Southern Comforts

by Nan Dixon

  Gray unlocked the front door and held it open. Rooms branched off a wainscoted hallway. A wide archway led into a parlor. Farther down the hall was a narrow kitchen. She guessed one of the closed doors was a bathroom.

  Deep greens and browns conveyed an air of masculinity. The parlor was so...Gray. The sofa and wing-back chairs had clean crisp lines, but whimsical end tables boasted colorful mosaic maps of each hemisphere of the globe. Marble candlesticks dominated a carved mahogany mantel above the fireplace. Seascapes adorned the walls.

  Gray dropped their bags at the bottom of the stairs. “Would you like something to drink?”

  He led her into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He held up a bottle of water, and she shook her head. “I asked the housekeeper to stock that tea you drink,” he said. “We can make a pot of that.”

  “I’d love some tea, thanks.” She found a kettle buried in one of his cupboards. Adding water, she turned on the gas and searched for mugs. “You have a housekeeper?”

  “Not a live-in.” He shrugged. “Agnes cleans, shops and sometimes cooks for me. She used to work for my parents. Working for me is like retirement.”

  She nodded. Their lives were so different. “Do we have an agenda this weekend?”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned against him.

  “We have dinner reservations tonight. In the morning, you can sleep in while I meet with my project managers. Then, in the afternoon, I’ll take you on a tour of my Boston. Tomorrow night, there’s a party at my parents’ home. We’ll take in a Red Sox game on Sunday and head back Monday morning.”

  “Back up. Party at your parents’?” She swallowed. She hadn’t recovered from their last encounter.

  The kettle whistled. She left the warmth of Gray’s arms to make her tea.

  “My parents are throwing a benefit for some charity.” He stroked her shoulder. “Please come with me.”

  She sluiced her tea bag back and forth in the hot water. “I’m...nervous.”

  Gray rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “I want to show off Boston to you—and you to Boston.”

  When he said sweet things like that, how could she refuse? “If it’s important to you, of course I’ll go.”

  “Thank you.” He gently kissed the back of her neck.

  “And my sisters packed my clothes.” What clothes would her conspiring sisters think were appropriate for partying with Boston’s elite?

  “Not to worry,” he said. “I asked them to pack the dress you wore on the boat.”

  “And you wonder why I’m nervous,” she said. “Let me take my tea and suitcase upstairs. I need to know what Dolley packed.”

  * * *

  GRAY STROKED ABBY’S BACK. That had been easy.

  Abby had suggested coming up to his bedroom. The rest was natural.

  “I’m as relaxed as I can be without being comatose.” Her hand slid up and rested on his chest. “I hope we’re not eating an early dinner.”

  He could hardly move. “We have time to take a nap and then clean up.”

  “I still need to unpack my clothes.” Her voice slurred with exhaustion.

  “After you rest.” He kissed her hair and felt her body loosen.

  Gray crossed his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling. Lying in his bed seemed strange. When had Savannah become more familiar than his home of five years?

  This weekend he intended to test this infatuation with Abby. Was this love? Sometimes he wondered if his feelings were a result of Savannah’s magic. In the cold reality of Boston, would he feel the same about Abby?

  He closed his eyes and inhaled. Even the air tasted different. He missed the moist, rich fragrance of Savannah.

  He’d set things in motion to help Abby, and he needed updates from his attorney. He had a company to run—in Boston. His time in Georgia was almost over.

  If this was love, what the hell would he do?

  * * *

  IN LESS THAN an hour, Abby would see Gray’s family again. Her hand shook as she dusted blush on her cheeks.

  Gray came into the bedroom and whistled. “I do love that dress. Car’s here.”

  “Almost ready.” She slipped on her red shoes and wrapped a red pashmina around her shoulders in deference to the cool evening.

  Abby longed to be home catering a two-hundred-person wedding reception with five different courses. Catering she could handle. Dealing with her lover’s family? Not so easy.

  Their driver held the car door for them as she and Gray slid into the backseat. She shouldn’t get used to being chauffeured around, but, oh, the luxury.

  Abby settled into the crook of Gray’s arm for the short drive. This had been the most time they’d ever spent together. She wanted more.

  The car pulled into a curved drive. The gray stone building loomed over a rolling tiered lawn. Grillwork windows let shards of diamond-shaped light scatter across the landscape. Abby gulped. The Smythes’ mansion made Fitzgerald House look small.

  “You grew up here?” she said in awe, as the driver stopped the car under a covered porte cochere.

  Gray smiled at her tone. “It’s not that different from your home.”

  “Except we turned our home into a B and B. My God, this place is huge.” A butler opened the car door. A real-life butler.

  “Marcus, how are you?” asked Gray.

  “Excellent, sir. The guests have gathered in the blue parlor and library. Ma’am, may I take your wrap?”

  “Thank you. Marcus, wasn’t it?” At his nod, she handed the shawl to him.

  Hand in hand, Abby and Gray crossed the large entryway. The black-and-white tiles extended forever. Double staircases climbed from the entry to a second-floor gallery. Three stories overhead, a stunning crystal chandelier splashed light through the foyer.

  Gray led her down a long hallway. Abby shivered. This space was designed to intimidate.

