. No need for all that. Let’s see how your boy is doing.”
* * *
ABBY PUSHED THE remnants of lunch to the end of the kitchen table and convened the weekly Fitzgerald House staff meeting.
Dolley checked her laptop. “This week we have three sets of Moons checking in—two today, one on Wednesday. There’s a Scrapbooking Sister group coming in today, thanks to Bess’s efforts—two rooms and one of the parlors for their work.”
“There’s a group coming for the Scary Sister weekend—three rooms. They’re staying Friday through Monday.” Dolley tucked her bright red curls behind her ears. “Another Repeater couple, oh...it’s their fortieth anniversary. Neat. They’ll be here Saturday and Sunday.”
“So I need three honeymoons and one anniversary basket. Got it,” said Marion.
“Ten out of twelve rooms occupied.” Abby grinned. “Nigel, keep the vacancy sign up. I’d love to fill up this weekend.”
If they could keep up this pace and open more rooms, they would easily make their balloon payment. Assuming nothing else broke down.
“That’s better than last year at this time.” Dolley tipped her chair back on two legs. “We need to firm up Fitzgerald House’s St. Paddy’s Day plans.”
“Give me a couple of days.” Abby took a deep breath. The celebration, parade and bedlam would be here before they knew it.
“I can pull together the packages.” There was an unexpected sharpness to Dolley’s tone.
The group around the table went quiet. Abby pushed her hair back and looked at her sister. “You already do so much.”
“So do you,” Dolley replied.
“But I don’t have to hold down an outside job,” Abby explained.
“That doesn’t mean you have to do everything around here.” Dolley pointed a finger at her.
Marion patted Abby’s arm. “If she’s volunteering, let her do the work.” She leaned in. “You need to learn to take help when it’s offered.”
“I do,” Abby said defensively.
Marion raised her eyebrows. “And be gracious when you do.”
Abby huffed out a breath. “Thanks, Dolley.”
Her sister rolled her eyes.
Abby looked at her to-do list without seeing it. She did let people help her.
“Nigel,” she said. “The hallway near Eleanor Roosevelt needs touching up—again.”
He nodded, running his fingers through his white hair. How much longer would they have him to rely on? They’d celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday last month.
He’d been driver, handyman, assistant gardener and jack-of-all-trades since Mamma had first turned their home into a B and B.
“I think we should add wainscoting in the hall,” he suggested. “It’s too narrow. People bump the walls with their luggage. It would take a little more of a beating and we wouldn’t have to paint the whole wall.”
The group discussed the hallway and the following weekend’s catering event.
Abby checked her notes. “Nigel, Bess would like the tables set up by four-thirty, so she can bring in the flower arrangements.”
Bess was part owner and operator of Fitzgerald House, but she also worked at a local florist and landscaping business, which was why she rarely attended the staff meetings.
“I’ll shoot you copies of the St. Paddy’s Day info before I post it.” Dolley closed her laptop. “I’ve got to get back. My client is howling for his website redesign. Can I help it if he’s changed his mind—three times?”
Abby couldn’t wait for the day that her sisters didn’t have to work second jobs. Someday the B and B would support them all. She would make it happen.
Nigel picked up his notebook. “I’ll paint the hallway tomorrow and get those bids on wainscoting. Got to get to it.” He ambled out the door.
“Hey, Abs, it’s karaoke night at McMillian’s.” Dolley slipped her computer into a messenger bag. “Want to go?”
“I’ll pass. I barely wake up with two alarms now. If I gallivanted with a night owl like you, our guests wouldn’t get breakfast tomorrow. Plus, I have an association meeting tonight.”
“Your loss.” Dolley shrugged on her jacket.
“Any more surprises coming this week?” Abby asked. Although having dinner with Gray hadn’t been a hardship.
“I’m sorry about the Smythe mix-up, really, I am.” Dolley tucked her phone into her pocket. “I was working on the arrangements but didn’t want to get your hopes up. The assistant was talking to two other places at the same time. Originally, he’d asked for a twenty-percent discount.”
“I’m glad you talked him down to ten percent.” She touched her sister’s hand. “You’re our best negotiator.”
“Yeah, yeah.” But her sister grinned. “We need new registration software. After I shifted the other bookings, I had to wait for a system backup before locking in Smythe’s reservation.”
“We need a lot of things. We need to fix the third-floor water damage. We need to open more rooms. But foremost, we need to make the loan payment.”
