Southern Comforts

by Nan Dixon

  “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.

  “Abby mentioned something about water damage. And you talked about soundproofing.” He scanned the documents. “Do you mind if I take a look upstairs?”

  “I’ve got to get home. I have a landscaping install starting at seven tomorrow.” Bess pushed away from the table. “That means I need to get to the shop by six.”

  Abby waved. “Get some rest.”

  “I should get some sleep, too. Worked most of last night.” Dolley rubbed her face. “Abs, take Gray up to the third floor and let him poke around.”

  Before Abby could argue that was a terrible idea, her sisters had skedaddled like kids on the last day of school—the traitors.

  “Shall we head up?” Gray’s blue eyes twinkled as he looked at her.

  Was he amused or did he pity her? How much easier would life be if she had his megabucks, the ones Dolley was always drooling over? And why had her sister invited Gray into their business?

  “Let’s go.” Her tone was curt, her shoulders stiff. Maybe Gray would take the hint and head to his room.

  She grabbed keys and pulled a flashlight off the wall charger.

  He set down his glass and followed her out of the kitchen and to the locked door at the end of the hallway.

  “I didn’t know these stairs were here,” he remarked as she unlocked it.

  “We don’t put them on the house map. We can’t have guests up in this section of the third floor.”

  She climbed the narrow stairs. Even though he was behind her, she caught his scent. The higher they climbed the more intense the smell, until all she wanted to do was turn around and bury her nose in his neck.

  Not going to happen.

  She reached the top of the stairs and flipped on the light. The bare bulb accentuated the stains, making the hallway look like a weird modern painting.

  Gray moved closer, inspecting the walls. At the first doorway he grabbed the doorknob. “May I?”

  At least he’d asked permission. She handed him the flashlight. “Be careful.”

  The room was a dark skeleton. It had sustained the worst of the water damage. Years ago, someone, probably her grandfather, had pulled up most of the floorboards. There were holes in the plaster walls. Half the ceiling had come down.

  Ahead of her, Gray tested the plywood covering the floor joists and then stepped into the belly of the room.

  Abby wrapped her arms around the ache in her stomach. The room looked...sad.

  Gray tapped his knuckles on the dark wood studs. “They built these houses to last, didn’t they?”

  She leaned against the door frame. “Yes.”

  The house should have been cherished, but there were costs associated with that. Everything always came back to money.

  The beam of light jumped as Gray looked around the room, first at the floor joists, then walls, windows and finally the ceiling—the half ceiling.

  This was the room that would cost the most to restore. It would be last on the list. When she’d come through with Samuel, she’d seen the possibilities. What did Gray see?

  He didn’t speak as he studied the window framing, one of Mamma’s first investments.

  “Whoever put in the windows did a great job,” he said.

  “Samuel.” Abby could hear the pride in her own voice.

  “In that case, I’m glad I hired them.” He moved toward her.

  She backed into the hallway, not wanting to get too close.

  He brushed past, and the chilly temperature seemed to jump about ten degrees.

  He followed the same routine in each of the other rooms. These were less damaged, but still weren’t ready for occupancy.

  What’s on the other side of this wall?” Gray asked.

  “The ballroom.”

  He nodded. “Now I understand why Dolley was asking about soundproofing. It’s pretty good right now.”

  She tipped her head, listening. Marion’s cleaning crew must have finished the teardown. They’d earned their keep tonight and had a shot at catering the wedding reception. Score one for Team Fitzgerald.

  Gray exited the last room, shutting off the flashlight. “I thought things would be dustier.”

  “Marion sends a crew up once a month.” She frowned. “Why did you think they’d be dirty?”

  He grinned, his dimple softening his face and making him look younger, less fierce. “Because when I checked in, you had a streak of dirt on your cheek.”

  “Oh.” She grimaced. “That wasn’t from up here.”

  “You take care of things.” He didn’t comment on her admission. Instead, his gaze zeroed in on her lips. “If it’s under your control, you care.”

  She crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with cleaning a ripped-up section of the house?”

  “I’m not making fun of it. I’m impressed.”

  “Umm. Thank you.” Of course she took care of things. She had to. She was responsible. “I...I live here.” Well, in the carriage house.

  “Just because you live here doesn’t mean you have to take care of everything.” He waved down the hallway toward to the damaged room. “They didn’t.”

  “No, they didn’t.” Her ancestors had made bad investments, suffered through the cotton blight and then the Depression. It took money to keep Fitzgerald House alive, something they hadn’t always had.

  He was still staring at her mouth. “Why did you have dirt on your face?”

  She shrugged. “Samuel and I went through the carriage house. I don’t have the cleaning crew in there.”