  They stopped inside the library doors. A smaller replica of the entry chandelier hung from the ceiling. She loved the bleached-wood bookshelves and the brass ladder that reached the top shelves. A gorgeous black marble mantel spanned the oversize fireplace.

  Pocket doors between the parlor and library were pushed open. It made the room large enough to handle the crowd. Ceilings soared above Abby’s head. This was what a mouse would feel like trapped in an empty Olympic-size pool.

  Abby knew how much money it required to keep Fitzgerald House open. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. As Dolley said, the Smythes weren’t just rich—they were mega, mega rich. This night might be the only time in her life she would be invited to a party like this. She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She would enjoy this evening even if it killed her.

  “You look pale,” Gray said. “Are you okay?”

  “A little nervous.” She didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “You’re the most capable woman I’ve ever met.”

  Maybe if she pretended this was just a wine tasting, she could survive meeting all these wealthy strangers.

  “Thank goodness no one will notice me next to you,” she whispered.

  “You’re kidding. Half the people in the room have already asked the person they’re with who you are.”

  Abby saw heads turning, but knew they were tracking Gray’s movements. She tipped her head close to his. “Only because they’re admiring you.”

  Women wore jewels worth more than her car. Probably worth more than both her sisters’ cars combined. She couldn’t breathe. It was as though someone had thrown a fifty-pound bag of flour on her chest. When Gray left Savannah, he’d return to this glamorous world.

  He moved in front of her, lifting her chin with his finger. “Don’t let this group of Yankees intimidate you. You’re special.”

  She star
ed into the midnight-blue of his eyes.

  A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to take a moment to find her composure, but Gray tucked her arm in his and they worked their way through the crowd. People nodded, waved or called his name.

  Mr. and Mrs. Smythe held court in front of a fireplace in the blue parlor. As Gray and Abby approached, people parted, allowing them to infiltrate the tight knot of socialites. Conversations trailed off. Abby straightened her shoulders, feeling as though she was heading to her own execution.

  Gray kissed his mother’s cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  Diamonds flashed from his mother’s neck and fingers. Mrs. Smythe’s deep blue dress made her eyes sparkle as brilliantly as the stones.

  “Gray.” Love filled his mother’s voice.

  Gray hugged his father. “Dad, looking good.”

  Turning, Gray pulled her forward. “You remember Abby.”

  “How could we forget?” Gray’s dad bussed her cheek.

  “I’m glad you could join us,” Gray’s mother said.

  Abby tried to interpret the nuances in Mrs. Smythe’s voice. Her tone was cooler than her greeting to her son, but that was expected.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Smythe, it’s good to see you again,” Abby said.

  “Oh, please, it’s Wallace and Olivia,” Mr. Smythe insisted.

  “Thank you.” Abby smiled. “And thank you for inviting me into your beautiful home.”

  Gray’s muscles relaxed under her hands. Had he been worried about how his parents would react?

  “How’s the warehouse progress?” Wallace asked.

  “Ahead of schedule.” Gray gave them an update.

  “You’re home for good next month, right?” Olivia asked.

  Gray’s gaze slid to Abby and then back to his mother. His glance had that fifty-pound bag of flour resting on her chest doubling in weight.

  “August 1,” Gray said.

  Abby hadn’t expected anything else, but the words hurt to hear. She’d hoped something would keep him in Savannah just a little longer.

  Her gaze flicked around the room. These glittering people were Gray’s friends. Once his condos were completed, there wasn’t anything to hold him in Savannah.

  “What charity is this dinner for?” asked Gray.

  “The ballet, dear. I volunteered to sponsor a dinner.” Olivia looked around the room. “At a thousand dollars a head, we’re making progress.”

  Abby swallowed hard. There must have been at least ninety people in attendance. “Maybe I should ask your mother to do a fund-raiser for Fitzgerald House renovations,” she whispered when Olivia turned to speak to a passing waiter. “She’s more effective than our loan officer.”

  “If anyone could raise money for you, it would be my mother.”

  He snatched two champagne flutes from the waiter before he left. “Where’s my no-good sister?” Gray asked.

  Olivia waved a hand to the opposite side of the room. “She was talking with Harris last time I saw her. Why don’t you introduce Abigail to people before dinner, Gray?”

  “Of course.”

  As they walked away, Abby said, “I’d be more than happy to have you park me somewhere while you mingle.”

  “No way. If I have to smile and remember names, I want you by my side.”

  Gray worked the room. He shook hands, kissed ladies’ cheeks and analyzed the odds of the Red Sox taking another pennant. She didn’t know this smooth-talking man of privilege, but he belonged in this setting. Just like she belonged in Savannah.

  Abby pushed away her insecurity. Like a squirrel, she was storing up all the minutes of happiness she could.

  Gray made sure she was part of the conversations. By the time dinner was announced, she’d convinced half a dozen couples that they should visit Savannah.

  “The Chamber of Commerce should hire you,” Gray said as they sat down. “Everyone you talked to was enchanted.”

  Dinner was fantastic, and when it was over, she asked, “Can you point me toward the bathroom?”

