Читать книгу Southern Comforts - Nan Dixon - Страница 11
ОглавлениеRule #5—Never yell at a guest. Not even under your breath. (I’ve found the second-floor linen closet is pretty soundproof.)
Mamie Fitzgerald
EVER SINCE GRAY had brushed Abby’s cheek last Sunday, she’d vanished. Sure, her sisters had been around, but it wasn’t the same.
He hadn’t seen Gwen for almost a month and didn’t miss her. But after five days, he missed Abigail Fitzgerald.
He poured another glass of wine and moved over to the library window, staring out at the gardens.
He’d almost kissed Abby. Luckily, he’d caught himself. His fantasy of pressing Abby up against the counter and kissing her until those forest-glen eyes blurred had to stop. No more wondering what kind of underwear she hid under her clothes. Or how soft her hair would feel if he released it from the clip she wore when cooking.
It must be the wine and food—or the intimacy of sitting in the alcove amid all those incredible smells and the spicy scent that was pure Abby.
She fascinated him. He loved her different smiles—the bright one she flashed at familiar guests and the soft one she used to set strangers at ease. One minute she’d be checking people in and advising on Savannah sightseeing, and then she’d turn around and discuss wine characteristics.
Time to find her. Gray tapped his fingers on his jeans as he headed to the kitchen. He’d seen her handiwork all week, but no Abigail. People raved about the breakfasts, teas and appetizers, but every time he walked into a room expecting to find her, she’d just left.
What was it about Abby that he found so fascinating? Maybe it was that she was as goal-oriented as he was. He’d read her framed list hanging in the kitchen.
Complete restoration of Fitzgerald House
Open Southern Comforts
Get rated by international rating group—Zagat—Michelin (minimum 1 star)
Her list cost money. He had plenty of that. Was that why she was so nice?
She was like a sliver under his skin. He just couldn’t pull her free. Maybe if he kissed her, his fascination would dissipate.
“Abby,” he called, pushing the kitchen door open.
He jerked to a stop. He’d been looking for a confrontation, or at least an explanation for why she’d been avoiding him. Anything to help him resist this annoying attraction.
He shook his head. How could he argue with someone asleep at the table?
He stared at the counters. She’d been busy. The sinks overflowed with bowls and utensils. A rainbow of tarts covered every surface.
He headed to the table and stared down at her. Purple shadows under her eyes showed she hadn’t been sleeping enough. And her neck was twisted. She couldn’t possibly be comfortable. “Abby.”
She didn’t move.
He touched her arm, more a stroke than a touch. “You’re going to hurt your neck.”
She moaned and released a big sigh, but still didn’t wake.
This time he shook her shoulder. “Abigail.”
Nothing.
He tapped his foot on the floor. He couldn’t leave her like this.
Gray hoisted her in his arms. Surely that would wake her. But she simply burrowed her face into his shirt, and his heart raced. She smelled of her baking—sweet and spicy.
Now what? He could lay her on the love seat near the fire—but it was way too short. She needed a bed.
“Oh, my.” Marion entered the kitchen with a tray of empty wine bottles. “Is Abby okay?”
“Exhausted. She was asleep at the table. I tried to wake her.” God, he sounded pathetic. “Can I carry her to her room or another room?” Did Abby live on-site?
Marion looked at the love seat and shook her head. “We don’t have an open room tonight.” She waved her hand at all of Abby’s work on the counters. “The guests for tomorrow’s engagement party filled all the vacancies.”
“Why don’t I take her up to my room and let her nap there? If anyone needs her, let them know.”
“She sleeps harder than anyone I know. She needs at least three alarms to get her up every morning.” Marion walked over and brushed a strand of hair off Abby’s face. Then she stared into Gray’s eyes. “You’ll be a gentleman?”
“Absolutely.” He might dream about stripping off her clothes, but he would never do anything without her active participation.
Up in his suite, he slipped off Abby’s shoes and tucked her into his bed. She rolled over and curled into a ball. Her hair had come free from the clip and spread across the white pillow like a sunset. He wanted to lie down and hold her while she slept.
Instead, Gray went into the sitting area, leaving the bedroom door ajar. When Abby woke, he didn’t want her to be confused.
Flipping open his phone, he called Daniel Forester.
“Thanks for getting your bid back early,” Gray said.
