Now he was in a position to repay their kindness. Ironically, the very fire that had driven him out of town, causing him to leave school abruptly and forcing him to get his GED rather than graduating from high school, had been the very thing that had built his business. While he was away, he had worked construction and perfected his trade. When he came back, he’d rebuilt his grandmother’s house and made damn sure not only to leave the nineteenth century Victorian in better condition than it had been before the fire, but to restore it to its glorious historical splendor. He’d researched the hell out of houses of that period and painstakingly tracked down original doors and windows, trim and moldings, among other fixtures that were true to that era.
The result had not only made his grandma proud, it had made her a minor celebrity in a town where old looking new and true again was held in the highest regard. Wiladean had been his first client, when she’d hired him to do some minor repairs. That job had snowballed into the business he’d built with his architect brother, Aidan.
Tablet in hand, he entered through the inn’s front doors. Reflexively, his gaze went to the front desk, hoping to find Elle exactly where he’d left her yesterday. A man and woman, who he assumed were guests, were perusing the pamphlets, but Elle wasn’t there. His hopes did an odd nosedive. As he was trying to reconcile the peculiar feeling, Wiladean stepped out of the office.
“Right on time,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I do appreciate a man who is punctual.”
He smiled at her. “Good morning, Wiladean.”
“Come on into the office.” She motioned for him to follow her. “We don’t want to keep you very long since you were so kind to meet with us this morning on such short notice. I hope you don’t mind, but Elle is going to sit in on the meeting. We have her to thank for Zelda and me coming to a meeting of the minds.”
He wasn’t surprised about that, but what did surprise him was the level of anticipation he felt as he walked toward the office door. He tried to tell himself that it was just relief that Wiladean and Zelda had finally come to an agreement. But the visceral reaction he experienced as he walked in and saw Elle sitting there looking fresh-faced and gorgeous made him realize he was in trouble. It was one thing to appreciate her from afar but another to...anticipate. He didn’t do anticipation. Or at least he should know better than getting too attached to the idea of seeing her, because he couldn’t have her, and he needed to get that through his head right now.
She’d piled her long, blond hair into a bun on top of her head. She wore a simple blue T-shirt and faded jeans. She looked even prettier than she had yesterday in that sweater with her hair and makeup done. He liked this more natural look. Not that it mattered, because he shouldn’t be thinking about her appearance. This was business.
“Morning,” he said.
The corners of Elle’s lips tipped up into a half smile. “Good morning.”
He started to sit in the chair closest to the door, but Wiladean said, “Move down, Daniel. Take the seat next to Elle.”
“Let Daniel sit wherever he wants, Gigi,” Elle quipped. Her tone was light, but Daniel sensed something else. “Do you remember what we talked about yesterday? Daniel, yesterday I asked Gigi to stop trying to push us together. It’s fine if we want to work together, but I told her we have boundaries. Right, Gigi?”
“Don’t you start with me, missy,” Wiladean said. “Your mother is getting some coffee and muffins ready for us. Quarters are tight because this office wasn’t really meant for four people. We don’t need her maneuvering around us with hot coffee. By the way, Daniel, did Elle tell you she’s decided to spend the holidays in Savannah to help us with a project she and Zelda came up with?”
Elle sighed. “When would I have had the chance to tell him that, Gigi? I just told you last night.” Elle stood up. “I’m going to see if Mom needs any help in the kitchen.”
Elle stood, but Wiladean beat her to the doorway. “You two visit and I’ll go help Zelda.”
“Visit?” Elle said. “Gigi, Daniel didn’t come to visit—”
“You’re absolutely right. Elle, you go ahead and tell Daniel about the new plan and I’ll go hurry up your mother. I’ll be right back.”
She was gone in a flash, leaving the two of them alone in an awkward silence.
Elle sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, looking less than thrilled to be stuck in the tiny office with him.
“So, you’re staying in Savannah for a bit?”
“Apparently so.”
When Daniel had first come back to Savannah and tried to talk to people about his new business, he’d faced similar chilliness to what he was getting from Elle. Many remembered him and tried to brand him as an eternal troublemaker, someone not to be trusted. He’d found the best way to break through their barriers was to keep talking, asking questions about nonthreatening, inconsequential subjects that forced them to answer him. One thing about Southerners was that they wouldn’t be caught dead being intentionally rude. They specialized in the veiled insult that made the uninitiated scratch his or her head wondering if they’d been complimented or damned. He had decided he would keep making polite conversation until they walked away or realized he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. That was exactly what he planned to do now.
“What made you decide to stay?” he asked.
She gazed at him for a moment and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Damned if his body didn’t respond to the lip bite, that old familiar fallback defense gesture of hers.
He wanted to bite her bottom lip himself. He wanted to suck on it and draw it into his mouth and see if it still tasted as good as he remembered from all those years ago when he’d kissed her.
“If I don’t stay, Gigi and Mom might kill each other. Or at the very least they’ll keep fighting over the specifics of the renovation and y’all will get nothing done. I can’t have that on my conscience.”
