by Nan Dixon
“Let’s get through busy season,” Abby insisted. “I can’t take on anything else right now. And I hate paying for something twice.”
Bess spoke up. “I could take on more of your work, Abby. King’s Garden isn’t very busy right now.”
“Thanks, but you both have to earn your keep from your jobs.”
“Yeah,” Dolley said. “The accountant suggested we cut back or eliminate our draws for a couple of months. Just to ensure we have the cash for the balloon.”
“Whatever we need to do.” Abby swallowed. She didn’t have to pay rent, and all her meals were charged to the B and B, but cutting her draw would still hurt.
“God, is this all worth it?” Bess pushed off the sofa and stalked to the fireplace. “Should we sell this pile of bricks?”
“How can you say that?” A lump formed in Abby’s throat. She was responsible. “Fitzgeralds have owned this house for generations.”
“One-hundred-and-seventy-plus years,” Dolley added.
“Maybe we don’t all want to be shackled to this money pit.” Bess crossed her arms and leaned against the mantel. “Maybe we should sell.”
Abby’s mouth dropped open. “This is our home.”
“Home?” Bess snorted. “We don’t live here. I hardly remember living in the house as a family. I was barely eight when Daddy died.”
How long had Bess felt like this? How had Abby missed her unhappiness? Dolley slid back in her chair, staring at the papers on the coffee table.
“But Fitzgerald House is ours,” Abby implored. She couldn’t fail Mamma. She wouldn’t.
Bess picked at a scab on her hand. “All we do is work. Sometimes I swear the house is sucking out my soul.”
Abby’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She looked at Dolley. “Do you feel this way, too?”
“It’s like we’re always chasing something.” Dolley grimaced. “I love seeing the guests happy, I love making sure the website reflects our personality as a B and B, but, Abby, even you have to admit—we don’t have a life.”
Sighing, Bess walked back to the sofa and sat next to Abby. “Oh, ignore me. As Mamma would say—I’ve got a mood on. Bad day at the office.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Abby asked, touching her arm.
“No.” Bess rubbed her hands over her face. “Let’s finish. Is there anything else we need to know about this blasted loan?”
Abby barely heard Dolley describe the rest of the terms for Bess. How had she missed the fact that her sisters viewed the B and B as a burden and not a joy?
Even though she didn’t have the restaurant of her dreams, she still cooked every day. She made people happy. And she had Gray. Every minute she spent with him was a little gift. Maybe she was taking more than her share of joy.
“Okay, if the creek doesn’t rise, we’ll meet the balloon with a cushion.” Dolley straightened up her stack of papers. “A small cushion.”
Abby signed five copies of the documents. With a deep breath, she pushed everything over to Bess. Then Dolley added her signature.
“Done.” Dolley set the pen down.
“Hang on.” Abby ran out of the room. She wheeled in a cart with flutes and a bottle of champagne along with a tray of cheese and crackers.
“Champagne.” Bess smiled. “And Great Grandmother’s crystal glasses.”
“And snacks,” Dolley added. “Good, I didn’t eat supper.”
“I don’t care if we didn’t get everything we wanted.” Abby twisted the cork from the bottle and tipped the sparkling wine into the three flutes. “Now we’ve got a fighting chance.”
The crystal glasses chimed a clear, sweet tone as they touched them together. “To the Fitzgerald ladies,” Bess called out. “We rock.”
“Wait,” Dolley called, digging in her purse. “We need a picture.”
She stacked books under her camera and set the timer. “Glasses up, everyone. Someone grab a damn loan document.”
Abby forced a smile on her face.
“Say cheers,” Dolley called.
They held up their glasses. “Cheers!”
Dolley checked the picture. “One more.” This time she had them call out, “Go, Fitzgeralds.”
When Dolley was satisfied with the pictures, they slipped back onto the sofa and chairs. Bess topped off everyone’s glass. “We’ve got takers on our Sporty Sisters weekend. They’re coming in May.”
Dolley kicked out her legs from where she’d draped them over the settee arm. “What’s the sports part of their weekend?”
“They’ll kayak off Tybee Island,” Bess explained. “I’ve scheduled a walking tour of Savannah and then an evening hike in Skidaway Island State Park.”
“Good plan.” Abby nodded her head. “We must have Sister bookings every weekend for the next two months.”
“The website hits are racking up,” Dolley muttered, staring into her glass.
“Thank you, computer geek,” Bess razzed her.
“We each play to our strengths.” Dolley tipped back her flute and drained it. “Mine happens to be cerebral.”
Bess turned on some bluesy jazz music. Abby inhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax.
“Hey,” Dolley said. “Mamma’s coming home in a couple of weeks. She was happy the B and B’s so full she has to stay at my apartment.”
Bess emptied the bottle of champagne into her glass. “That’s wonderful. Any particular reason?”
“Just her normal every couple of months visit.”
Dolley leaned back. “I want to hear about Abby and Mr. Richie Rich.”
“Stop that.” Abby slid back into the sofa. “It’s rude.”