“We really want to work on this project,” Forester said.
“Well, it’s yours if you bring over pizza and beer. I’m in the Jackie Kennedy room.”
Forester didn’t answer.
Okay, he knew his request had sounded strange.
“Abby fell asleep in the kitchen. She looked so uncomfortable, I couldn’t leave her there,” Gray explained. “I carried her up to my room, and she didn’t even twitch. I want to be here when she wakes up.”
What an idiot. He should have left her on the love seat next to the fireplace.
Honesty smacked him in the face. He’d wanted her in his bed, even if he couldn’t be there with her.
“I’ll be there after I pick up that pizza,” Forester said. “Anything you don’t like?”
“Anything goes.”
* * *
ABBY ROLLED OVER and hugged her pillow. She’d been having such a lovely dream about the pine-and-sandalwood scent of Gray’s cologne. She stretched and looked around.
No! Why was she in the Kennedy room? How had she ended up in Gray’s bed?
The alarm clock next to her said nine o’clock. She’d lost three hours. Three hours! How would she get everything done?
Male voices filtered into the bedroom from the sitting room. She found her shoes and clutched them to her chest.
Abby tiptoed to the door but didn’t have a clear line of sight. When she pushed the door a little wider, it squealed.
“Abby?” Gray called from the sofa.
She bit her lip. Trying to act nonchalant, she entered the room. Not only was Gray on the sofa, but Daniel Forester sat in the chair across from him. As if she weren’t already embarrassed enough.
Gray stood and met her in the middle of the room. “Are you feeling better?”
He stood so close, she could whisper, “How did I get up here—in your bed?”
He stroked a finger under her eyes, down her cheek, and tipped up her chin. “You were sound asleep at the table. I couldn’t wake you, so I carried you upstairs where you could at least be comfortable.”
He’d hauled her up to his room? She inhaled a sharp breath, trying not to scream. “How could you? I have things I have to do. What if someone needed me?”
“Marion knows where you are. Take a break—you’re exhausted.”
She pressed her lips together, but couldn’t contain her anger. “I don’t have time to sleep. That’s why I was resting at the table.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “What gave you the right to interfere?”
She headed for the door.
He grabbed her arm. “I can help.”
“You’ve done enough.” She wrenched her arm free. “Your dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Forester brought pizza. I’m good.”
Lord, now she wasn’t living up to her commitments.
“Don’t be mad. I was trying to help.” He leaned down so only she could hear. “Have you been avoiding me?”
“Hey, Abby,” Daniel called, looking away from the basketball game, concern creasing his face. “Everything all right? I heard you crashed and burned in the kitchen.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I can’t believe I slept that deeply.”
“I can. Aren’t you the sister that requires a dozen alarms to wake up?”
She mumbled a reply as she slipped her shoes on.
Over the years, the Foresters and Fitzgeralds had become close, sharing meals and holidays. Apparently too close, if Daniel remembered her problem with waking up.
“We still have pizza.” Daniel popped a beer. “A couple of beers left, too.”
“I just lost three hours.” She shot Gray an icy look. “I have to work.”
* * *
GRAY SAID GOODBYE to Daniel and shut the B and B’s front door. He checked his watch and saw that it was a little before ten o’clock. Would Abby still be in the kitchen?
He needed to apologize. He didn’t feel guilty for letting her sleep. She had to have been beyond exhausted.
He would offer to help. Again. Maybe there was something he could do to help her catch up. Hopefully she wouldn’t snap his head off this time.
His mother’s voice rang inside his head. You always assume you know how to run everyone else’s lives.
He straightened his shoulders and pushed through the kitchen’s swinging doors. Incredible aromas greeted him. Whatever Abby was cooking made tonight’s pizza, which had been a mighty fine pie, seem like cardboard.
All the tarts had disappeared. Now a massive pot bubbled on the stove. Piles of colorful sliced vegetables overflowed a cutting board.
“What do you need, Mr. Smythe?” Frost coated her Southern drawl.
He eyed the gigantic knife she was using. She waved it a little. He gritted his teeth—time to apologize.
“I’m sorry I messed up your schedule. I shouldn’t have interfered.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d apologized to anyone. It was hard to get the words out. “I should have worked harder to wake you up and find out what you needed. I shouldn’t have hauled you upstairs.”