Personally, Abby would like to replace her eight-year-old car, but that wouldn’t get her any closer to restoring the main house and opening Southern Comforts. Hard work, frugality and dedication were the only ways she would open her own restaurant.
“You’re right. Loan payment first.” Dolley sighed and headed out the door.
Marion pushed her wiry body away from the table. “You know you can’t live and breathe the B and B. A young, pretty thing like you should be out enjoying yourself.”
Enjoying herself? “I’ve got a business to run.”
“And you do it well.” Marion wrapped her arm around Abby’s shoulders. “Just don’t be afraid to accept help when it’s offered and to have a little fun.”
“I feel guilty.” Abby leaned her head on Marion’s shoulder. “Both Dolley and Bess work so hard.”
“And so do you.” Marion gave her a quick, tight hug. “But there’s more to life than Fitzgerald House. If your mamma wasn’t taking care of your aunt in Atlanta, she’d say the same thing. Live a little.”
Abby didn’t think so. When Papa had died, Mamma had worked 24/7 to make their home into a B and B. Enjoying life would come after Abby had opened her restaurant. “I’ll think about it.”
She had goals to achieve. She didn’t have time for fun.
Marion gathered up her notebook. “By the way, I hired Cheryl, trial run.”
“Good.”
“Her boy is here with her. I said it would be okay until she got her feet under her. Don’t be surprised if he’s in the garden or near his mom.”
“Of course.” Marion had a big heart. “Do you think they want some sandwiches?”
Marion grinned and then piled the uneaten sandwiches on a plate. “I’ll check how she’s doing. I’m thinking these will be appreciated. She ’bout fainted at the sight of your banana bread.”
* * *
GRAY WALKED INTO the sunroom, and Abby almost dropped the food and tea description cards she’d been setting out for teatime. No man should look that good in jeans and a chambray shirt.
Her face warmed. At dinner last night, he’d encouraged her to tell him about Fitzgerald House. He’d been easy to talk to. Had she talked too much?
No. If she had, he wouldn’t have insisted on eating in the kitchen from now on. Right?
Mamma always advised her daughters not to get involved with guests. So Abby would stay professional if it killed her.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you done working for the day?”
“I just met with a contractor,” he said. “Now I need other options. I hope you can help or point me in the right direction.”
“I’ll try.” Why was Gray in Savannah for six months? She should have asked when he’d registered, but yesterday had been...awkward.
She set the cards by the teapots and straightened the napkins. Still not quite looking at him, she asked, “What are you doing in Savannah?”
“Rehabbing a warehouse on River Street.”
“The one that the work started and stopped on last year? I remember the man who owned it, but he hasn’t been around for a while.” He’d stayed at Fitzgerald House several times.
“That’s the one. Derrick ran out of money and needed to liquidate fast.” Gray had a gleam in his blue eyes. “I helped him out.”
It sounded more as if Gray had gotten a great bargain. “Will you still develop it as condominiums?”
He nodded. “Great location. Very marketable.”
Abby’s shoulders tightened. How many times had her daddy used the same phrase about the Tybee Island condos he’d started to develop? Great location. Those condos had sat for years half built, looking sad and lonely. Actually, the previous owner of Gray’s River Street warehouse reminded her of her father. Smiling, charming and unable to finish what he started.
Because of her father, her mother’s family mansion was now a B and B. Because of her father, she and her sisters’ college funds had disappeared. Instead of going to football or basketball games, they’d learned how to make beds and clean rooms.
Marion came in, wheeling the loaded tea trolley and distracting Abby from her thoughts.
“Marion, this is Mr. Smythe,” Abby said.
“We met this morning.” Marion maneuvered the trolley across the room. “How was your warehouse?”
“A mess.” Gray eyed the food on the trolley as though he hadn’t eaten in months.
“You’ll soon set it to rights.” Marion moved to the fireplace and turned on the gas flames. “There. That’ll take the chill off the room.”
“Thanks, Marion,” Abby said, amused by the way Gray gaped at the food.
“My mother would kill for that trolley.”
Abby could believe it. The silver four-tiered trolley was an heirloom that her own mother had always loved. She set the description cards next to each platter.
“It’s been in the family for generations. Did you have enough to eat for lunch?” Abby had made two sandwiches, but she didn’t know how big an appetite her guest had.
“Lunch was great.” Gray headed over to the trolley. “But I’ve got room for one of those bars.”
If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, all she had to do to win Gray’s was make him her brandy-pecan bars.
