by Gina Wilkins
Kinley nodded and moved toward the door. “Join me in the dining room whenever you’re ready. We’ll have coffee, then take that tour I promised.”
“I’ll be right down.” Maybe he’d splash a little cold water on his face first.
* * *
“Where is he?” Bonnie asked in an exaggerated whisper as soon as Kinley came downstairs. She had found her sister lurking in the foyer, presumably ready to duck out of sight into the kitchen if Dan had accompanied Kinley down. None of the other guests were around at the moment.
Keeping her own voice low, Kinley replied, “He’ll be down in a few minutes for coffee and a tour. Fresh coffee ready?”
Bonnie nodded. “I warmed some of the leftover breakfast pastries, too, in case he wants a snack.”
Kinley gave her a thumbs-up sign of approval.
“Can you believe he showed up this morning, of all days?” Bonnie shook her head in dismay. “He couldn’t have timed his arrival more inconveniently if he’d tried.”
“No kidding,” Kinley murmured with a grimace. “A broken post and a sagging portico is hardly the first impression I wanted him to get of the inn. Not to mention that I’m going to have to rearrange my whole schedule now to work him into it today.”
“Logan promised it wouldn’t take long to fix the front. He said most of it would be done by the end of today, by noon tomorrow for sure.”
Kinley focused on the smartphone in her hand, on which she was busily making notes and rearranging scheduled time blocks. “I hope he’s right.”
Bonnie looked toward the staircase again. “You couldn’t have been more wrong in predicting what the travel writer would look like, by the way. He’s, like, the opposite of an older man in a bow tie.”
Without looking up from her phone, Kinley gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.”
Bonnie flashed a grin. “I thought you might have. He certainly seemed to notice you.”
Remembering that moment when her eyes had met Dan’s upstairs, Kinley cleared her throat. Okay, so maybe there’d been a moment of awareness. For a couple of heartbeats, she’d been tempted to give him a sultry smile, toss her hair, maybe flutter her lashes a bit—the standard signs that a woman was interested. Or at least, as best she could remember. It had been so long since she’d flirted with anyone that she wasn’t entirely sure she still knew how. She had let the opportunity pass, both because it would have been totally unprofessional of her to flirt with a guest of the inn, and because of her vested interest in the review he would write.
Before she could respond to her sister’s teasing, a noise from the stairway alerted her that the subject of their conversation was on his way down. She gave Bonnie a quick look of warning, then turned with a bright smile to greet Dan as he joined them. She’d hoped a few minutes away from him would have gotten her past that initial jolt of attraction, but seeing him bounding lightly down the stairs made her breath catch again. Something about this good-looking guy just got to her in a way no one else had in—well, longer than she could remember.
He carried a small black bag that probably held a camera, reminding her of why he was here. She mentally crossed her fingers that the noises drifting in from outside meant her brother was already busily restoring the front of the inn. Surely Dan would be content to take shots of the other areas of the inn until the front was picture-perfect again.
Sliding her phone into her pocket, she motioned toward the dining room. “Bonnie just told me she has a fresh pot of coffee and some pastries set out for us.”
He nodded. “Sounds great.”
As she accompanied him and her sister into the other room, Kinley smiled somewhat smugly. Bonnie’s pastries were locally renowned, one frequent guest going so far as to term them “heaven on a plate.” Dan already seemed impressed by his suite. After tasting her sister’s coffee and pastries, followed by a carefully guided tour of the place, he would undoubtedly be convinced that the inn deserved a glowing write-up.
From this point on, she was going to make sure his only impressions were positive ones. Just as she would make sure to keep her unexpected attraction to him under firm control. She’d had much more luck with business than with romance in the past, and she would do well to keep that in mind when it came to her dealings with this sexy writer.
Chapter Two
Kinley and Dan had just been seated at a window table with their coffee and a plate of pastries when a tall, broad-shouldered woman barged through the side door, followed by a younger, smaller woman and a preschool-age boy. With a slight wince, Kinley recognized the older woman as Eva Sossaman, the mother of the weekend’s bride-to-be, Serena Sossaman, who looked embarrassed as she trailed after her fuming mom.