She pointed her wicked knife at him. “No, you shouldn’t have. That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“You were exhausted.” He raised both hands in emphasis, which had to be better than shaking some sense into her. “And your neck was going to hurt.”
She went back to mincing the mushrooms, the knife a blur. “You should have left me where I was. Don’t overstep again, Mr. Smythe.”
She turned, dismissing him. If he was going to grovel, the least she could do was forgive him.
He moved up behind her. “Abby.”
She turned, her knife held out in front of her.
He jumped back. “I thought you’d only sleep an hour or so. The fact that you didn’t means you were exhausted. Next time, I’ll wake you after thirty minutes.”
Her mouth dropped open, and the knife waved. “There won’t be a next time.”
His heart raced. Her damn foot-long knife was too close to his stomach. He caught her wrist, pulled the knife out of her hand and set it on the counter with a clang. “I don’t feel like losing a body part.”
“Get out of my kitchen.” Her eyes reminded him of flashing northern lights.
He exhaled. Loudly. “Abby, I’m really sorry.”
He set a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
“Are you mad because I interfered with your schedule or because I let you sleep? Or because it was me taking care of you?”
“I don’t need taking care of.” She poked a finger at him.
“I know that.” But he liked taking care of her. He stepped closer and captured her hand in his. He just couldn’t stop touching her.
She looked up. There was more than anger simmering in her eyes. Desire?
He backed her into the counter. She smelled like herbs and flowers. The combination had him wavering between wanting to bite her or to carry her back upstairs.
“Gray...” She put her hands on his chest, and electricity shot through him.
Her pink bottom lip begged him to nibble it. Being this close to Abby was making him crazy. “Oh, hell.”
Abby’s fingers splayed across his chest, generating enough heat to brand his skin through his shirt.
He cupped her head between his hands.
Leaning in, he brushed his mouth against hers, just a feather’s touch. They both inhaled, a sharp, sweet sound. Then he dived in for another kiss.
Abby sighed, a sexy moan that curled into his groin. She tasted of coffee and cinnamon. Her fists relaxed and then gripped his shirt as her body melted into his. Her breasts pressed against his chest.
“Abby.” His tongue stroked hers, and heat flashed through his body.
Her fingers pushed into his hair, and he molded his body to her lush curves.
Her lips slid against his cheek. He ran his tongue along her jaw and nuzzled the frenzied pulse under her ear. Her arms tightened around his back.
“You taste so good.” He dived back in for a kiss.
“Gray.” She shook her head. “Stop.”
He rested his forehead against her, gasping for breath. What the hell had just happened?
She pushed against his shoulders.
“That was better than I’d imagined,” he whispered, drawing back.
Their kiss hadn’t eased the tension from his body. Every muscle cried out to take this woman back to his bed.
“You...you...” Her eyes, once glazed with arousal, were now filled with anger.
For the second time that night, Gray apologized. “I’m sorry. I don’t regret kissing you, but I was out of line.”
“You idiot. You make me lose three hours of work, then interrupt me when I’m trying to catch up. You kiss me and then say sorry?” She was building up another head of steam. “Maybe we need to renegotiate your agreement. I’m not part of the Fitzgerald House services. If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, you’ll need to find other accommodations.”
Gray backed away. An electrical charge still surged through him. “If you tell me you haven’t thought about what we would be like together, I’ll call you a liar.”
Before she could take another swipe at him, he added, “I apologize—again. Let me help you catch up. Could I find someone to help you out? Maybe before the party. That would help, right?”
“No.” She jerked away from him.
“There must be some sort of temp place. I could...find a kitchen assistant.” He held up a hand. “Let me help you.”
She glanced over at the unwashed pots and pans, and her eyes gleamed. “You want to help? You?”
He nodded.
“Soap’s above the sink. Gloves are on the towel rack. Make sure the water is hot, very hot.”
“Me?” This wasn’t working out the way he’d planned. He’d figured he could pay someone to help her.
“You.” Abby stalked away. “Keep to your side of the kitchen and stay away from me.”
* * *
“SALAD’S UP.” ABBY wiped one final drip of dressing off a plate. Perfect. The curls of beets, carrots and cilantro looked elegant next to the grilled white asparagus.
“They look too good to eat,” Michael, her sous chef, said.
“The bride-to-be is beaming.” Dolley stretched before she pushed out the cart. “The tables look spectacular.”
