The Victorian house with a flower shop came into view and he slowed, searching for the turn to the inn. When the gravel driveway came into view, he waited for traffic to pass, his thoughts tumbling through the years he’d known Justin.
Maneuvering his car along the winding driveway, he couldn’t help but admire the brilliant oranges and mild yellows of the October forest, so different than the bustling streets of D.C.
As he rounded a curve, he could see the Hampton-style inn. He’d designed the remodel of the place well over a year before, but it shocked him to see it resting stately on the hillside, its proportions perfect, the dormer windows shining in the dimming sun, the long porch welcoming him with billowing sheer drapes and wicker furniture. “Well done…”
He pulled up under a tree and parked the car, his back aching from the length of the trip. Stretching one long trouser-clad leg out the open car door, he scanned the yard and barn. Sure enough, this place had turned out incredible.
Elliot stood, unfolding the length of his six-foot-three frame, and shoved his car keys in his trouser pocket. Justin trotted down the steps of the house. The men shook hands, laughed, then clasped in a hearty half hug, pounding each other on the back.
“Good to see you, man.” Justin beamed. “Come on in, Tara has dinner ready.”
Elliot grinned. “Gotta admit, I’m hungry, but I’m even more curious about your wife.” He chuckled as they walked toward the house. “I didn’t think you’d ever settle down.”
Justin shook his head as he led his friend up the front steps and across the porch. “Well, when you’re caught, you’re caught.”
As he stepped through the front door of the inn, Elliot’s attention was drawn to the large fireplace along the far wall. “Wow. This place looks fabulous.” He smoothed his hand along the back of the slipcovered sofa, then drifted toward the mantle crowded with photo frames and knickknacks. “I love the color palette…”
Justin motioned for Elliot to follow him into the kitchen. “Tara is a great designer. Wait till you see what she did with the rest of the place.”
Delicious aromas wafted from the kitchen, lifting Elliot’s spirits, enticing him forward, but he had to pause and admire the open concept of the house. The living room opened onto the kitchen, and the breakfast nook and formal dining hall sprawled toward French doors. “I thought this place looked good on paper, but hey.”
Justin laughed. “You’re still humble, as always.”
Elliot shrugged with a grin. “What can I say?”
A tall, willowy woman with a long dark ponytail turned from the stove and moved to Justin’s side, potholder in hand. Justin circled his arm around the beauty’s waist and pulled her close. “Elliot, meet my wife, Tara. Tara, Elliot.”
“Mr. Reynolds,” Tara said, extending her hand with a head bob. “I have to tell you how much I admire your work.”
Momentarily shocked, by not only the woman’s beauty but also the inexplicable mix of delicacy and strength that she emanated, Elliot shook her hand. “Wait a minute, what am I doing?” He dropped her hand to scoop her into a warm hug. “Thanks for inviting me to your inn.”
Justin laughed loudly and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Easy, find your own girl!”
Tara smiled nervously, backing away and straightening her blouse, then motioned for the men to take a seat at the dining table. Elliot admired the place settings gleaming before him as he settled into his chair.
Tara carried a covered dish to the table, placed it on trivets, then lifted the lid to reveal pot roast and vegetables, steaming and luscious. Justin and Elliot breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the home-cooked meal.
Tara, on the other hand, paused with the lid in midair, the color draining from her face. Before either man could utter a complimentary word, she clamped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room.
Chapter Two
Lizzie lifted a box from her living room floor, turned sideways to fit through the kitchen doorway, then shoved the box onto the counter. Too short to reach the tape holding the flaps closed, she puffed out a sigh of frustration and lowered the box to the floor to try again.
“Where do you want this?” her soon-to-be-boss, Tara, called from the living room.
Lizzie pushed a curl back from her face as she surveyed the contents of the box at her feet. “Where do I want what?”
“This…this…” Tara’s voice faded, then her head popped through the kitchen doorway, her long ponytail swinging. “This,” she said, holding up what appeared to be hand-size pieces of tattered lace strung on a string. “Whatever it is, it’s cute.”