“There you are.” Eva pointed a finger accusingly at Kinley. “I need to lodge a complaint about the condition of the inn.”
Of course she did. All too aware of Dan sitting there watching, Kinley rose to deal with the notoriously difficult client. Maybe she’d jinxed herself when she’d wondered what else could go wrong today. Considering how many hours remained until bedtime, she didn’t even want to think about the answer to that mental question.
She called on all her professional training to greet the indignant client with a cheery smile. “Good morning, Eva. And Serena. What can we do for you?”
“We came to take some photographs for Serena’s wedding book,” Eva replied firmly. In all Kinley’s meetings with them since booking the wedding several months earlier, Eva had almost always been the one to speak up while Serena had pretty much acquiesced to her mother’s wishes. “We just saw the front of the inn and we are appalled. Surely you don’t expect our guests to be greeted by that mess outside.”
“There was a small accident this morning, but my brother is working on repairs now,” Kinley assured her. “He promised me that everything will be in place for the wedding. Your guests won’t even know what happened by the time they arrive Saturday.”
“I hope you’re right,” Eva snapped. “We’ve told everyone that the wedding venue is worthy of Serena’s wedding and I would hate to be proven wrong.”
“You won’t be,” Bonnie said, moving to stand closer to Kinley. “Everything is absolutely on track for the wedding and our brother will make sure the grounds are ready. Even the weather forecasts are perfect, which is always a gamble this time of year. Serena’s wedding is going to be beautiful.”
“Ladies, I’d like to introduce you to Dan Phelan,” Kinley said before Eva could voice any more complaints. “Dan is the writer for Modern South who contacted you about observing your wedding, Serena. Dan, this is our bride-to-be, Serena Sossaman and her mother, Eva.”
Eva’s scowl transformed immediately into a beaming smile, as Kinley had hoped it might. Barely giving Serena a chance to murmur a nice-to-meet-you, she nudged her daughter aside and offered her right hand to Dan in a regal gesture. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Phelan. We’re delighted to have you as a guest at my daughter’s wedding. I know you’ll write a lovely story about it. We’ve worked very hard for the past year planning every detail.”
Dan shook her hand only long enough for civility, though his tone was cordial enough. “I’m sure the wedding will be beautiful. But you should understand that I’m here to write about the inn and other local attractions, and why future couples would want to book events here. I’ll use your daughter’s wedding only as an example of the services offered here.”
A loud thump from the table made everyone turn instinctively to look. Eva’s almost-five-year-old grandson had helped himself to a pastry from the plate and was cramming it enthusiastically into his mouth, scattering crumbs and smearing glaze across his face. Added to the stress of the preparations for the rapidly approaching wedding, Eva was babysitting her grandson while his travel-agent parents were away on a business trip. Kinley had been assured by Eva that the trip had been unavoidable, but Serena’s brother and sister-in-law had promised to be back the day before the wedding. Eva sighed loudly. �
�Grayson, you know you’re supposed to ask Grandmother before you touch anything.”
The boy glanced at her, but didn’t slow down on his munching. Eva turned back to Dan. “Grayson is my son’s child. He is going to be the ring bearer, aren’t you, darling?”
“I’m thirsty,” the boy said around a mouthful of soggy pastry.
“I’ll get you a glass of milk,” Bonnie offered, pulling out a chair for him and offering him a napkin. “Eva, Serena, can I get you some coffee? Or iced tea, perhaps? Feel free to help yourself to a pastry, if you like.”
Taking advantage of the opportunity to escape, Kinley spoke to Dan. “Why don’t I show you around while Bonnie chats with Serena and her mother? If you ladies will excuse us.”
Without giving Eva a chance to detain them longer, Kinley took Dan’s arm to rush him out of the dining room and into the foyer.
He smiled knowingly at her when they were alone. “A challenging customer, huh?”
