When Mercy Rains
Page 35
She finally smiled. Not a flirtatious smile. Not even a friendly smile. More a smile of success that brought a greater stab of aggravation. “Of course, Mr. Forrester. The cottage is ready for you, and as your boss requested, I stocked the minifridge with sodas, sandwich fixings, and fruit so you can prepare your own simple supper. Please grab your luggage and follow me.”
With a little snort he slung his laptop case over his shoulder and then retrieved his leather rolling suitcase. The case’s wheels bumped across the steppingstones, hindering his progress, but he followed her past the house and then along a narrow gravel path to a small square building painted in similar colors as the Victorian farmhouse.
She opened the door and held out her hand in invitation. “Here you are. Your own little home away from home.”
He crossed the cracked square of concrete that served as a stoop and entered what Alexa—oops, Miss Zimmerman—had called the cottage. The space reminded him of a project from one of the do-it-yourself home-improvement channels Aunt Myrt liked to watch. Quite a change from his masculine, streamlined glass-and-black decor at home. A designer would probably define the cottage as “charmingly eclectic,” and no doubt some would rave about the scattered throw rugs, mismatched furnishings, and high tin ceiling. He felt as though he’d stepped into a time machine and landed somewhere near the turn of the twentieth century. His sense of zipping backward in time increased when his gaze fell on the massive wood-burning stove lurking in the far corner.
He pointed at the big black hunk of iron. “I’m not expected to cook on that thing, am I?”
She laughed lightly. If he hadn’t been annoyed with her, he might have enjoyed the trickling sound. “There’s a microwave behind the roll-up door in that green-painted cupboard.”
He crossed to the cupboard and slid the door upward. A shiny stainless-steel microwave greeted his eyes. He blew out a relieved breath.
“You should find everything you need,” she went on, “but if you discover you’re lacking something, please just knock on the back door. I’ll do what I can to make your stay comfortable.”
He considered voicing a suggestive request but decided against it. Aunt Myrt wouldn’t approve, and Len had warned him about trying to fit in with these people. He made a mental note. Rule One: No flirting. Besides, she was being pleasant, so he’d respond in kind. “Okay, thanks.” He placed his laptop case on the scarred table, which held a square red-and-white-checked scarf and a chunky crock overflowing with artificial daisies. How sweet … “Any other regulations besides leaving my car outside the barn during daytime hours?”
“Grace Notes B and B is a no-smoking, alcohol-free inn. Even though you’re in the cottage rather than the house, we’d appreciate your honoring our preference.”
Our? Maybe she was married and that’s why she resisted his flirtations. Then he’d definitely curb it. He might be a lot of things, but a wife stealer wasn’t one of them. “No problem. Anything else?”
“On Sunday we attend worship service, so I serve breakfast only at eight o’clock. Every other day you’re free to choose an earlier or later time that suits your schedule.”
“Eight every day is fine for me.”
“All right. Since you’ll be staying for a while, you’re welcome to attend service with us on Sundays.”
Eventually he’d want to sit in on their worship. Len said he ought to. But tomorrow he intended to kick back and relax and work out the stiffness in his muscles from his long drive from Illinois. “Thanks. I might do that.”
“All right then.” She’d remained on the stoop. She withdrew a gold-toned key chain shaped like a music note from her pocket and held it across the threshold as if her arm were a bridge. “Here’s the key for the cottage. I unlock the back door of the house by seven if you’d like a cup of coffee before breakfast.” She backed up slowly, her hands clasped loosely against her skirt front.
He glanced down, but the way she cupped her right hand over her left, he couldn’t tell if she wore a ring or not.
A smile, this one more genuine and definitely more appealing, curved her lips. “Welcome to Grace Notes B and B, Mr. Forrester. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She turned and scurried off before he could say anything else.