Southern Comforts. Nan Dixon
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—”