“She liked the centerpieces so much, she’s coming in for a flower consult.” Bess hefted a tray of crudités. “Once they try your food, I’m sure they’ll book the wedding reception here, too.”
Her sisters followed the food up to the ballroom. Abby took a drink of water, kneading the small of her back.
Gray walked into the kitchen.
The muscles she’d just relaxed seized up again.
Abby snatched up the salad plate she’d set aside. She and Gray had to get back to normal.
She was upset with herself. When he’d kissed her last night, she’d wanted to lean into him and let him take her back up to his big bed.
She couldn’t act on her attraction. He was a man who talked about ten-million-dollar deals. She worried about spending ten dollars on anything other than Fitzgerald House.
“Did you get everything done?” he asked, dodging a server carrying a tray of dirty glasses.
“Getting there.” She couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing.
Gray held up his hands in surrender. “Do I have to apologize again?”
His last apology had led to a kiss that had almost consumed her. “No.” God, no.
“Hey, Miss Abby.”
Joshua stood next to Gray. How had she not noticed the little boy?
“Josh says his mom’s working the party, so I told him he could have dinner with me.” Gray mouthed, “Put it on my bill.”
She nodded, but she would do no such thing. Josh was a sweetie.
“You two men have a choice tonight. Do you want portabella lasagna or short ribs?”
Josh looked at Gray, his mouth scrunched up.
“My man will have lasagna, and I’ll have the short ribs.” Gray whispered to the little boy, “We can share.”
Gray stepped out of Michael’s path, taking Josh with him. “Busy in here,” he commented.
“We’re finishing up the party’s entrées,” she explained.
Gray helped Josh onto a chair.
She plated their meals and brought them to the table.
“Looks great,” Gray said, digging into his salad.
Josh sucked in his lower lip as he stared at the lasagna. “Can you cut this for me?”
“Sure.” Gray winked. “I used to do this for my sister.”
Abby kept an eye on them as she pulled out the tart trays for Marion’s staff to serve. The guests had their choice of raspberry, strawberry, kiwi or lemon curd tarts.
Seeing Gray’s plate licked clean, she asked, “More ribs?”
“Yes, thanks. And maybe a helping for short stuff.” He pointed at Josh.
The little boy’s plate was clean except for a pile of mushrooms.
“Everything is delicious.” Gray patted his stomach, and Josh mimicked him. “The people upstairs will be raving.”
This was why Abby had learned how to cook. She loved seeing people smile after eating her food. And Gray’s dimples were an even better reward. “Were you at the site today, on a Saturday?” she called over as she worked at the island.
“I wanted everything ready for Daniel’s crew on Monday. I got involved, and before I knew it, I’d missed the wine tasting. What was today’s theme?” Gray asked.
Abby placed the final tart on the tray. “Washington State. Smoked salmon, apple and bacon puffs with a pomegranate glaze and a cold curried apple soup.”
He looked pained. “Do you ever do repeats?”
She chuckled. “I can.”
With the tart trays loaded and on their way to the ballroom, Abby heaved a sigh. In spite of yesterday’s unplanned nap, they’d finished. She could rest. At least until the dirty dishes came back down.
She joined Gray and Josh in the alcove, bringing a plate of tarts with her.
She propped her aching feet up on a chair. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a foot rub. “If you want more, you’ll have to serve yourself. I’m too blessed tired.”
“This was incredible.” Gray had cleaned his plate—again. “Josh, do you want anything else?”
The little boy pointed to the tarts. “Red, please.”
Gray passed one to him with a napkin.
Gray didn’t bother with a napkin for himself. He popped an entire tart in his mouth. “Okay, I may need more than one,” he said as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.
The kitchen doors swung open and Cheryl stepped in. Her head jerked back and forth until she saw her son. “Josh!” Her relief was almost palpable. “What are you doing in here?”
“Gray askeded me to eat with him.”
“Asked,” Cheryl corrected. “And it’s Mr. Smythe.”
Cheryl shoved her pale hair back into her bun. She shot a guilty look at Abby before turning back to the boy. “You promised to stay put.”
“It was my fault. Josh kept me company while I ate, but I should have made sure you knew where he was.”
“I told you this afternoon, Josh is no problem,” Abby added. She didn’t mind the boy hanging around the B and B.
