The Perfect Hope ib-3 Read online

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WITH HER GUESTS OUT AND ABOUT, THE ROOMS TURNED, and Carolee doing a market run, Hope carved out some office time. She had payroll and invoices to deal with, the home page, the Facebook page, emails, reservations—and a space of quiet time to get it done.

  Then there were lists, the routine tasks and chores that needed doing on a continuous loop. Guests commented on how fresh, pretty, and clean the inn was—and it took steady work to keep it that way.

  With the payroll out of the way, she uploaded a few new pictures to the Facebook page, added a brief, chatty post, then moved on to emails.

  She clicked Send on the last one just as the Reception bell rang. As good a time for a break as any, she thought. She started to rise when the idea of Jonathan flipped through her mind. If she found him at the door, fine. Even good. This time she’d finish giving him that piece of her mind.

  She geared up for it, almost looked forward to it, but found Justine at the door.

  “Hi! I thought you had a key.”

  “I do, but I don’t like using it.” She glanced back over her shoulder where workers hammered and sawed on the skeleton of a roof. “I hope the noise isn’t a problem.”

  “It’s not bad, and the view improves every day. We’ve got a lot of excitement and interest in the idea of a fitness center right in town.”

  “That’s what I want to hear.”

  “I’m sorry I missed you and Willy B yesterday.”

  “I’m making up for it. It always smells so good in here.” Justine strolled into the kitchen, helped herself to a Diet Pepsi out of the refrigerator. “It gives me a lift every time I come in. Oh, did you see Lacy’s getting equipment installed? Icing Bakery should be up, running, and open to the public in about ten days.”

  “We can’t wait. It’s nice to have a neighbor, too—one I’m told makes amazing sticky buns.”

  “Avery says we’ll all be in heaven. We’ve also rented the two apartments over the bakery. So you’ll have more neighbors. Got time to sit?”

  “Sure.” Adjusting mental lists, she joined Justine at the kitchen island.

  “Guests in the house?”

  “We’ve got the cutest couple staying the weekend in J&R. He’s a huge Civil War buff. In fact they hit TTP before closing yesterday and he scooped up some books by local authors he didn’t have. You’d have thought he found gold. Now they’re touring the battlefield. They booked the Historical Adventure package. But the deal is she goes with him today, and tomorrow he has to go antiquing with her.”

  “Fair’s fair.”

  “He’s full of stories. We had two other couples in last night, and he kept everyone entertained until after midnight. Oh, and he loved the Civil War chess set in The Lounge. He’s hoping one of the guests checking in today’s a player.”

  “Tommy and Willy B used to play. Me? I like Monopoly.” She let out her big laugh.

  “You play it really well. I was going to email you once I have all the details, but we’ve got someone interested in booking the inn for a bridal party.”

  “A wedding?”

  “No, they’ve got the venue for the wedding and reception, but they’re interested in booking us for the night before. Bride, groom, attendants, parents. And the same for the wedding night. I’ve blocked it off, for now. They’re supposed to confirm by Monday.”

  “Sounds good. How was your Girls’ Night?”

  “It was great. I really appreciate being able to do something like that. I’d like to have another down the road, with you and Carolee, maybe Darla joining in. My mother and sister if I can manage it.”

  “Sounds even better.” With a satisfied nod, Justine sat back. “You’re happy.”

  “This is a dream job for me, Justine. I couldn’t be happier.”

  “So, no temptation to take Jonathan Wickham up on his offer?”

  Hope winced. “Should I have told you about that?”

  “Not necessary.” Justine waved the question away. “I hear everything worth hearing eventually.”

  “I guess you do, and no, not the least bit tempted. This is my home. Jonathan may think I can’t exist without Georgetown, the Wickham, and him, but he’s wrong. I feel more … myself than I have in a very long time.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Glad to know you didn’t give either of his offers the time of day.”

  “Oh. Oh! Don’t get me started on door number two.”

