The Perfect Hope

“That works.”

“Okay, troops, let’s go clean up.”

Hope caught sight of them from the kitchen window, Beckett and his little men. Sweet, she thought. Heading to Vesta for lunch, she imagined.

She should probably grab something soon herself, she decided, before her guests came back and she didn’t have a chance. She’d already done her room checks, gathering up glasses and cups and other assorted debris. And she needed to order more coasters, and guest towels for The Lobby restroom. More mugs, she reminded herself, as guests tended to walk off with them.

But right now, the inn was quiet and empty, with all the women off getting pampered and Carolee off with Justine looking at tiles and flooring—and whatever else they thought of—for the fitness center.

The cleaning crew would be along in an hour to turn and clean the guest rooms. Then she’d do her recheck. So she’d just finish making this pitcher of iced tea, restock the refrigerator with water and soft drinks. Then take a quick break before doing her orders and filing.

But even as she set the pitcher on the island beside a bowl of fat purple grapes, the Reception bell rang.

No deliveries on the schedule, she thought, but occasionally a guest forgot their key—or someone came by hoping they could wander through.

She started around, her innkeeper’s smile in place.

It faded completely when she saw the man through the glass of the door.

He wore a suit, of course, pearl gray for summer. The tie, with its perfect Windsor knot echoed the exact same shade and a contrasting stripe in rich crimson.

He was bronzed and gold, tall and lean, classically, glossily handsome.

And completely unwelcome.

With reluctance, Hope unlocked the door, opened it. “Jonathan. This is unexpected.”

“Hope.” He smiled at her, all easy charm—as if hardly more than a year before he hadn’t dumped her like last year’s fashion. “You look wonderful. A new hairstyle, and it suits you.”

He reached out, as if to embrace her. She stepped back in firm rejection.

“What are you doing here?”

“At the moment, wondering why you don’t ask me in. It’s odd to find the door locked on a hotel in the middle of the day.”

“It’s policy, and we’re a B&B. Our guests enjoy their privacy.”

“Of course. It looks like a charming place. I’d like to see more of it.” He waited a beat, then pumped up the smile. “Professional courtesy?”

Slamming the door in his face would be satisfying, but childish. In any case he might interpret it to mean he mattered.

“Most of our guest rooms are occupied, but I can show you the common areas if you’re interested.”

“I am. Very.”

She couldn’t see why. “Again, Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. My parents send you their best.”

“And you can take mine back to them.” She took a breath. All right, she thought, what the hell. “This is our reception area.”

“On the small side, but it’s cozy and has character.”

“Yes, we think so.”

“Is that the original brick?”

She glanced toward the long, exposed brick wall. “Yes, and those are old photographs showing the inn and Main Street.”

“Mmm-hmm. The fireplace must be welcome in the winter.”

She struggled with the resentment of having him here, having him make observations about her place.

“Yes, it’s a favorite spot. We have an open kitchen,” Hope began, leading the way—and wishing she’d had five minutes to freshen her makeup and hair. Just on pride points. “Guests are free to help themselves.”

He scanned the bold iron lights, the stainless steel appliances, the rich granite counter. “Honor system?”

“We don’t charge. All food and drink is included. We want our guests to feel at home. The central lobby is this way.”

He paused at her office, gave her that smile again. “As tidy and efficient as always. You’re missed, Hope.”

“Am I?”

“Very much.”

She considered various responses, but none qualified as polite. And she was determined to be.

“We’re especially proud of the tile work throughout the inn. Here you can see the details of the tile rug under the main table. The flowers are done by our local florist to reflect and celebrate not only the season, but the style and tone of the room.”

“Lovely, and yes, beautiful details. I—”

“As is the woodwork.” She plowed right over him. Politely. “The framing of the old archways. The Montgomery family designed, rehabbed, and decorated the inn. It’s the oldest stone building in Boonsboro, and was originally an inn. The Lounge, just down here, was once the carriageway.

“Hope.” He trailed a fingertip down her arm before she could shift away. “Let me take you to lunch after the tour. It’s been much too long.”

Not long enough. “Jonathan, I’m working.”

“Your employers must give you a reasonable lunch break. Where would you recommend?”

She didn’t have to dig for the cold. Her tone simply reflected every sensibility. He expected her to agree, she realized. More, he expected her to be delighted, flattered, maybe a little flustered.

She was happy to disappoint him on all counts.

“If you’re hungry, you can try Vesta, right across the street. But I’m not interested in having lunch with you. You might want to see The Courtyard before the rest of the main floor.” She opened The Lobby doors, stepped out. “It’s a lovely place, especially in good weather, to sit and have a drink.”

“The view’s lacking,” he commented, looking over the pretty garden wall and across the lot to the green building.

“It won’t be. That building’s currently being rehabbed by the Montgomery family.”

“A busy bunch. At least sit down for a moment. I wouldn’t mind that drink.”

Hospitality, Hope reminded herself. No matter who. “All right. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She walked back inside, deliberately unclenched her jaw. He could send business to the inn, she reminded herself. Guests and clients looking for an out-of-the-way place, well-run, beautifully appointed.

Whatever her personal feelings, she couldn’t deny Jonathan knew the hospitality business.

She’d do her job and be gracious.

She poured him tea over ice, added a small plate of cookies. And because it was gracious, poured a glass for herself.

He was seated at one of the umbrella tables when she carried the tray out.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your wife. I hope she’s well.” There, Hope congratulated herself. That didn’t choke her.

“Very, thanks. She had a committee meeting today, and some shopping to do. You must miss Georgetown—the shops, the nightlife. You can’t find that here.”

“Actually, I’m very at home here. Very happy here.”

He gave her a smile, with just a hint of sympathy. One that said clearly he believed she lied to save face.

She imagined herself flicking her fingers in his face to erase it. But that wouldn’t be gracious.

“It’s hard to believe, a woman with your drive, your tastes, settling into a little country town. And running a little B&B, however charming, after managing the Wickham. I assume you live right here, on the property.”

“Yes, I have an apartment on the third floor.”

“When I think of your beautiful town house …” He shook his head, and there was that trace of sympathy again.