Cheryl twisted her hands together. “I don’t...”
“He’s okay with us.” Abby glanced over at Gray. “I mean...me.”
“Marion only needs me for another hour.” The young woman covered her mouth with one hand. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick.
“I’m okay, Mommy. You want a picture?” Josh pulled out a sketch pad and a mammoth box of crayons.
“Where did you get those?” Cheryl’s mouth fell open.
“I saw them at the store,” Gray mumbled.
Abby was surprised to see color brightening Gray’s cheek. She hadn’t thought anything could embarrass him.
“I remembered to say thank you,” Josh piped in.
Why did Gray have to be so sweet? Abby was trying to resist the man. She moved over to Cheryl, catching her hands so she wouldn’t twist them anymore.
“He’s okay with me.” Abby lowered her voice. “If he gets tired, I’ll tuck him in on the sofa.” She waved over to the sitting area.
“Thank you.” Cheryl nodded to Gray and then touched Abby’s arm. “For everything.”
Abby squeezed Cheryl’s fingers. “No problem.”
After Cheryl went back up to the ballroom, the small group sat in a comfortable silence. Abby closed her eyes. Michael hummed as he cleaned. A dishwasher rattled. Josh’s crayons scratched against the paper and then stopped. From across the table, she could smell Gray’s cologne.
The table jostled, and Abby pried her eyes open.
Gray was lifting Josh up. “He fell asleep, like someone flipped a switch.”
He settled the child on the sofa, tucking a throw around him. When he came back to the table, he asked, “Is Josh here whenever Cheryl works?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She could barely keep her eyes open.
“Do something for me.”
She tipped her face up. “What?”
“Make sure they’re eating. Put it on my tab.”
“I’m not charging you.” Abby clenched her jaw. “Cheryl’s my employee.” She took care of her own.
“But...”
She waved a hand in the air, wanting him to stop talking and let her rest.
“I want you to let me pay.”
“No,” she mumbled.
He grunted. The table rocked as he sat back down.
She closed her eyes again. Bliss. A few minutes of rest and she’d be able to go a couple more hours.
Gray tapped her hand. “You need to tell me what I should do if you fall asleep. I don’t want to get in trouble like yesterday.”
The heat of his fingers warmed her whole body. She smiled without opening her eyes. “If my head drops to the table, kick me.”
“Maybe what you need is to get out of the kitchen,” he said. “When do you get a day off?”
“Tomorrow,” she mumbled.
“Let’s eat out tomorrow night.”
Eat out? He was hitting on her. Again. “Gray, don’t.”
“We eat together all the time. Let me take you out for a change.”
She sat up and pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t date guests.”
“Who said anything about dating? I said dinner. I’d like to thank you for the gourmet meals you’ve served me.” His blue eyes held hers. “Think of it as an olive branch for the mess I made of your day yesterday. One more way to say sorry.”
She frowned.
“It’s just dinner,” he coaxed.
“I guess.” She nodded slowly. “Not a date.”
His gaze stayed on her mouth.
The memory of his kiss made her breath catch in her chest.
“Great.” He blinked, breaking the spell between them. “I’ll come down later and grab a cognac. There’s a basketball game I want to watch.”
He headed out the swinging door, and the kitchen seemed empty without him.
Her breath came out in a whoosh. Why had she agreed to go to dinner? It had to be exhaustion and his darn blue eyes. And the sweet way he treated Josh. Even so, this dinner was bound to be a mistake.
The monotonous chore of loading dishes didn’t take her mind off Gray. Saying good-night to Cheryl and Josh only made her remember how kind Gray had been to the little boy. He had such an easy way of chatting with guests. They had such lovely conversations, and he filled his jeans out... Whoops. Not going to think about that.
“Need anything else?” Michael asked, wiping down the stove.
“No. I think we’re done. Thanks.”
“See you in the morning.” Michael left as she finished cleaning the counter. Abby would have liked to have gone to bed, but since the sisters were all together, she’d called a short meeting even though it was nearly midnight.
Dolley burst into the kitchen, a champagne bottle in her hand.
“Success,” Bess called out as she followed, carrying three flutes. “They loved everything.”
“How’s Marion doing?” Abby asked.
“Everything’s under control,” Dolley said. “Let’s pop this bad boy. We rocked.”
