Nan Dixon - Southern Comforts

“Interesting marketing angle,” he said.

She waved her hand. “It fits our brand. My sisters and I run the place, so we do what we can to play that up.”

Gray took a few more bites of the best meal he’d had in months. Abby was a fantastic cook. At least Derrick hadn’t steered him wrong when he’d recommended Fitzgerald House.

“It sounds like you’re planning some renovations,” he said.

Her expression fell away like dirt being stripped by a power washer. “We’re hoping to work on the third floor.”

“Hoping?”

“There’s a lot of water damage up there.” She absently shook her head, the ends of her hair brushing the tops of her breasts.

“You had roof problems?” He forced his gaze back up to her face.

“In the fifties.” She nodded. “They repaired the roof but didn’t fix the damage. I guess they weren’t using those rooms at the time.”

When she’d talked to her sister, she’d said it was bad. Had she meant the damage or the cost?

And why should he care? The sections of Fitzgerald House he’d seen were clean and well maintained. That was all that should concern him.

But renovations were his business. His parents’ library restoration had gotten him hooked on rehab and real estate. “So what are your plans for the third floor?”

“More guest rooms.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table.

He ate while she talked. He plied her with questions because it was fun to see her eyes sparkle. Not that it took much prodding. It was easy to see that Abby really loved this old mansion. Loved what she and her sisters were creating.

Strange to think of working with your family.

“When do you start?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Right now we’re exploring the costs.”

She nibbled on her lip again.

Gray looked down at his plate, unwilling to watch her teeth work over that pink lip. He blinked in surprise. His plate was empty, though he didn’t remember finishing.

Abby noticed and brought over a tray of bars.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Decaf, if you have it.”

Abby ground beans and set an industrial-size coffeemaker to brewing. She gathered up a notepad and a pen before sitting back down.

“I need to get an idea of your likes and dislikes,” she said. “Any allergies?”

“None. If tonight is an example, anything you fix will be better than what I normally eat.” He’d have to look at pushing his housekeeper to be a little more adventurous.

“Beef, chicken, fish or pasta?” she asked.

“All of the above. I’ll eat anything.” He bit into a bar and groaned. “This is incredible.”

“Brandy-pecan bars.” She made a note.

His cell phone rang. His sister.

“Excuse me.” He paced to the back of the kitchen and a small sitting area. The space overlooked a patio and garden lit with decorative lights.

“Hey, gorgeous, what’s up?” he asked, finishing his bar.

“How could you?” Courtney blasted his eardrums without saying hello.

“How could I what?” Gray knew why she was calling. He forced his fingers to relax. He should never have dated his sister’s best friend.

“You sent Gwen a breakup bracelet,” she whispered.

How did his sister know that was his trick for getting out of relationships? “Stay out of this.”

“Hang on,” his sister said.

“Courtney, I’m—”

“Gray?” Gwen’s voice was so soft he almost couldn’t hear it over his pulse pounding in his ear.

He closed his eyes. “Yes?”

“Did you mean the bracelet to be a...a parting gift?”

It had worked before. “We broke up.”

“But Mark and Liz invited us to the vineyard next weekend.”

“Gwen.” He closed his eyes. “I won’t be home. I’m working in Savannah. Even if I was back in Boston, we wouldn’t be together.”

“But they—” She hesitated. “They expect us.”

His headache was back, the pressure building behind his eyes. He should have read her emails. Then he could have avoided this phone call. “I’m not coming home for a damn party.”

In the beginning of their relationship, going to parties every weekend had been exciting. Gwen’s energy had been thrilling. Now she exhausted him.

“When will you be home?” Her voice was quiet and low. “I think we should talk.”

He took a deep breath. “No, Gwen.”

“Oh.”

He rubbed the cords at the back of his neck. What a disaster. There were too many connections between his family and Gwen’s. Their mothers had been best friends since college. Gwen and his sister had been best friends forever. It had been a mistake to date someone so entrenched in his family.

He glanced over at Abby as she filled a coffeepot. “I have to go. Say goodbye to Courtney for me.”

He shut his phone off, but the call had soured his night. Back at the table, Abby poured his coffee. He tried to neutralize his expression, but he could feel himself frowning.

“I need to ask about lunch,” Abby said. “Are sandwiches okay?”

He added cream to his cup and sipped. Great coffee. “Sandwiches are fine.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll serve your dinner in the dining room.”

Listening to Abby describe the B and B’s renovations had been the most relaxing dinner he’d had in months. He didn’t want to eat alone in the dining room. “I’m good with the kitchen.”

“Really?” She blinked her green eyes.

He wanted to relax. And she was calm personified. “The kitchen’s fine.”

CHAPTER TWO

Rule #11—If cleanliness is next to godliness, then Fitzgerald House must be heaven.

Mamie Fitzgerald

GRAY CHECKED THE time again. The contractor was late. He glanced at his checklist. It was already early February, and he expected to complete the bulk of the work by July.

He shoved at a stack of cardboard piled in the middle of the warehouse floor. He couldn’t wait to get the renovations started, but he needed a contractor that matched his work ethic.

He’d never planned to work anywhere but New England. He had no contacts in Georgia. He shook his head. He hadn’t been able to refuse Derrick’s offer, even though he was sure his frat brother had remembered his phone number only because he’d needed financial help.

Gray slapped his hand on his thigh. Was Gwen any different? If he hadn’t been rich, would she have ever been interested in him? Maybe their similar backgrounds and mutual friends had made their relationship too easy.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t commit. His family wanted him to settle down with Gwen. But he wasn’t convinced a relationship with her would make him happy.

Relationships were a mystery to him, but he trusted his construction knowledge. He knocked on the sturdy interior wall. This place could withstand hurricanes. It had been built on the Savannah River for commercial reasons, but the view would guarantee a good price for the condos.

The sun struggled to shine through grimy windows. He poured coffee from the thermos the B and B staff had sent with him this morning. He took a moment and sipped the strong brew laced with a hint of cinnamon.

At least here in Savannah, he wouldn’t have to attend parties and benefits for causes he didn’t believe in. He could avoid making small talk with people who didn’t share his interests.

His dinner conversation with Abby hadn’t been small talk. They’d talked about creating legacies and restoring a building that would last generations. There’d been reverence in her voice when she’d talked about her family’s B and B.

His phone buzzed. Gray looked at the call display and smiled. “Hello, Mother.”

“Grayson, how are you, dear? How’s Savannah?” Her voice was so Bostonian. So different from the warm drawls he’d heard all morning at Fitzgerald House.