“Coffee or tea?” she asked.
“Coffee.” He demolished one bar. “I’ll have to run to Atlanta and back each day if I keep eating this way,” he mumbled around a second bar.
She poured his coffee and set the cup and saucer next to his chair.
As she left, she whispered to Marion, “Let me know if I need to bring up more bars.”
She was almost out the door when he called, “Wait, Abby, I have a question.”
She paused. He waved her over to a chair, before taking another bar.
“Can you recommend any contractors?” he asked. “I’m putting the work out for bids.”
Settling into the chair, she tried to remember who’d worked on the warehouse before Gray took over. “Did you talk to Jeb Haskins?”
“Just met with him.” He frowned. “Not letting that guy back on the project. I have a couple of other names, but I like the work you’ve done on your B and B. I wondered who you’d used.”
“I can give you the names, but our focus has always been on restoration. I’m not sure this would be the same kind of job.”
“You’re right—I’m not looking for restoration, but I need a contractor who’s experienced with old buildings.”
Abby’s heart warmed at his respectful tone. “I use Sam Forester. He’s done all the work here since we started. He and his son, Daniel, run a local construction company. I’ll call and see who he’d recommend.”
“Thanks. Add this Forester to the list, too, would you? They’ve done a nice job here.”
She froze. Gray wanted to talk to the Foresters? Samuel fit their work in between his other projects to help keep her costs low. Gray’s work might slow down her own restoration.
But she couldn’t keep business from Sam and Daniel. They were practically family.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed her delay, she said, “I can do that.”
Abby tapped her lip, thinking of other contractors she could direct him to.
Gray stared at her mouth, making Abby’s heart beat a little faster. What was it the magazines said? If a man stared at your mouth, he was thinking of kissing you?
“I’ll be back with those phone numbers.” She scrambled out of the chair. “Have another bar.”
He could have a bar, not her.
In the hallway, she leaned against the wall and inhaled. A man had stared at her mouth and stolen her breath.
* * *
AFTER ABBY LEFT, ten older women swooped into the sunroom. Half of them had the soft drawl Gray associated with Savannah and wore outrageous red hats. The other group was on one of those sisters things, like the ladies in the library last night.
Gray made polite chitchat for a few minutes. Then he guarded the pecan bars and let the women have the sandwiches. Their conversations churned around him.
His thoughts drifted to Abby. Today she wore a khaki skirt and sleeveless white blouse, and he’d wondered if she lifted weights to keep her arms so trim. As he’d been pondering what those plump pink lips would taste like, she’d taken off.
Abby came back into the parlor, giving no sign that she’d felt even slightly uncomfortable. She worked the room, setting a hand to a shoulder or giving a quick buss on the cheek to the red-hat women. She sat on an ottoman next to the ladies from the sister outing and asked about their day. Her smile wasn’t the practiced one she’d given him earlier. This smile shone like a beacon.
Once she’d made her rounds, she stepped toward him. “I’ve talked to Samuel. He’s come up with two contractors he feels are qualified.”
She handed him a note written in clear, precise script.
“Thanks. I appreciate the help,” he said.
“No problem.” Glancing over at the trolley, she added, “I can bring out more pecan bars if you want.”
He shook his head. “You’re a witch, aren’t you?”
She laughed. “Only in the kitchen.”
Gray watched her walk away, appreciating her fine ass.
He grabbed another bar and cup of coffee and carried it into the courtyard garden to make his calls. He sat at a cast-iron table tucked under a green umbrella on the patio.
He set up appointments with contractors for that afternoon. When he phoned the Foresters he got the son, Daniel.
“Fitzgerald House still serves wine at five-thirty?” Daniel asked.
“They did last night, Argentinean wines.” And damn fine appetizers.
“I’ll just invite myself to happy hour. Then we can walk over to your building after a glass of wine.”
“I’ll see you then.”
Pleased with his progress, Gray propped his feet on another chair and took a sip of coffee. He smiled at the fountain, a huge frog spewing water over copper lily pads. He could even swear he saw a bronze troll wink from where it was half-hidden under a palm tree.
The gardens were an intense green loaded with splashes of color. If his mother could see the landscaping, she’d probably try to lure their gardener back to Boston with her. He inhaled a lungful of flowery scents. The sun warmed his shoulders and eased the tension in his muscles.
There was something about this place. He could almost close his eyes and take a nap. For the first time he could remember, he noticed birds singing.
His phone buzzed. “Smythe.”