The sisters gathered around the kitchen table. Golden liquid fizzed in their glasses.
“To the Fitzgerald ladies,” Bess said, raising her glass.
The reasons Abby worked so hard to bring Fitzgerald House back to its glory were gathered round the table. She swallowed. Mamma had started the recovery. When Great-Aunt Cecelia had gotten sick, Mamma had asked Abby, Bess and Dolley to take over. But Abby had always been in charge. She had the relevant experience, and as the oldest, she’d always felt it was up to her to fix what her father had broken.
“Great party, ladies,” Bess said.
“Did we have enough servers?” Abby asked.
“Amy and Cheryl did well for their first time. We could have used one more,” Bess said.
Abby made a note on the tablet by her side. “I’ll talk to Marion.”
Bess yawned. “I’ve got to work tomorrow. Can we make this quick?”
“Sure. Samuel’s given me his bid.” Abby fanned the papers out in front of her.
“What’s the bottom line?” Dolley filled her flute again.
“To finish the third floor, he’s quoting a little over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Crap.” Dolley ran a hand through her curls. “No wonder you keep pushing back the software upgrade.”
“Samuel’s also given us ballpark numbers for turning the carriage house into the restaurant. That’s another three hundred thousand. If we add carriage house guest rooms, it’s just under a hundred thousand.”
Everyone groaned. The estimate might as well have been millions.
They talked through the possibilities and drank their champagne.
“The carriage house suites could be a little more modern. We could keep the furniture lighter and bring in the garden theme.” Bess nibbled on her thumbnail until Dolley slapped her hand.
“Great idea, but the carriage house renovations will have to wait.” Abby’s chest ached. “Third floor first.”
“I agree,” Dolley added.
Bess covered Abby’s hand. “When you moved back from New York, all you talked about was opening a restaurant.”
Abby shrugged. Realism had set in the minute she’d sat with the B and B’s accountant.
She was the reason Maurice had received the rising star designation. She wanted a real star rating to show him up. Without a restaurant, she would never be rated. She would just be...a B and B cook. Nothing special.
Dolley stuffed a tart in her mouth. “We have to finish the rooms in the main house first.”
Bess shook her head. “Shoot, what if we can’t get them booked?”
“We will.” Abby swallowed the lump forming in her throat. They had to. “Samuel’s bid has an option that allows us to finish one room at a time. If Nigel helps during the day, the short-term cost will be lower. In the long run, though, it will cost more, because the subcontractors would have to keep returning, rather than doing everything in one go.”
Bess cradled her head in her hand. “Why can’t this be easy? How about a loan?”
“Dolley?” Abby asked.
“I’ll make some inquiries next week.” Her sister grew thoughtful. “Maybe there’s a development loan we can tap.”
“We should extend that darn balloon,” Bess complained. “It’s hanging over our heads like a...”
“Noose?” Dolley filled in.
“That pendulum sword thing.” Bess waved her hand back and forth.
“Wow, you guys are morbid.” Abby figured she shouldn’t have held this meeting after a long day of work for all of them.
The kitchen door creaked as someone pushed it open. The sisters turned in unison.
Gray’s dark hair appeared in the doorway, and Abby’s stomach fluttered as if the champagne bubbles were tickling her.
“Hi ladies, still—” Gray frowned and looked at the bottle, the flutes and papers covering the table “—working?”
“Yeah. All work and no play—that’s us.” Dolley waved him over. “Hey, you know about our renovations. Can you tell us if these bids are reasonable?”
What? Abby kicked Dolley’s shoe.
Dolley glared. “What was that for?”
Abby tipped her head toward Gray and frowned.
He leaned against the dining alcove’s half wall. Those steely blue eyes held hers as he took of sip of the cognac he’d carried in with him.
“He’s a guest,” Abby hissed. A guest she’d kissed. The best kiss of her life.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
But Abby did. This was Fitzgerald business.
Gray moved to the table. Dolley scooted over to make room for him as he took a seat. “What’s going on?”
“Samuel’s just finished the last second-floor room, but we want to open up the third floor,” Dolley said.
He nodded.
Dolley shifted the papers in front of him. “We don’t have the cash to do the whole floor, but can you tell us if the room-by-room costs look reasonable? Maybe you have some ideas.”
Abby wanted to snatch the papers out of his hand. Guests shouldn’t know about their financial situation.
