Southern Charm & Second Chances (The Savannah Sisters Book 2)

by Nancy Robards Thompson

  He’d be lying to himself if he tried to convince himself that this was the first time he’d noticed how attractive she was. It hit him that it had started yesterday, when she’d taken off her coat and he’d seen her in that damned black tank top, leaving little doubt that she was all woman.

  Somehow, that very obvious fact had escaped him when she’d worked for him in New York. But now, it was clear as...the sexy red polish on the toes at the end of those gorgeous legs. Why? He didn’t make a practice of noticing the physical attributes of his employees. Or having brunch at their house—or kissing them in the restaurant pantry, for that matter.

  This was awkward. The sudden urge to leave was almost overpowering. But it would be worse if he made up some lame excuse to leave just because he’d suddenly realized that Jane Clark was one hundred percent woman. And a gorgeous woman at that.

  “Charles told me his friend Wiladean had invited us to brunch.”

  “She did,” Charles said.

  Jane’s cheeks flushed pink as she snared Liam’s gaze.

  “Wiladean is my grandmother. But everyone calls her Gigi.”

  He wondered if she was thinking about last night. He was. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind.

  “She told me we were having guests, but she didn’t mention it was you. But, where are my manners?” Liam was beginning to realize that Jane could flip on Southern charm at will. “Welcome. Please, come in and make yourselves at home.”

  Jane motioned for them to follow her as she walked through the lobby of the Forsyth Galloway Inn.

  Sometimes he would join his employees for a drink after La Bula closed. Drinking with the staff was a restaurant ritual, of sorts. However, after one drink they’d all disperse and do whatever it was they did after hours. Partying. Hooking up. But never with him. He didn’t party or hook up with his staff. And he certainly didn’t make a habit of kissing his executive pastry chef and then showing up at her home for brunch.

  But here he was. Like it or not.

  What was it they’d talked about last night?

  Only new mistakes. Yeah.

  Feeling a little hypocritical, Liam glanced around the lobby and tried to gather his thoughts.

  She lived here? In a bed-and-breakfast? That was...different. Although, plenty of people lived in hotels. He guessed... When Charles said they were having brunch at the Forsyth Galloway Inn, he thought they were meeting his friend at a restaurant.

  The joke was on him.

  The place had a comfortable, lived-in look. Next to the door, a tall, galvanized-metal container held an assortment of umbrellas. It’s companion, a leaning coatrack, stood sentry on the opposite side of the door. A grandfather clock ticked rhythmically from the corner. An impressive staircase dominated the center of the room. He half expected to see Scarlett O’Hara looking down on him from the top.

  There was a plethora of dark wood, antiques and tchotchkes everywhere—a replica of the Eiffel Tower was perched on an end table next to a merlot-colored wingback chair. On the front desk, a porcelain figurine of a woman in a Southern Belle ball gown held court amid a garden of brochures and pamphlets about things to do in Savannah. Behind that, a collection of teacups and teapots perched on a shelf.

  There were several arrangements of artificial flowers—some had seen better days. Several paintings adorned the dark-paneled walls, some depicted floral landscapes, others were of local scenes, such as the famous fountain in Forsyth Park and a streetscape of the historic downtown area. He looked closer and noticed it was Bull Street and the restaurant, Wila, in the lower right corner of the scene.

  Suddenly he caught a whiff something delicious. His stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He’d used the morning to catch up on things that had gone by the wayside, such as business at La Bula, which he’d left in the capable hands of his chef du cuisine. He hadn’t been able to sleep after he’d gotten back to his apartment. After the sun came up, he’d ventured over to the restaurant, half fearing he’d find Jane there again.

  But she hadn’t been there. The unexpected pang of disappointment had surprised him.

  “My mother, sisters and brother-in-law and a couple of friends will be joining us soon.” Jane glanced at her watch and then back at them. Her Southern Belle smile faltered, but only for a moment. “In the meantime, help yourselves to some cheese. What can I get you to drink?

  “I have champagne, mimosas, rosé, pinot noir and sauvignon blanc.” Jane gesture toward an antique buffet where she’d set out wineglasses, several bottles and an opener. “Or if you’d prefer something stronger, I have bourbon and gin. You could have it on the rocks or I could mix up some Manhattans or martinis.”

  Maybe he should just have a bottle of Scotch.

  And look what happened the last time you had a drink with Jane.

  To keep things simple, Liam said, “A glass of red wine sounds fabulous, thanks.”

  Charles followed suit.

  As Jane uncorked the bottle of red, two women and a man entered the dining room.

  “There you are,” Jane said. Her relief was palpable.

  “Gigi invited guests to join us for brunch.” Her too wide smile betrayed her, suggesting that she was still as flustered as she’d looked before she’d switched into gracious hostess mode.

  “I didn’t know we were having guests,” said the older of the two women. She looked like the redheaded, green-eyed version of Jane. “But, Charles, it’s always good to see you. And who do we have here?”

  “Mom,” Jane said. “This is Liam Wright. He’s my new boss and Charles’s new business partner. Liam, this is my mother, Zelda Clark, my sister, Ellie, and her husband, Daniel Quindlen.”