“Gray, my friend. How’s business?”
“Good.” He didn’t recognize the voice, and the number had come up as private.
“Just wondering if you’ve considered my proposition.”
He still didn’t know who he was talking to. “Who is this?”
“Jeremy Atwater. I ran into you at the opera opener last month. Intermission.”
Gray frowned, trying to picture the guy.
“We talked about a great biotech investment opportunity,” Atwater said. “You wanted to think about investing in the company.”
Ding. Gwen had dragged him to the opening. This yahoo had caught him while he’d waited in the drink line.
“We’re putting together a ten-million-dollar tranche. I’d love to get together and talk about how much of the tranche you’d like to take, unless you and your dad want to take the whole thing.” Atwater laughed.
Gray gripped the table’s edge. “I’m out of town. I’ll have to forgo this opportunity.”
“Oh.” Atwater’s tone dripped with disappointment. “I could talk to your father.”
“You could.”
“Umm. I can’t get past his assistant.”
Gray shook his head. “I’ll mention you called.” It was as much as he would commit.
“Great, great.” Atwater rattled off his phone numbers, though Gray was barely listening.
Even from a thousand miles away, the vultures found him and tapped him for money. He closed his eyes and rubbed at the headache now pounding in his temples.
“Hey, mister, can we catch rainbows again?” a small voice asked.
Gray looked up into a face dominated by a pair of brown eyes. How had the kid snuck up on him? “Joshua, right?”
“Yup.” The boy scratched at an ugly-looking scab on his hand. “Can we go catch rainbows?”
Gray checked his watch. “Sorry, kid, it’s too early.”
The boy’s shoulders slumped. “Oh.”
“Are you staying here?” Gray asked. He’d thought he’d heard Abby and Joshua’s mom talking about a job, but maybe he’d been mistaken.
“Mommy’s working.” Josh kept rubbing at the small circular scab.
“You shouldn’t pick at that,” Gray warned.
“It itches.”
“That’s your skin healing. But you don’t want to rip it off too soon, or it might get infected.”
“I had infected before.” The boy started to pull up his sleeve.
“Joshua!” His mother came out through a side door. She was twisting a cloth in her hand. Her face was as torqued as the cloth.
The boy turned and ran to her. “The rainbows aren’t here yet. I have to wait.”
His mom knelt. “I said you could sit at one of the tables, but you can’t bother the guests.”
“But he’s at the frog table.” Joshua pointed.
“You can sit here,” Gray said. “I have...things to do.”
Joshua’s mom grabbed his hand and took a quick step back. “I’m sorry he disturbed you.”
“No problem.” The young woman was as skittish as the feral cat he’d brought home when he was ten. “So you got the job.”
She inched away, glancing at the door she’d just come through. “I did. But it’s on a trial basis.”
“Well, good luck.” Gray stood and started gathering his things. “Joshua can sit at the table.”
The little boy snatched up a well-used backpack. It flopped on the chair.
“You’re a guest.” The woman was twisting her hands again.
“No problem. I’m Gray.”
“Umm, Cheryl.”
“Nice to meet you.” He nodded to Joshua. “Be good for your mother.”
The little boy took out a pack of crayons and a well-filled tablet of paper. He waved without looking up from his scribbling. “Bye.”
Gray shouldn’t be lounging in a garden anyway. People who wanted to succeed didn’t sit around drinking coffee in the middle of the day.
* * *
ABBY SMOOTHED THE cranberry pencil skirt that ended a couple of inches above her knees and did a little spin. The matching jacket floated away from a white shell that showed a hint of cleavage.
“Looking good, Abs. Who are you trying to drive crazy with that suit?” Bess leaned against the kitchen table, snacking on a carrot stick.
“Jacob Tinsley.”
“Do tell,” her sister encouraged.
“I want to show him what he can’t have.” Abby tugged her jacket back into place. “He’s asked me out at every meeting for the past three months. Then I discovered he’s living with one woman and dating another.”
Was there something about her that attracted cheaters? First Maurice and now Jacob. Unfortunately, she’d been engaged to Maurice.
“I never liked Jacob,” Bess said.
Abby could always count on her sister’s support.
“Mr. Smythe’s dinner is in the warming drawer. He likes vinaigrette on his salad. It’s in the fridge on the middle shelf.”
She walked Bess through the to-do list, even though she’d left instructions pinned to the kitchen bulletin board. “Serve the Petite Sirah with his stew.”
