Southern Comforts

Listening to Abby describe the B and B’s renovations had been the most relaxing dinner he’d had in months. He didn’t want to eat alone in the dining room. “I’m good with the kitchen.”

“Really?” She blinked her green eyes.

He wanted to relax. And she was calm personified. “The kitchen’s fine.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_678bf4f7-1873-57f1-9927-7b9e12483ec1)

Rule #11—If cleanliness is next to godliness, then Fitzgerald House must be heaven.

Mamie Fitzgerald

GRAY CHECKED THE time again. The contractor was late. He glanced at his checklist. It was already early February, and he expected to complete the bulk of the work by July.

He shoved at a stack of cardboard piled in the middle of the warehouse floor. He couldn’t wait to get the renovations started, but he needed a contractor that matched his work ethic.

He’d never planned to work anywhere but New England. He had no contacts in Georgia. He shook his head. He hadn’t been able to refuse Derrick’s offer, even though he was sure his frat brother had remembered his phone number only because he’d needed financial help.

Gray slapped his hand on his thigh. Was Gwen any different? If he hadn’t been rich, would she have ever been interested in him? Maybe their similar backgrounds and mutual friends had made their relationship too easy.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t commit. His family wanted him to settle down with Gwen. But he wasn’t convinced a relationship with her would make him happy.

Relationships were a mystery to him, but he trusted his construction knowledge. He knocked on the sturdy interior wall. This place could withstand hurricanes. It had been built on the Savannah River for commercial reasons, but the view would guarantee a good price for the condos.

The sun struggled to shine through grimy windows. He poured coffee from the thermos the B and B staff had sent with him this morning. He took a moment and sipped the strong brew laced with a hint of cinnamon.

At least here in Savannah, he wouldn’t have to attend parties and benefits for causes he didn’t believe in. He could avoid making small talk with people who didn’t share his interests.

His dinner conversation with Abby hadn’t been small talk. They’d talked about creating legacies and restoring a building that would last generations. There’d been reverence in her voice when she’d talked about her family’s B and B.

His phone buzzed. Gray looked at the call display and smiled. “Hello, Mother.”

“Grayson, how are you, dear? How’s Savannah?” Her voice was so Bostonian. So different from the warm drawls he’d heard all morning at Fitzgerald House.

“I’m in hog heaven.”

She groaned. “Gray.”

“Georgia’s great.” He nodded. “The bed-and-breakfast I’m staying at is fascinating. Built in the early 1800s, so you’d feel right at home.”

“I hope you’re not implying anything about my age, dear.”

His laugh echoed in the cavernous room. It sounded—rusty. “Never.”

“Well, no matter how lovely Savannah is, I could never live there. Boston has always been home.”

His mother had grown up in Maine, but he let it go.

“How’s your warehouse?” she asked.

“A disaster.”

“I hear that glee in your voice. You can’t wait to get started.”

“You know me too well.”

“Well, don’t be too much of a perfectionist. I would like to see you sometime. I know you said you’d be there for six months, but you will come home, won’t you? It is possible I might miss my only son.”

And he would miss her. If he was here long enough, he might even miss his sister, Courtney, but not if she kept pushing Gwen his way.

“I’m sure I’ll come home, but why don’t you and Dad come down for a long weekend? I can work something out with the B and B. If my breakfast today was an example, you won’t push away from the table unhappy. Pick a weekend.”

“Your father and I will discuss it.”

“Savannah is amazing,” he said, trying to entice her.

Yesterday, he’d driven through tree-lined streets around squares filled with statues, fountains and people. “I walked to work this morning.” He sighed. “February, and I wore a light jacket.”

The city had sparkled. The air had been cool but springlike. The stress had sluiced off him like paint peeling off a roller. “Come down. Bring Dad and that little pest, Courtney, too.”

“She’s the reason I called.”

“What’s she done now?” He watched a container ship chug up the river.

“Rather, it’s what she says you’ve done. Did you really leave town without telling Gwendolyn?”

“We broke up.” He turned away from the window, fingers choking the phone. “We haven’t seen each other for over two weeks.”

If what he and Gwen had had was special, he should miss her by now. All he felt was relief.

“Gwen’s from such a good family,” his mother said. “I’d hoped you’d suit. She’s lovely and her manners are impeccable.”

Gwen was his match, born of the right people, as his mother would say. She’d forced him to think about more than work. Forced him to get out and do things. She loved parties, loved having throngs of people around her. And she rarely took no for an answer.

Her constant need to be with people, to party, had worn him down. That wasn’t how he wanted to spend his life. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, but it wasn’t crowds of people. Peace seemed too nebulous a desire.

“We don’t fit together.” Gray rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the itch that ran up his spine. Why couldn’t he commit? “I’m not ready to settle down.”

“Perhaps absence will make the heart grow fonder. Her mother and I would love to plan a wedding.”

Her words were like the plop of slushy Boston snow invading the collar of his coat.

“I’m not ready to get married,” he said. “My life’s exactly the way I want it.”

“If your life was perfect, I’d have grandchildren.”

“So talk to Courtney.”

The picture of Gwen as a mother didn’t materialize. Abby’s colorful skirt floating around dynamite legs flashed through his mind. He shook his head, but the image stayed.