“Do you know how much he’s worth? Megabucks. Mega, megabucks.” Dolley slanted a sideways look at her. “Do you think he’ll propose?”
“Dolley!”
“It would solve our problems.” Dolley shrugged.
Abby shook her head. “We’ve already agreed—this will end when he goes back to Boston.”
Bess squeezed her shoulder. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “I have my sisters, our mother and Fitzgerald House. What more do I need?”
* * *
ABBY WASN’T WAITING up for Gray. Her wine distributor had found some unusual options, and she wanted to create interesting hors d’oeuvres to match. She looked at the kitchen clock. Just because they hadn’t spent a night apart since St. Paddy’s Day didn’t mean she couldn’t sleep alone.
Liar. Abby dropped her head onto the table. She was waiting for Gray. He and Daniel had gone to the pub.
Straightening her cookbooks, she shut down her computer. Time for bed.
“Ah, Abby. Sweet Abigail.” Gray stumbled into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her. “You waited for me.”
“Gray.” She pulled her head back at a whiff of his breath. “Did you have a good time?”
“Oh, yeah. It would have been more fun if you’d been there. Then women wouldn’t have tried to pick me up.” He held her face in his hands and said seriously, “I told them no.”
She wasn’t sure if that comment deserved a compliment. “Hmm.”
“We went on a ghost pub crawl.” He rambled on about Greg, one of Daniel’s employees, who’d wanted to pick up a particular blonde.
“You don’t have to buy a drink at every pub,” she said. “As matter of fact, you don’t have to buy any drinks.”
He grinned. “But the blonde kept offering.” He shook his head, frowning. “But I said no. The storyteller was good. You should have them add your house. You’ve got a ghost, right?”
“Every Savannah B and B has one.” There was no way was she having inebriated tourists tromping on Bess’s flowers.
Abby pr
opped Gray against the table and retrieved aspirin and water. “Take these.”
“You’re good to me. And so pretty.” He tried to kiss her but caught her ear instead.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him down the hallway.
“Hey, the stairs are thataway.” Gray waved an arm and almost clipped her nose.
“Let’s try the elevator tonight.” Abby rolled her eyes. The doors closed, and Gray pinned her against the wall. “Greg thinks you’re hot.”
His tender kiss surprised her.
“Daniel thinks you’re hot, too.” He frowned. “No, he thinks you and your sisters are witches.”
The elevator opened, and she guided him down the hallway. “Witches, huh?”
“Oh, Abby,” Gray crooned.
“Shush. Guests are sleeping.”
At the door, she dug into his pockets to find his key card.
“Farther left, babe.” Gray actually giggled.
She helped him into the room and steered him back to the bed. At least he was a cooperative drunk.
“I told them you were mine,” Gray solemnly intoned.
She pushed him onto the bed and pulled off his shoes. “Who did you tell?”
His arms waved in great big circles. “Everyone. And Greg and Daniel. And the big-breasted blonde.” He frowned. “I told you I said no to her—right?”
“Yup.” She tugged his shirt off.
“You can have your way with me.” Gray wiggled his hips. “I won’t stop you.”
“Let’s get these clothes off and we’ll see what happens.” She tugged off his jeans, fairly sure he was going to pass out the minute his head hit the pillow.
When she bent over him, he pulled her onto the bed. “Pretty Abby, kiss me.”
She bounced a kiss off his nose and eased away.
He grabbed for her hand. “Stay with me. Don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave.”
He sounded more clearheaded than before.
“I’m going to fold your clothes.”
She worked from the bathroom light. By the time she’d set his jeans on the chair, Gray was snoring.
She sat next to him. He’d sprawled across the entire bed. There wouldn’t be a place for her to sleep even if she stayed.
“You’re not going to feel too well tomorrow.” Abby brushed back his black hair.
Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead. He’d asked her to stay, and she wanted to. Unfortunately, they meant two different things. What would happen if she asked him to stay in Savannah?
Nothing. Gray lived in Boston. His life was there. End of story.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Right now Gray couldn’t disappoint her, couldn’t let her down.
That was the way things had to stay.
CHAPTER TEN
Rule #40—Dream big, dream often, but don’t let it keep you from your work.
Mamie Fitzgerald
“THAT WAS FUN.” Cheryl loaded another bowl into the dishwasher. “Thank you for letting me help and learn.”
Laughter rang out from the kitchen table.
Abby bumped her shoulder. “They’re enjoying what they made.”
The sister group—and Cheryl—had made lobster bisque and a seafood salad along with fruit tarts.
She really wanted to learn how to cook. She had no idea, as a single mom, how to make that happen.
“Why don’t you grab another bottle of champagne for them?” Abby said.
Cheryl hurried across the hall and into the butler’s pantry. She picked the brand the ladies had been sipping during their cooking lesson. It was still hard for her to see normal people drinking at eleven o’clock in the morning. The only person she’d known who did that had been Levi. He’d drunk beer, lots of beer.
She never should have accepted Levi’s offer to live in his house after Brad died. The house had been her in-law’s and really was half Brad’s, but she, Brad and Josh had always lived on base.
