LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

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

Скачать книгу