Their Second-Time Valentine
Page 21
“Gram.” He set the lemonade down. “Remember when Mom’s parents came to town when Dad proposed to her and you made them stay in a hotel even though you have all these rooms?”
“I remember that, but you don’t, since you weren’t born yet.”
“Even if I have to limit examples of your hospitality to those I actually remember, I can still do this all day.”
Gram gave him a that’s-enough-out-of-you look and sat back in her chair with her arms folded. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I signed the contract, dealt the cards and now everybody has to play the hands I gave them.”
“What exactly is it I’m supposed to be doing?”
“You’re the inn’s handyman.”
He laughed until Miss Hospitality picked up the candle jar in the center of the table and cocked her arm back as if she was going to chuck it at him. “You can’t be serious, Gram. Remember when I took shop in high school and the teacher made me switch to home ec because his nerves couldn’t handle me being around power tools?”
“Such a proud day for me,” his father said in a droll tone.
“Hey, at least I learned how to cook.”
“You barely passed that class,” his mom pointed out.
His family was so much fun. Really. Finn couldn’t imagine why he’d chosen to live an hour away. “At least, unlike in shop class, I couldn’t hurt anybody.”
His dad groaned. “I don’t know. That quiche—”
“You’re getting off topic,” Gram snapped. “I don’t need you to cook. I don’t even need you to be particularly handy. I just need you to look like you are.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Wear some old jeans and run around with no shirt on. Maybe we should smear some baby oil so you look all hot and sweaty.”
“Gram!” He was not letting his grandmother smear him with baby oil. And he never wanted to hear her refer to him as hot and sweaty ever again.
“Simmer down. You can put it on yourself if it makes you feel better.”
While doing it himself was certainly a better option than his grandmother doing it, he had no intention of coating his body in fake sweat to appease a camera.
“And do it fast,” Gram told him, “because they’re going to arrive anytime now.”
* * *
“Well, this is certainly quaint.”
Anna Beckett tore her gaze from the rural scenery passing outside the window to look over at her assistant. They would both consider themselves city girls if asked, but where Anna was entranced by the woods and the charming homes and the glimpses of a lake, Eryn Landsperger’s voice was droll.
“No more than the last town,” Anna said.
Eryn shook her head, her blond ponytail swinging. “This one feels different.”
Turning back to her window, Anna shivered. This one feels different. Because this town was different, though she was absolutely the only person who knew why. And she intended to keep it that way.
“Home sweet home for the next six to eight weeks,” Eryn said, and then she sighed. “Or more, probably.”
The Bayview Inn was going to be their anchor project—the two-part finale that would wrap up a season of smaller projects, even though it was filmed first to take advantage of as much of a guarantee of good weather that New England offered. The final projects were always the biggest of the year in terms of cost, square footage and historical value.
The Bayview Inn only checked off two of those boxes, and the old Victorian in Blackberry Bay would definitely be Anna’s most challenging project ever. It had been since the day they met to go through the latest crop of applications submitted through the website and she’d seen the name of the town. The team had dismissed the application because the paperwork proving the provenance of the inn was sparse, but she’d made a joke about how small towns didn’t always do things the way they were supposed to and urged them to focus on the beautiful old house.
And she hammered home the fact that according to Tess’s application, her son and his wife, as well as her grandson, lived locally and would be part of the renovation. While their project owners varied, the ratings were always highest when there was a family group involved with the filming.
The Bayview Inn was a project she really wanted—a fact she’d made known to executive producer Duncan Forrest, though she hadn’t told him why. If she played her cards right, nobody from the show ever needed to know she’d taken on this project for personal reasons.
“We’re running late,” Eryn said after checking the time on her smartwatch. They always allowed for traffic, but nobody could predict a truck hauling a fifth-wheel trailer rolling and ending up across all three lanes of traffic in southern New Hampshire. “We’ll barely have time to park the RVs and get to the inn, never mind getting them set up and exploring the town.”
“The town’s been here over two hundred and fifty years. It’ll probably still be here after we meet Mrs. Weaver and see the inn.” She snorted when Eryn rapped her knuckles on the fake wood door trim. “But you’re right. We’ll definitely have to dump the RVs and run.”