Lizzie smiled. “Those are curtains. My mother wouldn’t agree, but I’m going to hang them across a window, so to me they’re curtains.
Tara laughed. “Where do you want them?”
With a dazed and exhausted expression only those in the throes of moving make, Lizzie glanced from corner to corner, as if she could see every room in the house. “I think I’ll try them in here for now.”
Tara dropped the lace onto the battered dining table, then wandered to the tiny mudroom off the back of the kitchen. The old panel door was open and a cool breeze wafted through the rusty screen, bringing with it faint smells of a farm in autumn: dry grass, leaves, dust, the last of the summer flowers, and, of course, manure. “This view is to die for,” she sighed, leaning against the doorframe.
Lizzie lifted a paper-wrapped china plate from the box, contemplating the designer name on the back. “It is, isn’t it?”
Tara turned back to the room. “I’m so glad I hired you. This will be fun.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”
Placing the plate on the counter, Lizzie sighed. “Nothing, sorry, just—” She picked up the plate, holding it out toward Tara. “I really hate these dishes.”
“Why? It’s pretty.”
“Well, I didn’t pick them out, for one thing.”
Tara waited for her friend to continue.
Lizzie glanced away, then back, trying to put her feelings into words. “I wanted to start completely over here, surrounded only by the things I love, but I couldn’t afford to buy everything new, you know?”
With her hand on the doorjamb, Tara nodded. “Yes I do.” Her expression said she was curious about Lizzie and her background, but she didn’t want to pry. She knew how it felt to overcome a difficult past and she would never pressure someone to share before they were ready.
Lizzie put the plate back on the counter. “I wanted to trade in my car before I moved, but I couldn’t find the vehicle I really wanted.”
“What’s wrong with your car?” Tara asked.
With a shrug, Lizzie stared at the box of plates. “Nothing, but—for some weird reason I’ve always wanted to get a vintage VW bus.”
Tara’s hand dropped from the doorjamb, her face blank. “A bus?”
“Never mind, I’m here now, right?” Lizzie continued resolutely as she lifted out another plate.
Still curious but willing to let the odd topic drop, Tara shifted gears. “Your place is starting to come together.” She pushed away from the doorframe to glance through the kitchen filled with half-empty boxes. “I can’t stay much longer.” She rubbed the small of her back. “Justin’s architect buddy is here from D.C., and we’re going to Uniontown for dinner.”
“Oh, the architect who designed the spa, right?”
Tara meandered across the kitchen, bumping her fingers along the brick of the enormous floor-to-ceiling fireplace as she walked. “Yeah, he also designed the addition and changes to the main house and barn renovation.” She glanced up to the ceiling beams, which were actually the joists and the floorboards for the second floor above. “I’m so glad you wanted this house. I left it pretty raw.”
Tara restored old homes, including this one and the bed and breakfast, and Lizzie was thrilled that Tara had only addressed the structural issues and then turned the old place over to her. The closer to original, the better, as far as she was concerned. She
loved the raw appeal of antique things. Bare wood and brick were a comfort, a reminder of people working together to build homes and lives -- the craftsmanship, the earthy feel.
“What was your place in Boston like?” Tara asked, watching her new employee and friend take another plate from the box and unwrap it.
Lizzie wiped her palm across the plate and set it on the counter with the others. “It wasn’t really mine,” she replied, scowling.
Tara waited, her eyebrows up in question.
“Oh, I paid for it, but my mother picked it out,” Lizzie muttered. “Just like my clothes and my car and my furniture and everything else…”
“Was it a house?”
Lizzie turned to stare out the window, then drifted toward the table. “It was an expensive upscale condo, perfect for a single, corporate-climbing socialite looking to snag a big money man.”
