Nan Dixon - Through A Magnolia Filter

Finishing her dinner, she returned the plate to the packed library. Cheryl, a B and B employee, restocked the food. They smiled at each other. Dolley bussed a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen.

Might as well check the reservation line messages. She put a hold on a room and returned the call, entering the credit card information. Then she pulled this year’s reservation data down into a spreadsheet. For fun, she created a comparison graph with the prior year’s reservations. These cool facts would be nice to show at their next sister meeting.

She pushed back a curl that kept falling in her eye. What next? Pulling out her bag, she settled behind the desk. She would work on photo cards, her creative contribution to the gift shop scheduled to open in January.

She glued pictures on a pale blue fold-over card stock, hoping the result was classy and contemporary. They would sell the cards as six-packs. Each pack included a picture of Fitzgerald House and the rooms the guests saw most: the formal dining room, library and sunroom. All photos she’d shot. The rest of the packet varied, with shots of the gardens or guest rooms. By the time she’d glued all the pictures, she’d made ten packs.

She checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock. Mr. Delaney was supposed to have been here by six. This was getting ridiculous. She’d never waited at the reception desk for a guest.

The front door opened, and there was a swoosh of nylon rubbing nylon. A lean man with dark wavy hair lugged two large suitcases across the foyer. Mr. Delaney?

“Let me help.” She grabbed a roller bag.

“Thank you.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, his eyes a brilliant blue that almost looked purple. “I’m checking in.”

Hurrying around the desk, she asked, “Liam Delaney?”

“Absolutely.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “And would you be Dolley Fitzgerald?”

“Guilty.”

“After all our conversations, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He reached out a hand, his expression way too serious.

“Oh. Thank you. You, too. Or me, too.” Flustered, she shook his hand, hanging on a little too long.

He dropped her hand and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet.

Shoot, she was supposed to be checking him in. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “How was your trip?”

She glanced up long enough to see him grimace.

“I raced through the Atlanta airport to catch my flight, then there was some broken widget on our plane, so we all trooped off.” He pushed back his black hair with long artistic fingers. “They sent us to another gate where we sat and sat. When I got to the car rental, they’d let all the cars, so I waited for one to be turned in.”

“I’m so sorry.” She had his reservation in front of her.

“I’m looking forward to sitting someplace where I can stretch my legs.”

Dolley peeked. He had a lot of leg.

Taking his credit card, she said, “We’ll charge your card each week in advance.”

“That works.” He signed the slip.

Handing him a key card, she explained breakfast, tea and wine tastings. “I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s wine tasting.”

“Damn.” He huffed out a breath. “I guess I could use a recommendation for a restaurant.”

“I can throw something together in the kitchen.”

Relief filled his deep blue eyes. “I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Sure.” Moving around the desk, she grabbed his bag.

“That’s my cameras,” he said. “I can get it.”

“I’ll be careful. You’re juggling two suitcases.”

She led the way to the elevator. “There’s always coffee, tea and soda in the dining room.” She pointed to the library. “Our evening wine tastings are held there. Feel free to borrow the books and movies.”

He kept glancing at his camera bag. Or was he checking her out?

She tightened her glutes.

“The house is lovely,” he said as they wedged into the elevator.

“It is.” She inhaled, catching a whiff of his scent. Nice. “We just finished the full renovations in August.”

“Your website said you were under construction.”

“That’s Carleton House.” She stepped out of the elevator and stopped at the window overlooking the adjacent mansion. “We’re in the process of restoring the house next door. I’ve booked your crew into Carleton House. It opens in February. If you prefer, we can move you there when they arrive.”

“I’ll think on it.” He stopped in front of his room. “This it?”

“Yes. You’re in the Martha Jefferson room.” Instead of setting the bag down, she handed the strap to him so he wouldn’t worry. “If you use the front stairs and head down the hallway by the reception desk, you’ll find a swinging door. That’s the kitchen.”

He touched her shoulder. His scent wrapped around her. Mint, apples, lemons. Not a fragrance she would associate with a man—but he made it work. She leaned in and took another sniff. Delicious.

His gaze caught hers. “I appreciate the help with my bags. It was a long day.”

She stepped back. Her objective was to learn more about photography, not drool over him or his cologne. She headed to the back stairs. “Let me see what food I can scrounge up.”

She would ply him with food and if there was an opportunity—questions. Find out if she could use her photography for more than selling cards.

* * *

LIAM ROLLED HIS suitcases next to the bedroom door, settling the camera bag on the bed. It was foolish, but he unzipped the bag. The Hasselblad, Rolleiflex, his Canon, Nikon and all his lenses and filters looked undamaged. Barbara had come through with a portable, and it was fine.

Dolley had been careful. And watching the bag had given him the opportunity to admire a really lovely bum.

He stretched, working a kink out of his lower back. Ms. Dolley Fitzgerald was more interesting in person than in her website photograph. She had...energy. A camera couldn’t capture her gleaming green eyes or the life in that mass of red curls.

He unpacked a few things, plugged in his phone to recharge and set the stack of releases on the desk with his computer.

His stomach rumbled. He pocketed his key card and headed downstairs.

The curved railing was silky smooth under his palm. What a difference between the uncared-for Kilkee manor house and this well-preserved Savannah mansion.

He would get something to eat, take the lay of the land with the first Fitzgerald sister and then fall into bed.

Tomorrow he planned to wander Savannah, get a sense of the city and the historic district. He loved exploring and listening to the natives. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t an aboriginal community in Australia or a small tribe forced out of their hunting grounds in Africa.

Skirting a tower of poinsettias, he found the right hallway and pushed on the swinging door.

Dolley stood in front of a stainless steel counter, containers covering the surface. The worktops, grills and a wall of fridges made this look like a restaurant. But in the back was a small sitting area with a glowing fire and a Christmas tree.

“You found me.” Dolley pointed to the back area. “Grab a chair by the fire. I’ll bring everything over.”

He snatched a chunk of cheese as he passed by the counter. “Thanks ever so much.”

“What would you like to drink? Beer, wine, soda? We have Jameson if you’d prefer.”

He sank into an armchair. “A Jameson, neat, would be appreciated.”

She dropped off a tray of cheese, sausage, crackers and fruit. “I’ll grab your drink.”

She pushed through the swinging door. Her short black dress flirted with her tidy bottom. Nice.

He piled a cracker with cheese and meat and took a bite. Followed up with some cool green grapes. He kept going as if he hadn’t eaten in days.