Southern Comforts

“See you in the morning.” Michael left as she finished cleaning the counter. Abby would have liked to have gone to bed, but since the sisters were all together, she’d called a short meeting even though it was nearly midnight.

Dolley burst into the kitchen, a champagne bottle in her hand.

“Success,” Bess called out as she followed, carrying three flutes. “They loved everything.”

“How’s Marion doing?” Abby asked.

“Everything’s under control,” Dolley said. “Let’s pop this bad boy. We rocked.”

The sisters gathered around the kitchen table. Golden liquid fizzed in their glasses.

“To the Fitzgerald ladies,” Bess said, raising her glass.

The reasons Abby worked so hard to bring Fitzgerald House back to its glory were gathered round the table. She swallowed. Mamma had started the recovery. When Great-Aunt Cecelia had gotten sick, Mamma had asked Abby, Bess and Dolley to take over. But Abby had always been in charge. She had the relevant experience, and as the oldest, she’d always felt it was up to her to fix what her father had broken.

“Great party, ladies,” Bess said.

“Did we have enough servers?” Abby asked.

“Amy and Cheryl did well for their first time. We could have used one more,” Bess said.

Abby made a note on the tablet by her side. “I’ll talk to Marion.”

Bess yawned. “I’ve got to work tomorrow. Can we make this quick?”

“Sure. Samuel’s given me his bid.” Abby fanned the papers out in front of her.

“What’s the bottom line?” Dolley filled her flute again.

“To finish the third floor, he’s quoting a little over a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Crap.” Dolley ran a hand through her curls. “No wonder you keep pushing back the software upgrade.”

“Samuel’s also given us ballpark numbers for turning the carriage house into the restaurant. That’s another three hundred thousand. If we add carriage house guest rooms, it’s just under a hundred thousand.”

Everyone groaned. The estimate might as well have been millions.

They talked through the possibilities and drank their champagne.

“The carriage house suites could be a little more modern. We could keep the furniture lighter and bring in the garden theme.” Bess nibbled on her thumbnail until Dolley slapped her hand.

“Great idea, but the carriage house renovations will have to wait.” Abby’s chest ached. “Third floor first.”

“I agree,” Dolley added.

Bess covered Abby’s hand. “When you moved back from New York, all you talked about was opening a restaurant.”

Abby shrugged. Realism had set in the minute she’d sat with the B and B’s accountant.

She was the reason Maurice had received the rising star designation. She wanted a real star rating to show him up. Without a restaurant, she would never be rated. She would just be...a B and B cook. Nothing special.

Dolley stuffed a tart in her mouth. “We have to finish the rooms in the main house first.”

Bess shook her head. “Shoot, what if we can’t get them booked?”

“We will.” Abby swallowed the lump forming in her throat. They had to. “Samuel’s bid has an option that allows us to finish one room at a time. If Nigel helps during the day, the short-term cost will be lower. In the long run, though, it will cost more, because the subcontractors would have to keep returning, rather than doing everything in one go.”

Bess cradled her head in her hand. “Why can’t this be easy? How about a loan?”

“Dolley?” Abby asked.

“I’ll make some inquiries next week.” Her sister grew thoughtful. “Maybe there’s a development loan we can tap.”

“We should extend that darn balloon,” Bess complained. “It’s hanging over our heads like a...”

“Noose?” Dolley filled in.

“That pendulum sword thing.” Bess waved her hand back and forth.

“Wow, you guys are morbid.” Abby figured she shouldn’t have held this meeting after a long day of work for all of them.

The kitchen door creaked as someone pushed it open. The sisters turned in unison.

Gray’s dark hair appeared in the doorway, and Abby’s stomach fluttered as if the champagne bubbles were tickling her.

“Hi ladies, still—” Gray frowned and looked at the bottle, the flutes and papers covering the table “—working?”

“Yeah. All work and no play—that’s us.” Dolley waved him over. “Hey, you know about our renovations. Can you tell us if these bids are reasonable?”

What? Abby kicked Dolley’s shoe.

Dolley glared. “What was that for?”

Abby tipped her head toward Gray and frowned.

He leaned against the dining alcove’s half wall. Those steely blue eyes held hers as he took of sip of the cognac he’d carried in with him.

“He’s a guest,” Abby hissed. A guest she’d kissed. The best kiss of her life.

“I don’t mind,” he said.

But Abby did. This was Fitzgerald business.

Gray moved to the table. Dolley scooted over to make room for him as he took a seat. “What’s going on?”

“Samuel’s just finished the last second-floor room, but we want to open up the third floor,” Dolley said.

He nodded.