  If Liam hadn’t been looking at that precise moment, he would’ve missed the exchange of glances between Jane and her sister. But there was no mistaking it. He’d seen it.

  Jane caught him looking at her and she immediately turned away and busied herself pouring wine for the newcomers. She handed her sister a glass of club soda. And, again, there was an exchange.

  “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Charles has taken on a business partner,” Zelda said. The statement was general, but she directed it toward Liam.

  Liam relayed the abbreviated version of his and Charles’s partnership, telling how, for a long time, he’d wanted to open a restaurant in the South and how meeting Charles at the foundation dinner had seemed auspicious.

  “Welcome to Savannah, chef,” Zelda said. “Don’t you hesitate one minute to call on us if you need anything. Charles is like family to us. And I’m sure you’re well aware that Wila is one of the best loved restaurants in Savannah. So, don’t you go changing it too much.” Zelda laughed and her tone was light, but Liam detected a note of unspoken warning in Zelda’s voice. “Oh, listen to me. I know Charles wouldn’t have brought you into the fold if he didn’t have all the faith in the world in you.”

  He was beginning to notice that people around here didn’t always say what they meant. He was used to a more direct approach. He’d also sensed that some people didn’t embrace change very easily. Well, sometimes the stubborn ones needed to experience change as it happened to see the good in it.

  Liam flashed his best smile, the one that always managed to win people over, especially in uncomfortable situations. “Thank you for the kind welcome, Zelda. I already love it here.”

  “You are very welcome,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go check on Mama and let her know that her guests have arrived. Jane, honey, why don’t you give Liam a tour of the Forsyth? Just like Wila has been Charles’s life’s work, this inn has been in our family for six generations. Jane can tell you all about it.”

  Jane topped off Liam’s glass of merlot. “How’s that?” Her question seemed like a peace offering.

  “That’s great,” he said. “So,
you come from a long line of innkeepers.”

  This was first-class avoidance. He should bring up last night.

  Jane nodded.

  “What made you shy away from the family business?”

  “And this question comes from the NYPD cop’s son.” She laughed and he appreciated that she was sparring with him and not making things awkward.

  “What makes you think I’m not part of the family business?” She raised a cheeky brow. In this light, her pretty gray-blue eyes looked almost silver.

  “My first clue was that you are a pastry chef, not an innkeeper. The second clue was that you work at Wila, not at the inn.” He didn’t mean to sound so smug.

  “Actually, I do work at the Forsyth on my days off.”

  “You’re moonlighting, then?”

  “Maybe I wouldn’t have to moonlight if I felt like I had more job security.”

  Pow. It was a direct verbal punch, landed right between the eyes, proving that not everyone in the South took the long way around issues. He appreciated her candor.

  “Touché.” He nodded and smiled. “I can safely say that barring any repeated mistakes, such as a revival of the Dead Sea cakes, your job at Wila is safe.”

  She smiled. “Fair enough.”

  Her eyes searched his for a moment and she looked like she wanted to say something else. But she didn’t.

  “The staff obviously respects you. A lot. What kind of a businessperson would I be to not recognize that?”

  “A pretty bad one.”

  He laughed. “Well, there you go. I’ve come to realize I always know where I stand with you. I like that. And, I fully intend to try your only new mistakes way of thinking.”

  “Good to know,” she said. She glanced down for a moment then met his gaze again. “Does that mean we’re good? I mean, you know...with everything...in the pantry. Even though it’s broken, it can be fixed.”

  She’d emphasized the word fixed. Her retreat into ambiguous Savannah-speak threw him. He had to run her words through his mental decoder.

  Obviously, she was speaking metaphorically. Not about the lock on the pantry door or how he’d taken it off its hinges to get them out of there.

  She was talking about what had happened between them last night.

  For a moment, he realized it probably seemed like he couldn’t wait to get out of there...away from her. That hadn’t been the case. Not at all. That’s why it had been even more important for him to get them out of that pantry.

  He’d wanted to kiss her again.

  Hell, he wanted to kiss her now.

  And that was only the start of what he wanted to do with her.

  If he had waited for someone to come in and rescue them, who knows what else would’ve happened. If one of the kitchen staff had found them in there...he hadn’t wanted Jane to feel compromised, to have her coworkers look at her as if she was giving special favors to get special favors, when in reality, she was a talented chef and had already proved herself worthy of keeping her post.

  He knew the situation was bad if he was worried about what others thought. Beyond food critic reviews, he never worried about opinions.

  Until now.

  “No worries,” he said. “It was my fault for letting the door close. As far as I’m concerned, it’s as good as fixed. I hope you do, too.”

  “Only new mistakes, right?” she said. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  It wasn’t a mistake.

  “Maybe we should leave the door off the hinges,” he said. “That way things can be a bit more...open.”

  She blinked. Her brow furrowed just the tiniest bit, as if she was trying to translate what that jumble of words meant.