Because she would never gossip about a customer, Kinley merely smiled. “We do our best to satisfy even the most exacting client. I’m sure Serena and her mother will be very happy with the services we’ll provide for the wedding Saturday. Now, shall we begin our tour? I thought we’d start inside and then view the gardens.”
Taking her cue to change the subject, Dan slipped into a professional manner that matched hers. He removed a small camera from the bag he slung over his shoulder by a thin strap. “Maybe you’d like to stand beside the reception desk? I want to take some preliminary photos during our tour. I’ll try to capture the welcoming atmosphere of this foyer. That chandelier is great, by the way.”
Kinley automatically straightened her cardigan as she moved to the desk. Though she hadn’t been prepared specifically for photos today, she felt somewhat vindicated in her style choices by knowing her outfit was quite appropriate for a magazine shot. Maybe she’d have added a bit more color had she known, but this would do.
“The chandelier is original to the inn,” she said. “As is the desk.”
Dan was already focusing on her, his gaze fixed on the camera screen. She didn’t see how he was going to get the chandelier in that shot, but maybe he just wanted a close-up of her and the desk this time.
“I read the history of the inn you emailed me,” he commented absently, still looking at her image on the screen. “Built by your great-grandfather in the mid-1930s. He and his wife ran it until their son, Leo Finley, eventually took it over. Leo kept the inn open until his wife died some twenty years ago, after which it was closed until you and your brother and sister inherited the place.”
She smiled in approval. “You did read the history.”
After snapping a couple more shots, he looked up from the camera. “I try to be prepared.”
She nodded. “That’s my motto, too.”
He chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me?”
They grinned at each other in a moment of silent communication that felt oddly like bonding—as if they already knew each other, in a way, even though they’d met only an hour or so earlier. Brushing off such uncharacteristic foolishness, she stepped away from the desk and motioned toward the staircase as she went back into her tour-guide spiel. “We have five suites upstairs, the other four very similar to yours. Two handicap-accessible suites are on this main floor. We aren’t set up for children, so we accept only guests over the age of twelve. We direct callers with younger children to several local motels that are more family oriented.”
“A nice little perk for your guests who want to get away from kids,” he murmured.
She nodded and continued, “Bonnie lives full-time downstairs in the basement apartment. It’s accessible only from the outside, to keep it separate from the inn. Uncle Leo converted it into living quarters for himself and his wife many years ago, and that was where he continued to live even after he closed the inn. We had it renovated for Bonnie’s use. We use the attic for storage.”
“You don’t live here?”
Leading him toward the common parlor, she shook her head. “I spend the night downstairs occasionally, especially when we want to get an early start the next day, but I rent a house nearby.”
“And your brother?”
“Logan lives in the caretaker’s cottage at the back of the property, just down the hillside from the gazebo.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “So you all work together but you’ve managed to maintain private residences. Good idea.”
She smiled over her shoulder before entering the room they called the parlor. “We know that even the closest of siblings should give each other plenty of space, especially if they want to remain close.”
“I don’t have any siblings, myself, but that sounds like a reasonable philosophy.”
“We think so.” Entering the parlor, she greeted the couple who sat on one of the comfortable sofas, both studying the screen of a tablet computer one of them held. They looked up when she and Dan came into the room. “Dan, this is Travis Cross and Gordon Monroe, who are visiting us for a few days. Guys, meet Dan Phelan, a travel writer who’s staying in room 203.”
After exchanging polite greetings, Gordon explained, “Travis and I were just looking at a list of nearby attractions, trying to decide how to spend the day. We’re thinking about driving down to Wytheville and checking out a few of the museums.”
“Good choice,” Kinley assured them. The inn was located close to the Blacksburg-Christiansburg-Radford area, bordered by the Blue Ridge Mountains on the south and the Allegheny Mountains to the north. Historic Wytheville was less than an hour’s drive south. She would be sure and encourage Dan to mention the many local attractions in his article.