  Justine laughed again. “That’s exactly why I’m here. To get you started. Men don’t give the real details, just a sketchy overview.”

  “What kind of person was I involved with?” Hope shoved back, got a soda for herself. “I knew he was flawed, everyone has flaws. And I knew there were weak spots, and of course, I assumed I’d shore them up. I know better than that, but—”

  “You were used to him. You cared for him.”

  “I was, I did. Looking back, I see it was the whole package. The place, Jonathan, the people. I considered his sister one of my closest friends. She wasn’t. I thought I was where I belonged, and the lifestyle … It was a good one. Or it was on the surface. It’s hard to admit it was all surface.”

  “How can you see that when you’re in it?”

  “By looking.” She sighed. “Even realizing, admitting, seeing it all, and him, for what it was, he completely stunned me by suggesting we go back to how it was—with benefits including some sort of pay scale.”

  “Prick.”

  “Oh, at least. Once I calmed down enough, I called my mother and ranted to her for nearly an hour. He was always so charming to my mother, to my family. That mattered to me. She supported me when it all went to hell, but I know she had this soft spot for him. Until I unloaded on her. She was madder than I was when I’d finished.”

  “I think your mother and I would get along just fine.”

  “You would. Coming here in his Versace suit and Hermès tie, with his honeymoon tan still glowing, and telling me I’m unfulfilled here, out of place here, how I should come back to the Wickham—at a substantial raise—and to him. How he’d take care of me. Asshole.”

  “Asshole’s a compliment next to the word I’m thinking.”

  “I never thought I’d feel sorry for Sheridan—his wife. But I do.”

  “Hold on. Didn’t she rub your face in it? Didn’t she, knowing full well he’d been involved with you, come into your office and tell you she wanted you to run point on planning her wedding at the hotel?”

  “Yes, she did.” Hope’s eyes narrowed as she drank. “Yes, she damn well did. Scratch feeling sorry for her. They deserve each other.”

  “I’d say they do. I’m glad Ryder came along in time for you to do some nose-rubbing of your own.”

  Hope met Justine’s amused eyes, sipped slowly. “You heard about that, too?”

  “Ear to the ground, honey. Always.”

  “I guess I didn’t think Ryder would mention it to you. It doesn’t seem like the sort of thing he’d bring up.”

  “I heard it from another source, then poked him in the ribs about it. And about the second rendezvous.”

  “It wasn’t a … You heard about that, too.”

  “Small-town ways. If you kiss a man in a parking lot, somebody’s going to catch wind.”

  And she’d thought she’d rolled into the rhythm of those small-town ways. She supposed she still had a bit to learn. “Obviously. I understand if you’d prefer I don’t—or we don’t—get involved on that level. I—”

  “Why would I prefer that?” Justine arched her eyebrows. “You’re both grown-ups.”

  “He’s your son. I’m your employee.”

  “I love my son. I love him enough to believe he can and should make his own decisions, choose his own way. I love this inn—not as much as my boys, but it’s up there. I wouldn’t have put anyone in charge of it I didn’t believe in, I didn’t care about. Anyone I didn’t respect and trust to make her own decisions. If you and Ry decide to get involved, on any level, that’s your
choice.”

  She paused, her smile blooming. “I’ve seen the sparks, honey. I’ve wondered what the hell the two of you were waiting for.”

  “I wasn’t sure we even liked each other. I’m still not entirely sure.”

  “I’m prejudiced, but I’d say there’s a lot to like on both sides. You’ll figure it out. And if it just turns out to be sex, you’ll both enjoy yourselves.”

  “That’s something I didn’t expect to hear from an employer, or the mother of a man.”

  “I’m Justine first. Now that we’ve settled that, is there any inn business we need to go over before I go poke my nose in the bookstore to make sure Clare’s taking care of herself and my new grandbabies?”

  “Speaking of that first, would it be all right to have the baby shower here? I know we wouldn’t have it until into the fall, but if that’s a go, I want to set up the date and block it.”