“Trust me, I can handle this. I’ve hosted tastings for years.” Bess looked at her watch and pointed to the doorway. “Out. No one will walk off in a huff because you miss an evening.”
Abby kissed her sister and inhaled Bess’s scent of earth and flowers. “Sorry to obsess. It’s been a crazy start to the week.”
Crazy because of their long-term guest, but she wasn’t going to tell her sister about this weird attraction she was feeling. She could barely admit it to herself.
* * *
GRAY HAD TIMED his arrival in the library perfectly. Abby’s back was to him as she uncorked a wine bottle. He was the first guest to arrive.
“What’s the theme tonight?” he asked.
She turned and his smile dimmed. This woman’s hair was almost the same color, but she wasn’t Abby.
“Hello,” she said with a warm smile.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were Abby.”
“Thank you. My sister is lovely, so I’ll take that as a compliment.” The woman’s smile filled her face. “I’m Bess.”
“Nice to meet you. You and your sister look alike.”
But the two sisters were different, too. Bess’s nose was splattered with freckles. Her eyes had more gold in them than Abby’s emerald ones. Abby’s hair was an intriguing shade of strawberry blonde, while Bess’s was redder. And when Bess smiled, his body didn’t come to attention.
“What are the appetizers tonight?” he asked, trying to focus.
“Your theme is California Dreams. Artichoke dip, grilled tomatoes, olive tapenade, carrots, celery and other nibblers. California wines, of course.”
Setting down the wine bottle, Bess extended her hand. He shook it, surprised at both the strength and callouses. She smelled like flowers with an earthiness he couldn’t identify.
“I’m Gray Smythe.”
She laughed, making him frown.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that Abs was so mad. She didn’t know about your arrangements before you arrived. Dolley wasn’t able to get your information into the reservation system.” She leaned over and whispered, “Our sister wants new software.”
“There’s three of you, right?” He’d read that tidbit in the B and B’s pamphlet.
“Three girls. Our poor mother.” She opened another bottle and spoke over her shoulder. “Dolley’s the baby. She’s our computer expert and bookkeeper.”
“What can I pour for you?” Bess asked.
He looked at the offerings. “The cabernet, please.”
Bess poured a glass for him and then a small amount into another, swirling it around. She stuck her nose into the bowl and then sipped. “Nice.”
She leaned against the closest armchair, seeming more relaxed than Abby’s mysterious professional persona. “Is this your first visit to Savannah?”
“My second,” he replied. “Is February always this warm?”
“You Northerners,” she laughed, sinking into the chair. “This is cold.”
“When I left Boston, it was snowing.”
“If it ever snowed here, I’d lose half my gardens.” She frowned. “Of course, the blasted kudzu would survive.”
“I sat in the garden today. Your landscaper did a wonderful job.”
She blushed, a pink that highlighted her pale skin. “Thank you. I manage the gardens.”
“This really is a family operation.” And an impressive one. “You work in the garden—Abby in the kitchen.”
Without trying to show any interest, he sipped his wine and asked, “Where is Abby?” That sounded strange, so he added, “I wanted to thank her for getting the contractor names for me.”
“She’s at a Hospitality and Resort Association meeting.” A smile played across her lips. “Abs went dressed to kill just to mess with some guy who thought he could date three women at one time.”
“And he’s in the association?” He could understand any man being fascinated by Abby. She’d been popping into his head throughout the day. Probably because last night had been the nicest conversation he’d had in months.
“The jerk’s a manager at one of the area inns. He should know, no one treats a Fitzgerald like that and survives.” She stood and helped herself to a carrot stick. Crossing her ankles, she leaned against the table.
“Where are the rest of the guests?” he asked.
“Tuesday is our lowest census day. I like to chat with the guests, if that’s what they want, so I take the Tuesday wine tastings. Today, a couple of Moons checked in and there’s a group of ladies and two couples who leave tomorrow.”
“Moons? Honeymooners, right?” He moved over and loaded a plate with appetizers, chips and dip.
“Yeah. We get quite a few of them.”
A tall man walked in the room and Bess’s head jerked up, a frown creasing her forehead. “Forester, what are you doing here?”
Forester walked over and kissed her cheek. “Good to see you, babe.”
Her frown deepened. “Don’t call me that.”
Forester winked and then poured himself a glass of wine.
“Are you taking a room?” She crossed her arms, scowling.
Gray hid his grin by sipping his wine.
“I’m meeting one of your guests.” Forester chucked her under the chin. “Let me get some business done, and then you and I can catch up.”