  He nodded, taking a step forward. She inched backward until the wall stopped her. His cologne was now the only thing she could smell.

  She clenched her hands into fists, trying to keep herself from running her fingers through his hair. There were too many things keeping her from acting on this attraction, although she couldn’t think of a single one right now as his blue eyes stared into hers.

  “Are you afraid of me?” He rested his hand on the wall above her head.

  “No.” She was afraid she would give in to the urge to kiss him. There would be repercussions if she did. She let one hand touch his chest to keep him from leaning down. “I think I was clear last night.”

  He leaned in anyway. “Two things were clear to me last night.” He covered her hand with his. His heart raced under her fingers.

  “Gray...”

  He spoke over her. “One, there’s an attraction, a chemistry between us.”

  She started to shake her head.

  He touched her cheek and she stopped, then nodded.


  “And two, you’re afraid,” he said.

  “I’m running a business.” She put both hands up. “Anything between us is inappropriate.”

  “Business. Right.” He moved back and she took a deep breath, happy and disappointed at the same time.

  Stepping into the center of the hall, she asked, “Have you seen enough?”

  “For now.”

  She needed to watch her words around him. Needed to stay on her toes or she would give in to this need to stroke a finger over his dimple. “Then I think we’re done.”

  His grin grew. “I’ll grab your bids and we can talk about them tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. They were going out to dinner. “Maybe we shouldn’t...”

  “Abby, you’ve had a long week. You’re tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Rule #2—Absolutely never get involved with a guest. It’s not well done.

  Mamie Fitzgerald

  ABBY ROLLED OVER and hugged her pillow to her chest. Eight o’clock and she didn’t have to get out of bed.

  Only one thing could make this better. A muscular man named Sven spending an hour massaging her feet and legs. But the image morphed into Gray running his hands up her legs.

  She groaned. Would that be so wrong?

  She lolled in bed for another heavenly hour, indulging herself with a good cookbook she hadn’t had the chance to explore. Then, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, she carried her coffee and a croissant into the courtyard. She planned to enjoy the early-March sunshine. She could read the Sunday paper and eat her breakfast. A small luxury.

  Michael came to her table with a pot of coffee and topped off her cup.

  “Thanks.” She inhaled the sharp fragrance. “How was brunch?”

  “Piece of cake. Well, really—French toast.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “You’re low on syrup,” Michael added. “Plus, your long-term guest was looking for you.”

  A small shiver ran through her. “His name is Gray.”

  Saying his name made her stomach flop. Her body went on alert at the thought of seeing him.

  Nothing existed between her and Gray, nothing but business. How could it? According to Dolley, Gray’s family had enough money to buy and sell Fitzgerald House many times over. It was too bad her body heated up whenever he smiled. They were just too different.

  “If you see Gray, tell him I’m in the garden.”

  Maybe he wanted to cancel their dinner. She should cancel dinner. Keep everything professional. Plus, staying in her sweats all day wouldn’t be a hardship.

  Michael left, and she worked on the Sunday crossword puzzle. Occasionally, she tilted her head, letting the sun warm her face.

  Bess’s gardens were alive with the twitter of birds and the rustle of leaves in the bamboo and live oak trees. The fountain splashed with a happy sound. Taking a deep breath, Abby filled her senses with the heady fragrance of the flowers Bess painstakingly nurtured. If she opened her eyes, the blooming azaleas would be nodding their bright pink heads.

  She was as warm as when Gray’s hand had covered hers last night—all mushy inside.

  Gray was right. They had...chemistry. She couldn’t let her focus slip from Fitzgerald House, but maybe they could act on their attraction. Anything between them wouldn’t last. He was only here through July.

  She took a shaky breath. Could she go into a relationship knowing there was a predetermined expiration date? Could she indulge herself that much?

  Gray wouldn’t pull her away from the B and B. Abby would make sure Fitzgerald House came first.

  But she wanted Gray to kiss her again. Wanted to feel that sizzle flying through her body. Maybe dinner didn’t have to be business. Maybe Gray would kiss her again.

  * * *

  GRAY NUDGED HIS empty plate to the center of the breakfast table. A man could get used to fine coffee and excellent food. Maybe too used to it.

  Why the hell had he asked Abby out to dinner?

  He pushed away from the table. Cheryl had let him know Abby was in the garden.

  Time to find the woman who haunted his thoughts. He headed out the library’s French doors into the courtyard.

  He tapped the bid folder labeled with Abby’s precise handwriting against his thigh. Why had Dolley asked for his help? Were they hoping for a loan?

  He knew how to say no.

  Abby’s hair caught his eyes first. That red-gold color seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. He made his way over.