Living with Levi had been fine—at first. But he’d lost his job, and then all he seemed to do was drink. And he was a mean drunk.
God, she missed her husband. They’d met in high school, and nothing could have kept them apart. High school graduation, his enlistment, marriage, Josh and eight years of heaven and worry.
Then a month before he was supposed to come home from Afghanistan, his patrol had come under fire. Everyone had been killed.
She hugged the cold bottle to her chest. She was having trouble remembering Brad’s face. But she could never forget his smiling eyes. Josh had Brad’s incredible eyes. And his heart.
Plastering a smile on her face, she headed back into the kitchen. Since the guests’ bottle was empty, she popped the cork and nestled the new one into the ice bucket.
“Thanks, Cheryl,” one of the ladies called out.
Abby had gotten most of the pots and pans cleaned up. “I’ve got some sweet tea. Let’s sit,” she said to Cheryl.
Shoot, she’d been fretting about what was past when she should have been helping Miss Abby. “Let me get it.”
She dished ice into glasses before pouring the tea. Abby was resting in the lovely sitting area that overlooked Miss Bess’s gardens.
“What did you think?” Abby asked.
“About the class?”
“About cooking,” Abby clarified.
Cheryl cupped her face with her hands. “I loved it.”
“I could tell.” Abby leaned closer. “Marion and I talked about it. If you’re interested, we’ll work something out so you can start helping in the kitchen. Probably mostly during catering events. We’ll see what you can do.”
Cheryl’s mouth fell open. “You’d...” Her voice cracked. “You’d help me?”
“In the beginning you’ll peel a lot of potatoes and chop a lot of onions.” Abby smiled. “But I’ll work with you.”
Her whole body shook. “I...I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You just did.” Abby patted her knee. “We don’t want to lose you. You and Josh are part of the Fitzgerald House family.”
Abby went over and checked on the sister group.
Cheryl sank back into the love seat. For the first time since Brad had died, she and Josh were part of something special.
* * *
ABBY SLICED AN apple and handed most of it to Gray. “What’s going on?”
He sat at the table he’d pulled together with plywood and sawhorses. “What?”
“You’ve been distracted since I brought your lunch over.” All weekend, really. “Are there problems with your remodel?”
A saw screeched a floor above them. Frowning, he waited until it stopped before answering. “Nothing that can’t be handled.”
“Good.”
But he was still frowning.
“Something else bothering you?” she asked.
He touched her cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. “I need to head back to Boston for a few days.”
The news hurt more than it should have. “When do you leave?”
“Next Wednesday. I’ll be back on Sunday evening, I think. I’m still working out the details.”
She rose from the empty spool that was serving as a chair. Moving over to Gray, she cupped his face and gave him a gentle kiss. He tasted of salt and lemonade. “I’ll miss you.”
He stood and pulled her into a big hug. Tipping up her chin, he kissed her. His lips opened hers, and his tongue began a familiar and erotic dance. He took the kiss deep into the dark of night.
A saw screeched and Gray jerked away.
His gaze locked on hers. “Wish we were near a bed, or a room with a lock.”
“Me, too.” Her laugh was a little shaky, charged with sexual tension. “
I’d better head home.”
After leaving Gray, she walked slowly back to Fitzgerald House. April flowers bloomed in every garden. Their perfume saturated the entire city, but she couldn’t seem to smile.
She’d gone into this relationship with her eyes wide-open. Gray was more than halfway through his stay; a little more than three months remained before he left. Abby brushed her hair off her face. For the next three months, she would store up every minute of happiness.
A couple crowded her on the narrow sidewalk. She stepped closer to the wall, and her shoulder brushed against a for-sale sign. Her eyes widened.
The house next to the B and B was for sale. Carleton House was for sale.
This was kismet. She’d always wanted to buy it. She nibbled her thumbnail. The location was perfect.
She could picture guests filling Fitzgerald and Carleton Houses. They would all want to eat at Southern Comforts. Lines would form because tourists and locals alike would clamor for a table.
As long as she was dreaming, they’d buy a third property, the one catty-corner from Fitzgerald House, and open up more rooms there.
Why couldn’t Carleton House have been put on the market two years from now? Once she and her sisters had paid off the balloon, they’d be on stronger financial footing.
She pulled the flyer out of the Realtor box with a shaky hand. She scanned the missive, looking for the price.
“Ouch.” They were asking for the moon on a home that needed massive renovations.
Abby speed-dialed Bess. “You won’t believe it—Mrs. Carleton’s selling. We need to buy the house.” She sounded like a crazy woman.
“Did Mrs. Carleton call you?” Bess asked.
“I was walking home and saw the sign.” Her voice squeaked. “Sister meeting. Tonight.”
“Okay, take a breath before you hyperventilate. In this economy, the property won’t move fast.”
“I have to get tea set up. Can you call Dolley? I know we’re meant to get this house.” Her heart pounded. “I can feel it.”
Hope bubbled inside her as bright as the shine of her copper pans. This time she would be steps closer to opening her restaurant.