Travis and Gordon obligingly posed in conversation with Kinley for Dan to snap a few photos of the common room in use. Dan thanked them for their cooperation, but Kinley could tell the couple rather liked the idea of appearing in the magazine. Dan chose several angles to maximize the view of the room Bonnie had decorated in inviting Southern style. Kinley considered igniting the gas logs for the photos, but decided to leave it alone for now. Maybe they would take more photos in here before he left, perhaps with a crackling fire in the background.
Two games tables were positioned at the far side of the room, and an eclectic assortment of games were displayed on nearby shelves. As Travis and Gordon departed for their museum outing, Kinley explained to Dan that almost every evening guests gathered around those tables for games and socializing. “They tell us it’s nice to simply unplug their electronics for a few hours and play some old-fashioned board games, face-to-face with other people.”
“I’d like to get a shot of your guests playing the games, if no one objects. I happen to like game nights myself.”
That didn’t particularly surprise her. Dan seemed like the social type. That was probably a benefit to him in his travel-writing job, making it easy for him to draw out his interview subjects. Not that he’d had to resort to that talent with her. She’d had her sales spiel ready from the moment she’d received notice that the inn would be featured in the magazine.
Continuing in that vein, she motioned toward the doorway. “Ready to see the grounds?”
“Absolutely,” he assured her with a smile that almost made her forget her practiced presentation.
Okay, so she hadn’t expected the writer to be quite this interesting on his own. Hadn’t been prepared to get so lost in his vivid blue eyes that she had to pause for a moment to remember which way to turn upon leaving the parlor. Could not have predicted that her skin would warm and her breath would hitch a bit when he reached around her to open the back door, his arm brushing her shoulder with the gesture. It was so very rare that anyone managed to sidetrack her that she wasn’t quite sure how to process that.
* * *
Dan was obligingly attentive as Kinley led him along the paths through the gardens. She pointed out the invitingly placed swings and benches and the secluded, nicely shaded nook that would eventually be called the Medi
tation Garden, which would incorporate a koi pond and perhaps a couple of nice sculpture pieces. Beyond that section was the starting point for a moderately challenging hiking trail through the woods to the peak of Bride Mountain and then around to the bottom and back up to the inn, just over six miles start to finish.
He snapped a photo of the trailhead sign. “I suppose you’ve made that hike a few times.”
She chuckled. “I could just about walk it blindfolded by now. My brother and sister and I used to love hiking the trail when we visited here as kids.”
Lowering his camera, he turned back to her, studying her face as he leaned one shoulder against an oak tree trunk in a casually comfortable pose that suited his easy tone. “The inn was closed during most of your childhood, wasn’t it? Do you remember it being open to guests?”
She glanced toward the back of the inn. A row of wooden rockers lined the long back porch. Only the honeymooners sat there now, rocking, sipping tea, chatting and watching Kinley give the tour. She could almost picture her younger self and her late mom sitting there rocking and drinking lemonade and enjoying the sounds of a lazy summer afternoon while Logan tagged behind Leo doing maintenance chores and Bonnie played innkeeper with her dolls. The image was bittersweet, making her smile even as her heart ached with missing her mother.
“I was eleven when my great-uncle closed the place after my great-aunt died, so I have some vague recollections of it being open to guests.”
“Do you remember your great-aunt well?”
“Yes. She was a very sweet woman. Uncle Leo adored her. He never fully recovered from losing her, though he led a quiet, comfortable life here after she died. He always seemed to enjoy our visits. He and our mother—his only niece—were close, and he was very fond of us. He and Aunt Helen never had children of their own, so he sort of claimed our mom as his honorary daughter and us as surrogate grandchildren.”
“Does your mother still spend time with you here?”
“We lost our mother three years ago, a little less than a year before Uncle Leo died. She was only fifty-eight. It was very unexpected.” She had tried to speak matter-of-factly, but she suspected he heard the faint catch of grief in her voice. She was still feeling a bit misty about that mental image of her mother on the porch.