  Abby sat with her head bent over a crossword puzzle. On the table, a cup of coffee sat next to a partially eaten croissant. With her sunset-colored hair, she looked like a flower blooming next to the bright green hedge.

  He should stay away from her. He should ignore the way his body perked up whenever he saw her. But for some reason, the world was brighter when she was around.

  He tapped the folder. Abby obviously needed money. Why else would they do the restoration piecemeal? Was that the only reason she was interested in him?

  He would tell her the third-floor bids looked fine.

  Then he would beg off their date. He rubbed his forehead. And this had been a date, no matter what lies they told themselves.

  He and Gwen had broken up, but he wasn’t in any position to start something with Abby. Even if they combusted whenever they were together.

  “Hey, Gray.” She smiled and the sun shone more brightly.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax,” he said. “What have you done today?”

  “Slept in.” She held up the paper. “Tried to work on the crossword puzzle and daydreamed. The perfect day.”

  He didn’t care that he shouldn’t start anything with her. He knelt beside her chair, stroking a finger down her translucent skin.

  Reaching out, she ran her fingers down his cheek, mirroring what he’d done.

  He shivered. She’d touched him before, but this felt different. More tender.

  He stood, backed up and broke the spell she’d cast over him. “What were you daydreaming about?”

  She blushed. Her gaze slid away and focused over his shoulder. “You.”

  His heart skipped a beat. He leaned a hip against the table and picked up her hand from her lap. “Want to be more specific?”

  “Not on your life.”

  She sat up and looked at the folder in his hand. Another blush swept across her face. “You have our bids.”

  He nodded, fighting the impulse to move closer.

  She winced, and he fought the impulse to move closer.

  “I’m sorry Dolley coerced you into looking at them.”

  “Not a problem.”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t right.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Thank you.” She swung her legs down and reached for the folder. “It still wasn’t right.”

  “The bids look good.” Actually, based on the bid the Foresters had given him, it looked as though Abby and her sisters were getting a bargain.

  “If you do the restoration room by room, it costs more,” he said.

  “We know. It’s a cash-flow issue. We’ll see if we can get a loan, but...” She shrugged with a tight smile. “I know how much you love my brandy-pecan bars. How much would you pay for a lifetime supply?”

  A chill seemed to settle over his skin. Was she joking, flirting—or testing the waters?

  He’d eaten in her intimate kitchen for the past three weeks. And they’d spent hours talking. He’d told her more about his life and his family than anyone back in Boston. They’d become friends. Why couldn’t he tell what Abby wanted?

  He was paying her for the room and the meals. And now Abby suggested he could buy a lifetime of her bars? Had t
o be a joke. He kept his own tone light in response. “It might be worth it.”

  He tugged her out of her chair, and when her body brushed his, it was as if he’d grabbed a live wire.

  Did she feel this connection, too?

  “Do you have a restaurant you’ve wanted to visit tonight?” He couldn’t stop brushing her knuckles with his thumb.

  He thought he saw confusion in her green eyes. At least he wasn’t the only one.

  “There’s a little Italian place over on York Street called Amore. We can walk over if you want.”

  So they would go out to dinner. It didn’t have to be a big deal; they’d had plenty of those already. Then they’d see what happened next. “I’ll make a reservation.”

  * * *

  ABBY SLIPPED INTO a soft green scoop-neck cashmere sweater dress she’d found on sale the year before. It clung in all the right places. She added a pale green shawl along with gold earrings and a necklace.

  Was tonight more than an innocent dinner?

  In the courtyard, she’d gazed into Gray’s crystal-blue eyes and wanted more. The touch of his finger on her cheek had made her melt like a chocolate ganache.

  But he hadn’t kissed her. She huffed out a breath. She would enjoy a lovely dinner, one that someone else had cooked for a change, and appreciate having a conversation with an intriguing man.

  That was all.

  Unless Gray started something.

  As she entered the courtyard, the quarter moon shone soft light on the quiet garden. Discreet solar lights lined the paths.

  Gray met her in the center of Bess’s gardens. The look of appreciation in his eyes stole her breath. He didn’t even try to hide the way he cast his gaze over her body, from the tips of her toes to her head. She almost felt his fingers take that same slow journey. He captured her hands.

  “You’re lovely.” His intoxicating voice warmed her more than her shawl.

  “Thank you.”

  He tightened his grip on her hands and shook his head. “I keep telling myself I should stay away, that I’m not able to pursue...anything with you.”

  Abby’s back straightened. His words were as bitter tasting as chicory on the tongue, but she knew it was the truth. First there was the money factor—her lack and his abundance. Those dynamics led to relationship imbalances. Then there was the fact that family wasn’t important to him. Family was everything to her. “You’re right. There shouldn’t be anything between us.”