Southern Comforts

“Love the suit, Abs.” Dolley pushed herself to her feet. “Thanks for the ideas, Gray.”

“Anything I need to know about?” Abby asked as Dolley slipped by her.

“Gray and I were talking about the third floor. He had some ideas on how to make sure the rooms are soundproofed.” Dolley gave her a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Watch out for Reggie’s gifts,” Abby said as Dolley headed out the door. How had their remodel come up?

Bess rocked to her feet. “What did Reggie leave?”

Abby shivered. “Rabbits. Two of them.”

“That’s two bunnies who won’t be dining in my garden.” Bess moved toward the door. “You’ve got to love a serial-killer cat.”

“You may love him, but I don’t like finding his gifts by the door.”

Bess gave her a quick hug on her way out. “See you tomorrow.”

The screen door slapped closed as her sisters left.

Without Dolley’s and Bess’s presence, Gray seemed to dominate the room.

Abby poured boiling water over the leaves, tapping her fingers as the tea brewed. She couldn’t just stand here for three minutes. She gathered up the pot and her mug and moved over to the table, hoping her face had returned to its normal color.

“So did you drive him crazy?” he asked.

“What?”

“The jerk that suit was meant for?”

Embarrassed, she swore under her breath. She brushed nonexistent lint off her sleeve. “He drooled—blubbered actually. I was cold and professional. I ground him under my heel.”

“I’ll bet you did.” Gray toasted her with his wineglass. She froze as his gaze trailed slowly down her body. It was almost as if his fingers followed the same path. Suddenly the room felt like a sauna.

Swallowing, she picked up his plate. “Dessert?”

“No. In the past two days I’ve had a year’s worth of sweets.”

“Port, then?”

“I’d prefer cognac, if you have it. Otherwise port is fine.”

She moved across the hall to the butler’s pantry and took a deep breath. When that didn’t calm her, she took another before retrieving a bottle and glasses.

“Say when,” she said, pouring.

Instead of telling her, he cupped her hand, lifting the bottle. A zing shot through her arm. The bottle chattered against the rim of the crystal tumbler.

Gray didn’t seem affected by their touch.

“Thanks again for the contractor leads,” he said. “I’ll get their bids, but I have a feeling I’ll pick Forester.”

Abby blinked, sinking into a chair. Her contractors? She’d screwed up her own restoration by being nice. “You’ve met with everyone already?”

“Can’t stand to have the place looking like a bombed-out ruin.”

“You’re showing your Yankee.” And the fact that he didn’t have to worry about cash flow. What would that be like? “The summer heat will knock that impatience right out of you. Eventually you’ll slow down.”

“Like you?” He shook his head. “You’re everywhere. When do you take time off?”

She frowned. “Never.”

What a timely reminder. She needed to ignore any zings flying around her kitchen. Fitzgerald House was the most important thing in her life, and it deserved her full attention.

* * *

ABBY ADDED OLIVE oil and a dab of butter to her sauté pan.

“I hate to repeat myself—” Gray moved into the kitchen carrying an open bottle of cabernet “—but it smells incredible in here.”

His smile had Abby melting like sorbet on a summer day. Earlier, she’d caught herself fantasizing about touching the dimple that appeared on his left cheek whenever he grinned.

Absolutely never get involved with a guest. She’d been repeating Mamma’s rule often. Mamma had once dated a guest who’d stayed at Fitzgerald House for an extended visit. He’d later turned out to be married.

Abby was pretty sure Gray was single, but she didn’t dare ask such a personal question. After nearly two weeks of dinners, she and Gray had yet to run out of topics to discuss, often talking well into the evening. She hadn’t laughed this much since her childhood.

She could look but not touch. Their agreement with Gray was profitable and she didn’t want to upset anything that helped Fitzgerald House.

Gray grabbed dishes from the pantry. He was a guest, but insisted on setting the table.

“Stop. You don’t have to help.” Abby waved her hand. She’d planned to get it done before he came in.

He swung by the range, dropping off a glass of wine for her. “I told you, I don’t mind.”

But she did. He was a guest. She took a deep breath.

“I haven’t seen you around today.” She’d wandered into the rooms where guests gathered on the off chance that he might be there. She hadn’t been so foolish since her days of high school crushes.

“I spent the morning at the warehouse and then drove to Hilton Head to visit friends.”

“How lovely.” Abby hadn’t been to Hilton Head in too long.

“It should have been nice.”

His tone of voice, so stern, made her turn toward him. “It wasn’t?”

“No.” His lips formed a straight line.

“Why not?” She tried to sound casual as she sliced mushrooms for dinner.