There it was. She was talking to him. That was progress.
He turned in his chair so that he was facing her straight on. “So, I have you to thank for getting this project ready to roll?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Need a job? Maybe I should hire you on as my project manager?”
She got a funny look on her face, but it only lasted a fleeting moment. She raised her chin. “I didn’t realize you were hiring. Don’t you have a regular crew?”
There was an edge to her voice, but he was beginning to like brushing up against her sharp edges. He liked this confidence she had now. It was sexy. She’d become a stronger woman, not the timid good girl she was in high school. And when she’d almost married Roger.
“For the record, I’m not hiring,” he said. “But I could find a place for you if you wanted to come on board.” Her cheeks turned that particular shade of pink that looked so good on her. It belied her bravado and made him believe that a little bit of the good girl had made it through the years unscathed. He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He should tone it down if he knew what was good for him. But flirting with her felt too damn good to resist. “Are you interested, Elle?”
She scowled at him, and for a moment, she looked as if she wanted to say something. Electricity virtually crackled between them, and judging by the look on her face, she felt it, too. But then again, the push-pull of unrequited attraction had never been their problem. Quite the contrary. This feeling that pulsed like a living, breathing thing was still there. Even if she wouldn’t acknowledge it. “I’m not interested in anything permanent in Savannah.”
“Good to know,” he said. “Who says it needs to be permanent?”
“You don’t want to try and go down that road with me, Daniel,” Elle said.
Oh, yes, he did. And even though her words said one thing, her eyes telegraphed something else. He was trying to give her something to grab onto—a starting point for them—but it was
clear that she was messing with him. This was a business meeting. He needed to reel it in a bit.
That was fine. Savannah wasn’t built in a day. He’d waited years for her. He could wait a little bit longer.
“Tell me about this meeting of the minds you helped Zelda and Wiladean reach.”
Elle’s face softened and she sat forward in her chair. “You already know that they have two different remodel styles in mind.”
Daniel nodded.
“Two ideas that are at opposite ends of the spectrum,” he added.
Elle shrugged. “I asked Zelda why she wanted something so radically different from the way the Forsyth has always been and came to find out she doesn’t really mind the traditional style of the inn as much as she wants to make changes so that we can expand the amenities we offer.”
That was interesting. It was something they hadn’t touched on in previous meetings.
“What kind of amenities? I hope she’s not thinking of adding tennis courts and swimming pools. We might be able to work in a hot tub or sauna, but we’re pretty much gridlocked with the road on two sides of the property and the neighbors on the other two sides.”
Elle shook her head. “No, she’s thinking of more adaptable, movable amenities. Although I know she’s going to love the hot tub and sauna idea. So, prepare yourself for that. She wants to turn the Forsyth into an artists’ retreat and eventually add a tearoom and spa. But those would come later.”
Daniel hung on every word as Elle relayed what she, her mom and grandmother had talked about—possibly turning one or two of the outbuildings into a classroom or artist-in-residence space and converting an interior area into a studio for guests to set up easels to work. Perhaps they could even open the garden to local artists once a month or once a week as availability dictated—and possibly add a tearoom and spa at some point to offer guests a means to refresh and refill the creative well.
“That way we could stay true to the history of the inn with the traditional decor, but bring the place into the new millennium, as my mother would say.”
“And you are staying around to help her implement the new plan?”
“I am. For a while. Until I have to go back to Atlanta.”
His gut tightened at the thought of Elle being right here in Savannah.
“With your background in art, and knowing the area so well, you should consider being a permanent artist in residence.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve made a life for myself in Atlanta. I don’t want to give that up.”
He thought about asking her if she had someone special back in Atlanta but then decided he didn’t want to know. A woman like Elle Clark probably didn’t want for attention, even if she was spending the holidays here.
“We may even switch it up a bit and do art and architecture tours.”
“That’s a great idea,” he said. “Before I started my business, I learned a lot about the architectural history of the city. If you need any help, let me know.”
“Is that how you got interested in restoring local properties?”
He nodded. “When I left, I went to Orlando and I was so taken with the difference in the cities. I mean, Orlando is nice, and parts of the metro area like Winter Park are beautiful, but the city didn’t have the same historical significance as Savannah. I missed it while I was gone. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get back.”
He started to add, Even if a lot of people weren’t very eager to welcome me back. But he decided if he was going to move forward, he needed to leave the past in the past. He may have been a hooligan when he was a teenager, but he’d grown up, grown out of it. He’d changed. Didn’t everyone deserve a chance to live down the stupidity of their youth?
That was something he needed to prove to Elle in actions, not deliver in lip service.
“I think we can make this happen.”
Hell yeah. He’d make sure it happened.
Chapter Four
The next day, Elle sat at a table for two by the window in the riverfront restaurant The Rusty Gull, waiting for her grandmother. It was one of the best tables in the house because it overlooked the water. Even if the riverfront area was crowded with tourists, looking out at the serene water as she waited for Gigi to arrive gave Elle a moment to catch her breath.