  “I think that’s perfect. You let me know what I can do to help.”

  “You could stay over. You, Clare, Avery, Clare’s mom, Carolee. There’d be room for three more if Clare wanted.”

  “A baby shower followed by a Girls’ Night? Better than perfect. Count me in. Just give me the date when you set it up with Clare. We could do the same with Avery’s wedding shower.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. God, it’s going to be so much fun.”

  “I think Lizzy wants to make sure she’s invited.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Hope said as she caught the scent of honeysuckle. “Sometimes I don’t. It’s just part of the place. Or she is.”

  “That means you’re comfortable with her.”

  “I am. I’m waiting for some information from a cousin who’s doing a biography on Catherine Darby. And I’ve reached out to the school, to the head librarian, hoping they may have some letters or documents archived. Trying to find her Billy with so little isn’t moving very well.”

  Frustration eked through. When you had a job, a task, a duty, you got it done. Finding she couldn’t, at least not expediently, left Hope itchy.

  “I wish she’d tell us—one of us—more. The last name, something. She spoke to Owen. I keep waiting for her to speak to him again.”

  “Who knows what barriers there are between her plane and ours? I like to think she’ll tell you what she can, when she can.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re with her more than any of us, and she’s your ancestor,” Justine pointed out. “Have any of the guests mentioned anything?”

  “I had one woman who said she heard music in the middle of the night, and thought she smelled honeysuckle. She woke up not feeling well, couldn’t get back to sleep. So she went to The Library for a book. And when she was in there reading, she heard music.”

  “Interesting.”

  “She thought she’d dozed off, dreamed it. I’m not sure she didn’t, as music hasn’t been part of Lizzy’s repertoire before.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if she branched out. I need to get out of your way. You get me those dates, and I’ll mark them down in indelible ink.”

  “I will.”

  Hope rose with her, walked her to the door. They stood a moment, watching the men work across the lot.

  “The first time I saw Tommy Montgomery he was up a ladder working, his shirt off. I was starting my brand-new job, and I wanted to be so professional, so dignified. And I saw him, and thought: Oh my God.” Laughing a little, Justine laid a hand on her heart. “That was the end and the beginning for me.”

  “I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. Everyone who speaks of him speaks so well.”

  “He was a good man. Had his flaws, like any. Made me crazy some of the time, and made me laugh a lot. I wouldn’t have had him any different. Not one bit.” She put an arm around Hope’s shoulder for a hug. “If Ryder doesn’t make you laugh, you toss him back. Sex isn’t worth it if he doesn’t make you laugh. I think I’ll go interrupt his day before I go nag at Clare.”

  Hope watched her walk across the lot in her red sneakers, hailing Ryder as she went. And he straightened, shook his head, and grinned down at his mother.

  Who wouldn’t want to be Justine when they grew up? Hope thought, and slipped back inside.

  SHE DIDN’T HAVE time to think about potential lovers or ghosts, or anything else once the Friday arrivals began to roll in. Hope walked—or jogged—up and down the steps too many times to count. She figured until the fitness center opened, she got plenty of cardio right on the job. She showed guests to their rooms, answered questions, accepted compliments on the decor in the name of her boss, served refreshments, offered advice on dining and shopping.

  When her Civil War couple returned, she set them up with wine—on request—in The Courtyard.

  Some guests, she knew from experience, wanted a private little getaway where the innkeeper was nearly as invisible as Lizzy. Others wanted her to be a part of their experience, wanted to share with her the adventures of their day.

  She listened and chatted when it was called for, vanished when it wasn’t. And like Justine with the town, Hope kept her ear to the ground of Inn BoonsBoro.

  By five, with a full house, she had guests scattered around The Courtyard and in The Lounge.

  “I can stay,” Carolee told her. “And that woman in E&D has you running your tail off. She assumed we’d have a wine list,” Carolee said, trying for a snooty accent. “And she certainly hopes we have Greek yogurt. It’s not that I minded running out to get it, but she could’ve asked nice—or better, in advance.”