Gray walked over to him. The man looked around his age, early thirties. “Daniel Forester, I presume.”
“Got me in one. Nice to meet you, Grayson Smythe from Boston.”
“Gray works best.”
“Gray it is,” Daniel said. “Whenever you’re ready, we can stroll over to your warehouse.”
“Finish your wine. I’ll have a little more of this dip.” Gray patted his stomach. “I need to start swinging a hammer, or they’ll have to roll me back to Boston.”
“Our Abby is a dream in the kitchen,” Daniel said.
Were he and Abby involved? Gray’s shoulders tightened. The answer shouldn’t matter. He’d left Boston to get off that particular merry-go-round.
“Do you know the previous warehouse owner?” asked Daniel.
“He’s more than an acquaintance, but not quite a friend.”
Daniel nodded. “He rarely came down to see the project. The rehab should be done by now.”
“I’d agree with you on that. If we end up working together, I should tell you that I’m a hands-on manager,” warned Gray.
“I can live with that.”
As Gray finished his wine, one of the honeymoon couples he’d met this morning entered the library. How did they know they could spend a lifetime together? He’d never come close to feeling that about anyone.
As they left the room, Forester said, “How the hell do they know they’re making the right choice?”
“I’m with you there. At least we know buildings can weather the storms. Let’s go look at mine.”
* * *
ABBY PARKED HER car next to the carriage house. The kitchen lights were on; Bess must be cleaning up. Maybe they could have a cup of chamomile tea before she headed to bed. Bess had added an herbal garden a couple of years ago and now made teas for the B and B. Abby loved having fresh herbs on hand for cooking.
She sighed as she got closer to the kitchen door. The cat had been hunting again and had left his prey on the step. Not the most appealing sight to come home to. Opening the door, she spotted Bess lounging in the alcove. “Reggie’s left us a gift. I’d rather not clean it up dressed like this. I can’t even bend over in this skirt. Will you get it, please?”
“Sure,” Bess said. “How was the meeting?”
“The association contracted with a new food distributor. I’ll check out their products and pricing. And the board is talking about raising the dues.” Abby filled the kettle before turning to the table.
“Gray,” she exclaimed. She hadn’t expected to find him there. Darn it, her face had to match her raspberry suit. And her other sister was at the table, too. “Dolley?”
“Love the suit, Abs.” Dolley pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks for the ideas, Gray.”
“Anything I need to know about?” Abby asked as Dolley slipped by her.
“Gray and I were talking about the third floor. He had some ideas on how to make sure the rooms are soundproofed.” Dolley gave her a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Watch out for Reggie’s gifts,” Abby said as Dolley headed out the door. How had their remodel come up?
Bess rocked to her feet. “What did Reggie leave?”
Abby shivered. “Rabbits. Two of them.”
“That’s two bunnies who won’t be dining in my garden.” Bess moved toward the door. “You’ve got to love a serial-killer cat.”
“You may love him, but I don’t like finding his gifts by the door.”
Bess gave her a quick hug on her way out. “See you tomorrow.”
The screen door slapped closed as her sisters left.
Without Dolley’s and Bess’s presence, Gray seemed to dominate the room.
Abby poured boiling water over the leaves, tapping her fingers as the tea brewed. She couldn’t just stand here for three minutes. She gathered up the pot and her mug and moved over to the table, hoping her face had returned to its normal color.
“So did you drive him crazy?” he asked.
“What?”
“The jerk that suit was meant for?”
Embarrassed, she swore under her breath. She brushed nonexistent lint off her sleeve. “He drooled—blubbered actually. I was cold and professional. I ground him under my heel.”
“I’ll bet you did.” Gray toasted her with his wineglass. She froze as his gaze trailed slowly down her body. It was almost as if his fingers followed the same path. Suddenly the room felt like a sauna.
Swallowing, she picked up his plate. “Dessert?”
“No. In the past two days I’ve had a year’s worth of sweets.”
“Port, then?”
“I’d prefer cognac, if you have it. Otherwise port is fine.”
She moved across the hall to the butler’s pantry and took a deep breath. When that didn’t calm her, she took another before retrieving a bottle and glasses.
“Say when,” she said, pouring.
Instead of telling her, he cupped her hand, lifting the bottle. A zing shot through her arm. The bottle chattered against the rim of the crystal tumbler.
Gray didn’t seem affected by their touch.