  “This way. I’ll be on the terrace having a cognac with my father.” Gray looked happy and at ease here in Boston.

  The bathroom would have been suitable for a hotel. Along with the two stalls—which Abby had never seen in a private home before—there was also a sitting area complete with mirrors and vanities. Abby took advantage of the chair and touched up her lipstick.

  When the door opened, she glanced up to see Courtney enter the sitting area. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

  “What are you doing here?” Gray’s sister frowned.

  “It’s good to see you again.” Abby hated the ice in her voice, but Gray’s sister hadn’t shown her any warmth, either.

  Courtney gave her a blatant once-over. Abby gritted her teeth. Didn’t this woman have any manners?

  “I’m surprised he brought you here,” Courtney blurted out. “He won’t stick, you know.”

  “Excuse me?” Abby stood, unwilling to let Courtney tower over her.

  “Gray. He refuses to commit to any woman. He knows women are only interested in his money.”

  “You don’t know your brother as well as you think.” Abby dropped her lipstick back in her purse. “And you don’t know me at all. I’m not interested in his money. He’s so much more than that.” She clenched her jaw, refusing to waste words on a woman who was this unkind. “Why don’t you like me? You don’t even know me.”

  Courtney’s shoulders slumped. “Gwen is my best friend. I wanted her to be part of our family. You ruined that.”

  “You’re assigning blame where there is none. I had nothing to do with Gray breaking up with Gwen.”

  As Abby pushed past, Courtney put up a hand to stop her. “What will happen when Gray moves back to Boston? What will you do then?”

  Grieve. “That’s between Gray and me.”

  “Maybe you need to worry about why Gray is interested in you.” Courtney’s eyes narrowed. “Last time he was home, I heard him talking to Dad about you wanting to expand and needing money. He mentioned acquiring Fitzgerald House. Maybe you need to think about his motives.”

  “How can you talk about your own brother that way?” Abby was appalled.

  Courtney stood taller. “He didn’t get ahead by being a nice guy.”

  The excellent dinner Abby had eaten threatened to come up. Why had Gray discussed her financial problems with his family? Courtney was the second Smythe to mention Gray’s interest in Fitzgerald House.

  They had to be wrong. Fitzgerald House wasn’t for sale.

  The door closed behind her, shutting Courtney and her accusations inside the bathroom. She leaned against the hallway wall, weariness pressing on her body.

  She didn’t want to smile or make small talk. To clear her head, she headed to the empty foyer.

  Courtney couldn’t be right about Gray. She was a friend of his ex. That had to be the problem. Courtney had hit Abby where she was most vulnerable—Fitzgerald House. But Gray wouldn’t destroy her dreams the way her father and Maurice had done.

  “There you are.” Gray strode toward her.

  She beamed at him, hoping he wouldn’t see the insecurity beneath her smile. “How was your cognac?”

  “Nonexistent. They were smoking cigars.” He touched her cheek. “You look tired. Do you want to head home?”

  “Yes.” Back to Savannah. With Gray.

  * * *

  GRAY KNELT NEXT to the fireplace and lit the kindling. The temperature had dropped below fifty degrees and he was cold. Apparently, he missed Savannah’s heat.

  Something was bothering Abby. From the time they’d climbed in the car, she’d barely spoken.

  Once the fire caught, he crossed the room and took Abby’s hands. “What did
you think of the party?”

  “Your mother throws an impressive benefit, and the food was wonderful.”

  He loosened his tie and whipped it off. “It was nice of you to send your congratulations back to the kitchen.” And so Abby.

  “The caterers earned the praise.” She tipped her head. The firelight added golden depths to her emerald eyes. “It was...interesting to see you with your friends, to see you in your element.”

  Gray frowned, not liking her diplomatic turn of phrase. “I’m acquainted with those people. I wouldn’t call them my friends.”

  Abby looked around the room. “You paid two thousand dollars for the benefit, flew me up in a private plane and hired cars to drive us around the city. You’re as wealthy as all those people we were with tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Does it matter?” Even with his back to the fire, a chill ran through him.

  “I guess I didn’t... You’re normal in Savannah. More like Daniel and his dad than all this.” She waved her hand around the room. “I know people in Savannah who are well off, but not like this.” She shook her head. “I don’t know people who live the way you do.”

  “You know me.” He liked who he was in Savannah. He wasn’t sure he liked the person he became back in Boston.

  He hung up his jacket and tie and placed his shoes in the closet. Unbuttoning his shirt, he crossed to Abby. They might be acting like a couple, but every muscle in his body was strung out.

  “Money has always been a burden.” He kept his back to her and put his cuff links on the dresser.

  She laughed. “I could lessen your burden. Send some of your excess cash my way. I’ll put it to good use.”

  “I never know why people are friendly. Is it me or my money and my name?”

  “I’m sorry.” She moved over to stand in front of him and touched his face. “I never thought of it that way.”

  “It’s hard. Never knowing. Never trusting why people are with you.” Like you. Like the jokes you’ve made about me giving you money.

  She turned her back and swept her hair forward, exposing her zipper. “You sound cynical.”

  “Probably.” His lips caressed her neck as he unzipped her dress. “Does money matter that much to you?”