Tara snorted, then clasped her hand over her mouth. Embarrassed, her hand dropped and she cocked her head to one side. “Sorry, I just don’t see you as the socialite type—” she stuttered. “Your clothes don’t really—”
Lizzie knew her sandal-clad feet, threadbare faded jeans, and hippie-style cotton top certainly didn’t look high society. She snatched up the string of lace from the table and wrapped it around her waist, swiveling her hips. “Oh come on, this is how all women dress in Boston.”
They both laughed. As the chuckling faded, Tara sighed. “I’d really better go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the spa, right?”
They wandered through the box-strewn living room, and Lizzie creaked open the patched front screen door screen for her friend to pass. “Of course. I’m so excited to get started. Are all the supplies at the spa stacked to the ceiling?”
Tara nodded. “Kind of like this place.”
“All in due time…”
“I really wish I could stay.” Tara paused on the porch. “But I botched dinner last night, and I have to make nice for Justin’s friend.”
“Botched?” Lizzie asked.
“Yeah…” Tara drawled, “I— I got sick, but he’s a nice enough guy, I just hate that carefully manicured city-boy vibe, you know? Makes me nervous.”
Lizzie’s eyes lit up in recognition as she remembered the blond man’s warm gaze on her bracelets the night before. “He doesn’t drive a shiny black car, does he?”
Tara nodded.
“Drop-dead gorgeous?”
Tara laughed and shrugged. “Well, not that I noticed, but yeah.”
Lizzie thought for a moment, a frown darkening her pretty face. “I suppose he’s going to want to be involved with every detail of setting up the spa?”
“That’s why he’s here. He’s never done a cottage-style spa and he’s all worried about it.”
Her confidence returned, and Lizzie waved her hand in dismissal. “We’ll show him, don’t worry.”
Tara headed across the front yard. “Oh, I’m not worried,” she called over her shoulder. “About the spa anyway. I don’t know how he’ll handle the two of us though!”
Both women laughed.
Tara climbed into her old white pickup truck, lifting her hand in farewell. Lizzie stood on the porch watching the truck drive up the hill, spewing dust behind it. When the truck disappeared, her gaze scanned the yard, across to the barn, then to Ingrid and Lily in the paddock. Softness crept into her expression.
“Handle us indeed…”
* * *
“I really didn’t think this color would work in here,” Justin said to Elliot as they stepped through the door of the cluttered spa. “But Tara insisted, and I have to admit that it looks pretty damn good.”
Elliot turned sideways to squeeze between two large piles of boxes. “It’s definitely not what I would have picked—” His head swiveled to take in the space. “You know my father has high expectations for all the spas we design.”
Justin pushed a stack of boxes against the wall to make room to pass. “None of this is what I would have chosen, but then I’m not the ‘shabby chic’ guy, am I?”
Deep in thought, Elliot scrubbed one hand across the back of his neck, his expression dubious. “Well, the house looks good; I’ll give your wife the benefit of the doubt and let Father know that the construction is on track.”
Justin opened the door leading to the back deck. “I’m sure your father will be glad to hear that. I know how he can be.” Once the men were outside Justin continued the tour. “Tara has even designed this space.”
Following his friend, Elliot wandered outside. “It looks a little bleak.” He walked to the edge of the deck and leaned over the rail to grimace at the dirt below. “Are you sure it’s designed?”
Justin laughed. “Oh, you just wait. The women here will blow your mind. Tara has a friend named Julia who owns that flower shop at the end of the driveway. She’ll be out here tomorrow and this whole place will be crawling with plants.”
Elliot leaned his hip on the rail. “Speaking of local women, I met one last night that was a bit—shocking.”
Justin laughed, his amusement booming across the deck. “Well, that could be any number of ladies in this town. Where was the female in question?”
Elliot pointed over his shoulder. “South of town, I missed your driveway and was lost. She was walking some kind of llama.”
It was Justin’s turn to raise his eyebrows. Then he snapped his fingers. “Right! Lizzie’s alpacas must have arrived.”
“That’s it, it was an alpaca,” Elliot corrected. “I believe her name is Ingrid.”
“The woman?” Justin asked, confused.