When the drivers pulled the RVs into the lakefront campground they’d be calling home for a while, Anna wished she had the time to explore, but as soon as they got the compact car unhooked from its tow bar, she and Eryn had to go. They’d leave the large SUV driven by Mike, the senior cameraman, at the end of the convoy of vehicles for the crew to use.
They had no trouble finding the house, and while she was familiar with it thanks to the extensive video and numerous photos she’d reviewed, she always felt a rush of anticipation when she first set eyes on a new project.
An elderly woman wearing a floral dress and an apron opened the front door for them. After giving them a huge smile, she stepped back and welcomed them in with a theatrical sweep of her arm. “Welcome to the Bayview Inn. I’m your hostess, Tess Weaver.”
“I’m Anna,” she managed to say with a straight face. If she hadn’t already guessed Tess’s story was largely fabricated, the exaggerated performance would have tipped her off. “And this is my assistant, Eryn. We’re so excited to be here, Mrs. Weaver.”
“I’m excited to have you here. Do you want a tour?”
“Honestly, I’d rather just sit and talk to you for a few minutes,” Anna replied. “We watched the video tour several times, and we’ve been traveling all morning, so the rest of production is busy right now, setting up.”
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you some lemonade.”
She saw Eryn’s wince and knew the first thing they did after leaving here would be finding a local coffee shop. “Actually, we’d love some water if you don’t mind.”
While Tess poured them each a glass of ice water, Anna looked over the kitchen. The place was definitely overdue for a renovation. By several decades.
“How did the town get its name?” she asked, taking the glass she was offered. She found small talk about familiar subjects put people at ease faster than jumping right into production talk.
Tess chuckled. “It’s quite a story.”
“We love to sprinkle local flavor throughout the episodes, so I’m always up for a good story.”
“Well, as legend has it, the founders of Blackberry Bay were exploring the area and they found this beautiful bay off the big lake, and the entire area had been overrun by wild blackberry bushes.”
After a few seconds of silence, Anna realized that was the entirety of the story, but she couldn’t tell by Tess’s expression if she was trying to be funny or if she really believed that was quite a story. Anna didn’t bother to ask how the Bayview Inn got its name. Being literal seemed to be a theme around here. “I guess we should all be thankful it wasn’t overrun by poison ivy, then.”
Tess’s laugh covered Eryn’s groan, and Anna smiled. “So your application essay said your husband passed away and b
usiness has declined due to guests choosing more updated lodging. And you’ve been running the inn by yourself?”
“For the most part. My son and his wife disappeared somewhere, unfortunately, but let me introduce you to my grandson. He’s such a good boy, doing his best to take care of me and this old house...inn. Taking care of his grandma and this inn. Finn, honey,” she said to somebody behind Anna, “come say hello.”
Anna turned, expecting to see a young man—maybe even a teenager—blushing awkwardly at his grandmother’s praise.
The man was not a teenager and there was nothing awkward about him. And she could only hope she wasn’t blushing when he put out his hand for her to shake.
“Finn Weaver,” he said in a voice she might have been tempted to pay $2.99 per minute to hear saying naughty things over the phone.
He was tall, with short brown hair shot through with natural highlights, and dark eyes that looked at her intently as she shook his hand. The jeans that were so soft and well-worn they practically hugged his body and the tight navy T-shirt fit the job description, but as she shook his hand, something felt not quite right.
This guy was who Tess was passing off as her handyman? The softness of his hands and the well-kept nails would explain the sorry condition of the inn—if it actually was one. Hell, she probably had more calluses than he did, and she didn’t skimp on hand lotion.
She might have her doubts about him doing physical labor, but it was obvious he was no stranger to working out. In a gym. Probably an expensive one, too. There was just something about his strong body and impeccable grooming that smacked of money. Finn Weaver looked like a high-maintenance kind of man.
Anna did her best to focus on Tess’s chatter—she was talking about her ancestors now, or maybe her husband’s—but Finn moving around the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of lemonade was distracting her. He not only looked good, but he smelled good, too. Even his scent was tantalizing and expensive.
She wasn’t sure exactly what was going on in the Bayview Inn, but she knew one thing for sure. Anna and Tess weren’t the only people in the room who were hiding something.
Copyright © 2021 by Shannon Stacey
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ISBN-13: 9781488075308
Their Second-Time Valentine
Copyright © 2021 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Helen Lacey for her contribution to The Fortunes of Texas: The Hotel Fortune miniseries.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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