“Thanks again for the contractor leads,” he said. “I’ll get their bids, but I have a feeling I’ll pick Forester.”
Abby blinked, sinking into a chair. Her contractors? She’d screwed up her own restoration by being nice. “You’ve met with everyone already?”
“Can’t stand to have the place looking like a bombed-out ruin.”
“You’re showing your Yankee.” And the fact that he didn’t have to worry about cash flow. What would that be like? “The summer heat will knock that impatience right out of you. Eventually you’ll slow down.”
“Like you?” He shook his head. “You’re everywhere. When do you take time off?”
She frowned. “Never.”
What a timely reminder. She needed to ignore any zings flying around her kitchen. Fitzgerald House was the most important thing in her life, and it deserved her full attention.
* * *
ABBY ADDED OLIVE oil and a dab of butter to her sauté pan.
“I hate to repeat myself—” Gray moved into the kitchen carrying an open bottle of cabernet “—but it smells incredible in here.”
His smile had Abby melting like sorbet on a summer day. Earlier, she’d caught herself fantasizing about touching the dimple that appeared on his left cheek whenever he grinned.
Absolutely never get involved with a guest. She’d been repeating Mamma’s rule often. Mamma had once dated a guest who’d stayed at Fitzgerald House for an extended visit. He’d later turned out to be married.
Abby was pretty sure Gray was single, but she didn’t dare ask such a personal question. After nearly two weeks of dinners, she and Gray had yet to run out of topics to discuss, often talking well into the evening. She hadn’t laughed this much since her childhood.
She could look but not touch. Their agreement with Gray was profitable and she didn’t want to upset anything that helped Fitzgerald House.
Gray grabbed dishes from the pantry. He was a guest, but insisted on setting the table.
“Stop. You don’t have to help.” Abby waved her hand. She’d planned to get it done before he came in.
He swung by the range, dropping off a glass of wine for her. “I told you, I don’t mind.”
But she did. He was a guest. She took a deep breath.
“I haven’t seen you around today.” She’d wandered into the rooms where guests gathered on the off chance that he might be there. She hadn’t been so foolish since her days of high school crushes.
“I spent the morning at the warehouse and then drove to Hilton Head to visit friends.”
“How lovely.” Abby hadn’t been to Hilton Head in too long.
“It should have been nice.”
His tone of voice, so stern, made her turn toward him. “It wasn’t?”
“No.” His lips formed a straight line.
“Why not?” She tried to sound casual as she sliced mushrooms for dinner.
“The wife was looking for funding for a summer camp.” He took a sip of his wine. “She invited me to lunch to tap me for a donation.”
That didn’t sound so bad. “Good cause?”
He snorted. “Cheerleading camp.”
“For underprivileged children?”
“Not in her world. I should have known she’d try something.”
The mushrooms sizzled as they hit the sauté pan. “Why would you think that?”
“Everyone wants something—usually it’s money.”
What kind of world did he live in? “That can’t always be true.”
“Always.”
“Do people ask you for money often?” she asked.
He pulled salad dressing from the fridge and set it on the table. “All the time. When I first got here, it was an investment banker and a biotech opportunity.”
She chuckled. “That’s sounds like a joke.”
“Not when he was looking for ten million dollars.”
Her spoon clanged in her saucepan. “Holy cow. You have that kind of money?” she blurted out.
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Throw some of it my way,” she said under her breath. They could finish off Fitzgerald House and put in gold-plated faucets.
His back stiffened.
She hadn’t meant for him to hear her.
“Does this happen to your whole family?”
“Mostly to me and my dad, but my mother has her own charities.”
Abby asked about his family, and they sipped wine as she finished preparing dinner.
“You’ve seen me with my family. How is yours different?” she asked, wondering whether money changed things there, too.
He didn’t answer. Maybe she’d overstepped the boundaries of their relationship. “Forget I asked.”
He held up a hand. “No, I was thinking about your question.”
She flipped the mushrooms while waiting for his response.
“You and your sisters are close.” He nodded. “You have each other’s backs.”
“Of course.”
“There’s no ‘of course’ about that kind of loyalty. You have something special. Something I admire.”
“And your family isn’t like that?” How sad.
He lifted his glass for another sip of wine, but the glass was empty, and he set it down. “No. Maybe it’s because I only have a younger sister, but she’s not someone I would trust with anything important. I keep waiting for her to grow up but it hasn’t happened yet. I love them, but family for family’s sake isn’t that important to me.”
“I’m sorry.” Family was everything to her.