  He raked a hand through his hair. Crap, he didn’t even know what it meant...except that he couldn’t bring himself to say that the kiss they’d shared was a mistake.

  But he didn’t want to lead her on...because it shouldn’t happen again...not at long as she worked in his kitchen.

  Still, he couldn’t promise himself that it wouldn’t happen again.

  “I was thinking about what you said last night,” he said.

  She grimaced. “Um...what did I say?”

  “The Dead Sea cake challenge and Paris.”

  “Oh?” She narrowed her eyes then they flashed. “Oh! What about it?”

  “I accept your challenge. We will each prepare our rum baba recipes and have the guests vote on them at the grand reopening at the end of the week. Whoever gets the most votes will have their recipe featured on Wila’s new menu. I have to go to Paris next month anyway. If you win, I’ll take you with me and introduce you to the best pâtissiers parisiens.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

  “Why would I offer if I wasn’t serious? You’re right, any pastry chef worth her salt needs to go to Paris. It will only help Wila. It’s a win-win.”

  “If it’s a win-win, you must think I’m going to win.”

  “Not so fast. If I win, for the duration of the probationary month, you have to personally mentor two members of the kitchen staff who don’t seem to be on the right track to stay on unless they change their ways.”

  “Jasper and Joseph?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s not a surprise. But they’re good guys at heart. I hope you’ll give them a chance.”

  “Maybe you’ll get a chance to help them see the error of their ways.”

  “I’d love to help, but I’ll be in Paris. So, you’d better sharpen your mentoring skills.” Her voice teased. So did the playful light in those silver eyes.

  Again, something electric passed between them that made Liam take a step back.

  “Would you like a tour of the inn?” Jane asked.

  “Sure. Is that what you do here? Give tours?”

  She scoffed. “No. I’m acting as a consultant for my grandmother and mom. They want to open a tearoom here at the Forsyth. They think I’m their resident expert, their go-to gal for making that happen.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I am.”

  And just like that, the rapport between them was easy. She had a talent for making people feel at ease.

  “Show me this tearoom?”

  She grimaced.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We’re still trying to nail down the logistics of it.”

  “Tell me what you have so far,” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

  She frowned. “That sounds like work. I don’t want to impose. Not on your only day off.”

  “You should know by now that I’m a straightforward kind of guy. I wouldn’t offer to help if it was an imposition. In fact, I think it’s interesting. Show me where this tearoom will be.”

  She hesitated for a moment but then crooked her finger in a motion to follow her and he did.

  She led him out of the dining room and to a room down the hall. She flipped on a light, revealing an empty space that was about the size of a small library or bedroom. It wasn’t huge, but it could be adequate. Maybe.

  “This is the space we have to work with.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I just don’t see how we’re going to make it work.”

  Liam shook his head. “I think it could work. What are your reservations?”

  She shrugged.

  “Maybe I can help. I’ve never opened a tearoom, but I have a pretty good track record with successful businesses.”

  She walked him through what she had in mind for the setup.

  “My brother-in-law, Daniel, who you just met, is a contractor. He can do the heavy lifting, such as running the water and electric lines from the kitchen and building counter and cabinet space. But we need a commercial kitchen. Where do we put everything? It’s not big enough to house even
a small commercial kitchen and accommodate more than a handful of guests. Its proximity to the inn’s existing kitchen is inconvenient. Even if it was close, the kitchen isn’t commercial grade and upgrades are not in budget. Daniel said bringing it to code would cost more than building from scratch.”

  She turned to him and shrugged.

  “Between you and me, I think this is my mom and Gigi’s way of keeping me close. Keeping me interested in the inn. It’s been in the family for six generations, but my sisters and I have all established ourselves in other careers. Ellie just left her job as an elementary school art teacher to manage the tour and art class amenities we’re offering. Actually, the tours and classes are starting to take off. Revenues from that have covered the cost of the first phase of renovations we’ve done at the inn, but the start-up cost of giving tours and classes is negligible compared to outfitting a commercial kitchen. So, long story short, I’m not holding my breath that the tearoom will ever be more than just a dream.”

  The late-morning sun was streaming in through the window, casting her in a golden glow, picking out the auburn strands in her brown hair. For a moment, he was struck by her sheer natural, unconventional beauty...but when it came down to it, this woman was smart. She had a no-BS way of looking at the world, and a way of knowing when to call him on his own BS and when to let it slide.

  All the women in his past had treated him like the second coming. While being worshipped was initially flattering, it got old fast. Especially when he realized that beyond the superficial attraction, he and all the pretty faces that had come and gone in his life didn’t have anything in common and even less to talk about. Hell, most of the women he’d dated didn’t even like food.

  Common sense dictated that the last thing he needed was to get involved with her family and start giving them business advice. Against his better judgment, he heard himself saying, “I think this has a lot of possibilities. I’m happy to help you with the business plan, Jane.”

  Chapter Six

  Liam Wright was difficult to read. If he hadn’t put the trip to Paris on the table—a trip that would benefit Wila—Jane might have thought he was offering to help with the tearoom so that she would have a place to work if things didn’t work out at Wila.