  “I know, I know. She’s a pill.” Hope poured out another bowl of bar mix. “It’s only two days,” she said like a mantra. “It’s only two days. And maybe she’ll be less of a pill as it goes on.”

  “That type was born being a pill. She snapped her fingers at you.”

  She had, Hope remembered, but for some reason it made her laugh. “Oh, girl, girl—because I’m much too important to be expected to remember or use your name—do you at least have water crackers available? I’d like to give her a water cracker.”

  Now Carolee laughed. “Oh well, everybody else seems really nice, and ready to relax and enjoy. I can stay,” she repeated.

  “No, you go home. You have to be back bright and early to help me make breakfast for this crowd. Civil War Bob’s bound to keep everybody entertained again.”

  “He couldn’t entertain that one if he juggled fireballs naked. You call me if you want me to come back. I can even bunk in your spare room if you need me.”

  “You’re the best.” Because she was, Hope drew her into a hug. “I’m on it. Don’t worry.”

  She carried out more bar mix, another bottle of wine, and smiled easily when The Pill asked her for cocktail olives. Since she had some, she put them into a pretty bowl, carted them out. She chatted with those who wanted to chat, went back in to check on the guests in The Lounge.

  And made the rounds until she could take a breath and offer up a prayer of thanks when The Pill and her husband went out to dinner.

  Civil War Bob—bless him—talked his wife and two of the other couples into pizza delivery and games in The Lounge. She heard the good, satisfying sound of laughter and knew there would be no finger-snapping from that quarter.

  She could get a little dinner herself, maybe do a little research while she ate—with that ear to the ground in case she was needed.

  But first, she’d do a sweep of The Courtyard to gather up any dishes or napkins.

  She stepped out into the balmy evening. Such pretty light, she thought, and quiet now that the Fit crew had knocked off. Next empty night, she’d treat herself to dinner in The Courtyard. She might even fix something fussy, just for herself, have a couple glasses of champagne. A little innkeeper indulgence, she thought as she gathered empty bottles for recycling.

  Maybe he’d gotten noisier, or she more attuned, but she looked over just as Ryder stepped under the arch of wisteria.

  “Some party,” he commented.

  “W
e’ve got a full house, and some of them took advantage of the nice evening. You’re in town late.”

  “Had some things. Meeting at Vesta.”

  “All those irons in the fire require meetings.”

  “So Owen claims.”

  “He’s right.” She gestured toward the building under construction. “The roof’s looking good. I think I can imagine that part finished. It’s going to look so much bigger, and so much better.”

  He took the tub she used for the bottles. “I’ll get it.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “I’ll get it,” he repeated, muscling it away. He carried it to the shed, dumped them in the recycling bin. Before she could pick up the bag of trash she’d finished filling, he took that as well.

  “Thank you.”

  He shut the shed door, turned to study her.

  “Is there something—”

  “Yes.”

  After silence followed she lifted her eyebrows. “All right, what?”

  “Yes,” he repeated. “I’m considering the idea.”

  “You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.

  “That’s not accurate. I’ve finished considering the idea.”

  “I see. And what’s your conclusion?”

  He gave her that look—that not exactly a smile, a sneer, a smirk. “What do you think?”

  “I’m going to take a leap and say you’ve concluded in favor.”

  “Good leap.” He reached out; she stepped back.

  “I have people inside. Guests inside. I wouldn’t call this an optimum time to move forward with that conclusion.”

  “I wasn’t figuring on wrestling you to the ground here and now.” But he put his hands in his pockets as the image of doing just that had considerable appeal. “So, what would you call the optimal—Christ, now I’m talking like you. When’s good for you?”

  “I—”

  He pulled his hands free, waved it away. He had smoother moves than that, for God’s sake. She just threw him off-stride. “You want dinner or something? That’s fine. You’ve got a night off sometime, or a night without bookings. I can work with that.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”