“I don’t know any different.” He rubbed his face, looking more tired than when he’d come in. “From what I’ve seen, you and your sisters are very lucky. It’s nice to see your family working together.”
She wanted to see him smile again and didn’t know how to make that happen. Eating seemed to make him happy. “Dinner’s ready.”
He leaned down to the beef tenderloin resting on the counter and inhaled. “My mouth is watering.”
She sliced the beef and added the mushrooms to the plates. Then she drizzled them both with the sauce she’d thickened. Roasted potatoes and green beans flanked the meat.
Gray waited through her prayer, his knife and fork already in hand.
“When I went to New York, this used to be my favorite meal,” Gray said. He took a bite. “Wow, it tastes just like it.”
“Maurice’s, right?” Maurice. The man who used me, made me believe I would be his partner in both the restaurant and his life, and then cheated on me.
“How did you know?”
“I was his sous chef.” She twisted her bare ring finger on her left hand.
“You lived in New York?”
“That’s where I went to culinary school.” Where she’d fallen in love. Where she’d been betrayed. “I worked at a couple of different restaurants before Maurice hired me.”
“I remember reading something in the menu.” She could almost see him processing the information. “They were rated, right?”
“Rising star the first year I was there.” Her work, her food, her cooking.
“What’s the scale?”
“Michelin ranks restaurants on a one to three scale. There aren’t a lot of three-star ratings. Rising star means that the restaurant has potential for a star in the future.” Would Gray laugh if she told him she wanted to run her own restaurant and earn a rating higher than that snake, Maurice?
“You’re an incredible chef. Why did you leave?”
Abby had crawled back home to lick her wounds after Maurice’s betrayal, but she couldn’t tell Gray that. “My great aunt has rheumatoid arthritis. About three years ago, Aunt CeCe needed more help. We’re the only family she has. Mamma’s in Atlanta with her now. My sisters and I took over running Fitzgerald House.”
Her vision of becoming the next Cat Cora on Iron Chef had evaporated. All her energy was focused on the B and B. She would bring Fitzgerald House back to its former glory and fix the financial problems Papa had landed them in. Then she would build Southern Comforts, her own restaurant.
“Well, I’m certainly benefiting from your expertise,” Gray said. “You’re an artist.”
“Thank you.” The man made her blush at least once a meal.
They talked about New York, places they’d eaten, shows they’d both seen. When she’d lived there, she’d actually had some free time—the good old days.
No pity party. She and her sisters were building something special at Fitzgerald House. To do that, she needed to stay focused. She wasn’t quite the Food Network star she’d imagined being while in culinary school, but she’d given up on pipe dreams long ago.
“What did you do at the warehouse today?” she asked, clearing their empty plates.
“I cleaned up garbage and ripped out some walls. Felt good. Now I’m waiting on bids.” He patted his flat stomach. “Another incredible dinner.”
Abby brought over the cognac decanter and Gray’s glass and then pulled out her pad of paper. “It’s been two weeks. We need to talk about the meals. What’s worked, what hasn’t.”
“You’re probably feeding me too much,” Gray said. “It’s those darn sweets, but I’m not going to tell you to stop sending the pecan bars in my lunch. If you stop, I’ll end up coming back to the house for afternoon tea.”
“I never realized my brandy-pecan bars had so much power. I’ll keep sending them.” She laughed. “Am I packing enough food for your lunch? Do you need another sandwich?” She tapped her pen on her chin.
Gray stared at her lips.
She pulled the pen away from her face. “Do I have something on my mouth?”
She reached up to check, but Gray beat her to it. His hand brushed against her cheek. She felt every callus on his palm.
Abby couldn’t breathe. What would his hands feel like caressing her body? Heat shot through her like an induction oven.
“Gray?” she whispered.
It was wrong to want him to keep touching her. So why did she?
Dropping his hand, he slid his chair back with a screech. His blue eyes chilled, transforming from the heat of her gas range to the ice of a glacier.
He held up both hands. “My meals are fine. Everything’s fine. Don’t change a thing.”
He stood so quickly that the chair rocked back and forth. “I need to make some calls. Good night.”
He picked up his snifter and almost ran from the room.
She blinked. What had just happened?
She sank back into the chair like a fallen soufflé. One minute she’d sworn Gray was about to kiss her; the next, he’d treated her as though she had the plague.
Absolutely no guest involvement.
Mamma’s rules made sense, but had she ever met a man like Gray?