“That’s what the gypsy lady called the alpaca,” Elliot corrected.
Once again Justin laughed, recognition dawning across his face. “I could see why you’d call Lizzie a gypsy. But be careful, she may surprise you—”
“Hello,” Tara greeted the men as she climbed the steps to the deck. “What do you think of the place, Elliot?” she asked, wrapping both arms around Justin and resting her head on his chest.
Searching for the correct words, Elliot was at a loss. “I can’t wait to see what you do with it.” Normally he had no problem voicing his opinions on a project, but this designer was his friend’s wife, and she’d not been feeling well. Discomfort crawled up his spine. His name was all over this project. What would he say if the place came out looking like a flea market?
“Did I hear you say alpaca?” Tara asked.
“Yes, I’d never seen one before,” Elliot answered. “What’s the difference between an alpaca and a llama anyway, and why on earth would you want one?”
Tara shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Lizzie. I think they are just so sweet.” She gazed up at Justin. “Have you seen them yet?”
He shook his head.
“Well, you should, they’re adorable.”
Justin grasped Tara’s upper arms and pushed her back so he could see her face. “Don’t you get any bright ideas. I didn’t fight you on the cat and now every time I fall asleep he’s on my chest.”
Tara laughed. “That’s a visual, an alpaca in our bed…”
“Not funny,” Justin warned.
“Yeah, it is,” Elliot chuckled.
“Don’t help her, okay?” Justin told his friend with a mock scowl, tugging Tara back into a warm embrace.
“Are you guys hungry yet?” Tara asked. “I’m famished.”
Concerned, Justin leaned back to meet her eye. “Are you feeling better today?”
Tara nodded, a light blush brightening her cheeks. “I wasn’t feeling sick, I just—anyway, I’m fine.” She pushed away from her husband and headed toward the steps, motioning for the men to follow. “Come on, let’s go find sustenance.”
“I’m with her.” Elliot laughed, following Tara.
Justin headed across the deck after them, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I mean it, Tara, no alpacas.”
Chapter Three
The chatter of women’s voices wafted on the cool morning breeze to Elliot wher
e he stood on the inn deck. He’d been nursing his morning cup of coffee in the kitchen but had decided to step out and get a look at the pool. Now the sounds of vehicle doors slamming and voices combined with shrieks of laughter made him wonder if the women were working or playing at the spa.
Lifting the coffee mug to his lips, breathing in the heady aroma, he considered going over to investigate, but decided he needed to gather more strength, the kind only coffee could offer.
He dropped smoothly into a deck chair and leaned back to cross a calfskin oxford over the knee of his wool trousers, watching the pool ripple and sparkle in the sun. Red, yellow, and brown leaves swirled on the surface of the water. Justin had mentioned that a crew would be coming to winterize the pool within the week, and Elliot was glad he got to see it before it was covered.
Birds chirped merrily in the trees, raising a ruckus, making him wonder if they sang as vibrantly in the city. He had always considered himself an urban man. He liked the clamor and bustle of the city, the noise and the crush of people. He enjoyed the smells of multiple ethnic foods mixed with exhaust, and the sounds of people going different directions, each pretending the masses around them didn’t exist, as if they owned their own quota of space to move through the crowded streets and cafés. This was nice too, though, he reflected. It was—quiet, in a noisy way. After a long moment he shifted in his seat. The open space and sounds of nature left him feeling vaguely naked, as if there were nothing to distract him from the job at hand.
A hoot of female merriment interrupted his thoughts and he rose to wander across the deck, curiosity getting the best of him. Stepping down the deck steps, careful not to spill his coffee, he rounded the corner of the house and ground to a halt. People swarmed around the spa, each and every one of them carrying, digging, sorting, toting, and talking. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes were parked at odd angles, their doors and trunks hanging open. A little old woman in a frilled apron stood at the tailgate of an ancient station wagon calling out greetings and handing out foam cups, while a large woman seated on a stool next to her was handing out donuts, her cheeks red as apples.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 58