It had been an odd morning. First, Gigi had insisted on having lunch, but then as Elle waited for her in the lobby, she’d found a note addressed to her from Gigi propped up near the guest book at the front desk. The note said that Kate had been able to work Gigi in for a hair appointment at the salon. Gigi said she was taking the appointment and would meet her at the restaurant at 1:30. The note was odd because Gigi had a standing weekly appointment with Kate for a wash and set. Kate always came to the inn after the salon closed to do Gigi’s hair.
Maybe Kate was busy at their usual time this week? Maybe she had a date? Gigi would move mountains to accommodate her granddaughters if a date with a guy was involved.
Elle knew she would find out the rest of the story when Gigi arrived for lunch, but her grandmother was late.
Elle chuckled to herself. Gigi appreciated punctuality in others, but sometimes she lived by her own clock. More so now that she was eyeing retirement. Above everything, Elizabeth admired how she was still so active and independent at almost eighty-five.
She was feisty, that one.
In her younger years, before Gigi had taken over the inn from her own mother, she had trained as a chef. Everyone used to talk about how she had no trepidations about marching into a man’s world and making her mark. She took such pride in the fact that Jane, her oldest granddaughter, had chosen to go to culinary school. Since Gigi had never fulfilled her own dream of opening a restaurant at the Forsyth, she was pinning her hopes on Jane to someday come home and make that unrequited dream come true. She’d loved Zelda’s suggestion of building a tearoom. It had been the common ground they’d reached, which had eventually led to the meeting of the minds. Never mind that Jane was quite content in New York City. Zelda and Gigi had agreed they would work on Jane later.
Elle glanced at her watch—it was 1:38—and then around the restaurant. Lacquered paneling in knotty pine served as a backdrop for old fishing nets hung with replicas of starfish, lobsters and crabs with a few Christmas ornaments tossed in. Santa hat wearing stuffed sailfish lined the upper walls nose to tail, like they were Rusty’s answer to kitschy crown molding.
Why, out of all the places in Savannah, had Gigi chosen The Rusty Gull? As Elle scanned the place. She didn’t see any familiar faces. Did Gigi want to talk about the remodel without the chance of running into curious neighbors or acquaintances? Not that anything they had to say about the remodel was particularly top secret.
Maybe Gigi wanted a change of pace. Occasionally, it was fun to don tourist hats and do as the visitors did.
The west wall housed a giant saltwater aquarium and the east was made of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered stunning views of the river. The place was tacky in that way touristy seafood restaurants tended to be. It wasn’t exactly fine dining.
Not that she needed a fancy place, but this one looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since they’d opened their doors back in 1972. She knew that date because the menu said so. It also promised good food—mostly fresh seafood caught locally—served in a rustic atmosphere.
Maybe she’d discover what she’d been missing out on all these years, having never given ol’ Rusty a chance.
The server, whose name tag said Billie Jean, greeted her with a bowl of Rusty’s famous blue-crab corn chowder before Elle had even had a chance to look over the menu.
Elle was about to tell her she hadn’t ordered it, when Billie Jean said, “Hey, hon. Your grandmother called and said she’s running late. She wants you to start eating because she knows you’re probably starving. You want me to bring you some sweet tea or something else t
o drink?”
Billie Jean was tall and thin, with curly black hair flecked with gray streaks. Her face looked weary, but her eyes were kind.
“Unsweet tea is fine, thanks,” Elle said.
“Right away.” She gave a little salute and turned her attention to a man who was signaling her from another table.
Turning her focus to the steaming bowl of chowder, Elle spooned up a bit and gazed out the window.
The sun was shining and sparkling off the water like diamonds. The river, with its sultry air and low-slung horizon, was one of the things she’d missed the most about Savannah. While Atlanta had every material thing a person could possibly want, it lacked the beauty and serenity of the low country.
* * *
When Daniel arrived at Rusty’s, the place was still hopping with the lunch rush. He’d expected to wait, but when he gave the hostess his name, she’d said his table was ready. Maybe Wiladean was already there. She’d told him a quarter to two. He glanced at his watch to make sure he wasn’t late. He still had three minutes to spare.
As Daniel followed the hostess, he locked gazes with a guy who was waiting for a table. The guy scowled and shook his head. Maybe the man thought he’d cut in line. He looked vaguely familiar and Daniel tried to place him.
“That guy over there—” Daniel tilted his head in the guy’s direction “—maybe you should seat him first.”
“Mr. Carlyle? Oh, no worries. I’ll seat him and his party next.”
Carlyle? George Carlyle. He’d owned the gas station where Daniel and his friends had driven off a couple of times without paying. That dirty look probably wasn’t about the table.
Daniel had earned his bad reputation as a teenager. Even though the better part of a decade had gone by and he had a thriving business that focused on bettering the community, occasionally he ran into someone who still thought of him as the shady kid who caused trouble and whose only interests were stealing gas, procuring illegal fireworks and burning down houses.
A Down-Home Savannah Christmas (The Savannah Sisters Book 1) Page 6