Southern Comforts. Nan Dixon
sorry. Moons are honeymooners and Repeaters are anniversary couples. Bess came up with the idea of advertising for sister groups.” She took a sip of her wine. “We use our own shorthand.”
He frowned. “Are there really that many sisters around?”
“They don’t have to be related. It’s basically a weekend for women with a common interest—most of the time they know each other already, but some come for the theme and make new friends while they’re here. We organize their activities during their stay. For the Scrapbooking Sisters, we reserve a parlor for them to work in. And Nigel, our driver, will take them to a supply store where we’ve arranged a discount.” Her grin spread across her face. “Scary Sisters visit haunted houses and attend a Ghost Pub Crawl. But my favorite is the Sommelier Sisters weekend. It doesn’t get better than tasting wines.”
“Interesting marketing angle,” he said.
She waved her hand. “It fits our brand. My sisters and I run the place, so we do what we can to play that up.”
Gray took a few more bites of the best meal he’d had in months. Abby was a fantastic cook. At least Derrick hadn’t steered him wrong when he’d recommended Fitzgerald House.
“It sounds like you’re planning some renovations,” he said.
Her expression fell away like dirt being stripped by a power washer. “We’re hoping to work on the third floor.”
“Hoping?”
“There’s a lot of water damage up there.” She absently shook her head, the ends of her hair brushing the tops of her breasts.
“You had roof problems?” He forced his gaze back up to her face.
“In the fifties.” She nodded. “They repaired the roof but didn’t fix the damage. I guess they weren’t using those rooms at the time.”
When she’d talked to her sister, she’d said it was bad. Had she meant the damage or the cost?
And why should he care? The sections of Fitzgerald House he’d seen were clean and well maintained. That was all that should concern him.
But renovations were his business. His parents’ library restoration had gotten him hooked on rehab and real estate. “So what are your plans for the third floor?”
“More guest rooms.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table.
He ate while she talked. He plied her with questions because it was fun to see her eyes sparkle. Not that it took much prodding. It was easy to see that Abby really loved this old mansion. Loved what she and her sisters were creating.
Strange to think of working with your family.
“When do you start?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Right now we’re exploring the costs.”
She nibbled on her lip again.
Gray looked down at his plate, unwilling to watch her teeth work over that pink lip. He blinked in surprise. His plate was empty, though he didn’t remember finishing.
Abby noticed and brought over a tray of bars.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Decaf, if you have it.”
Abby ground beans and set an industrial-size coffeemaker to brewing. She gathered up a notepad and a pen before sitting back down.
“I need to get an idea of your likes and dislikes,” she said. “Any allergies?”
“None. If tonight is an example, anything you fix will be better than what I normally eat.” He’d have to look at pushing his housekeeper to be a little more adventurous.
“Beef, chicken, fish or pasta?” she asked.
“All of the above. I’ll eat anything.” He bit into a bar and groaned. “This is incredible.”
“Brandy-pecan bars.” She made a note.
His cell phone rang. His sister.
“Excuse me.” He paced to the back of the kitchen and a small sitting area. The space overlooked a patio and garden lit with decorative lights.
“Hey, gorgeous, what’s up?” he asked, finishing his bar.
“How could you?” Courtney blasted his eardrums without saying hello.
“How could I what?” Gray knew why she was calling. He forced his fingers to relax. He should never have dated his sister’s best friend.
“You sent Gwen a breakup bracelet,” she whispered.
How did his sister know that was his trick for getting out of relationships? “Stay out of this.”
“Hang on,” his sister said.
“Courtney, I’m—”
“Gray?” Gwen’s voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear it over his pulse pounding in his ear.
He closed his eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you mean the bracelet to be a...a parting gift?”
It had worked before. “We broke up.”
“But Mark and Liz invited us to the vineyard next weekend.”
“Gwen.” He closed his eyes. “I won’t be home. I’m working in Savannah. Even if I was back in Boston, we wouldn’t be together.”
“But they—” She hesitated. “They expect us.”
His headache was back, the pressure building behind his eyes. He should have read her emails. Then he could have avoided this phone call. “I’m not coming home for a damn party.”
In the beginning of their relationship, going to parties every weekend had been exciting. Gwen’s energy had been thrilling. Now she exhausted him.
“When will you be home?” Her voice was quiet and low. “I think we should talk.”
He took a deep breath. “No, Gwen.”
“Oh.”
He rubbed the cords at the back of his neck. What a disaster. There were too many connections between his family and Gwen’s. Their mothers had been best friends since college. Gwen and his sister had been best friends forever. It had been a mistake to date someone so entrenched in his family.
He glanced over at Abby as she filled a coffeepot. “I have to go. Say goodbye to Courtney for me.”
He shut his phone off, but the call had soured his night. Back at the table, Abby poured his coffee. He tried to neutralize his expression, but he could feel himself frowning.
“I need to ask about lunch,” Abby said. “Are sandwiches okay?”
He added cream to his cup and sipped. Great coffee. “Sandwiches are fine.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll serve your dinner in the dining room.”
Listening to Abby describe the B and B’s renovations had been the most relaxing dinner he’d had in months. He didn’t want to eat alone in the dining room. “I’m good with the kitchen.”
“Really?” She blinked her green eyes.
He wanted to relax. And she was calm personified. “The kitchen’s fine.”
Rule #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