The Perfect Hope (6 page)

As he spoke, Beckett came in with Murphy.

“I built a wall! Look. Me and Ryder built a wall.”

Liam frowned at it. “How’s it a wall when you can walk through. See.” He demonstrated.

“It’s a stud wall,” Harry said importantly.

Instantly, Liam’s face shifted into mutinous lines. “I wanna build a stud wall.”

“Next time.” Beckett collared him. “Watch yourself. Construction site rules.”

“I builded a platform. You can stand on it,” Murphy explained. “Now it’s lunch break, and we get pizza.”

He’d lost track of time, Ryder realized.

“I’m going to get them cleaned up,” Beckett said.

“And we get to play video games first. I got
three
dollars.” Liam waved the bills in the air.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryder reached for his wallet at Harry’s quiet look. “You earned it.”

“Thanks! Are you going to have lunch with us?”

“I’ll be over in a while. I’ve got a couple things to finish up.”

“Owen’s over at the new restaurant, running some things with Avery. He said twenty.”

“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. “I feel partially responsible for all these changes you’ve been through. Looking back, I realize I could have—and should have—handled things better than I did.”

Graciousness had its limits. She’d reached hers. “Do you mean sleeping with me, allowing me to believe we were in a long-term monogamous relationship, then announcing your engagement to someone else? Oh, and telling me of that someone else just after we’d had sex?” She took a sip of tea. “Yes, you should have handled that better.”

“If we’re honest, I never made promises.”

“No, you implied them, so that interpretation is on me. I accept it.” Under the shade of the umbrella, she studied him. Yes, he looked the same. Smooth, polished, confident. His confidence had once been so appealing to her. Now it struck as arrogance and appealed not at all.

“Is this why you came here, Jonathan? To settle accounts with me?”

“To, I hope, make it right.” Sincerity lived in his eyes as he laid a hand over hers. “We parted at odds, Hope, and that bothers me, a lot.”

“Don’t give it a thought.”

“I do, and I’m here to bridge that gap between us. And to offer you your position back. My father’s prepared to make you a very generous offer. As I said, Hope, you’re missed.”

Eyes level, she slid her hand away. “I have a position.”

“A very generous offer,” Jonathan repeated. “Back where we all know you belong. We’d like to schedule a meeting with you, at your convenience, to work out the details. You could come back, Hope, to Georgetown, to the Wickham, to your life. And, to me.”

He put his hand over hers again when she said nothing. “My marriage is what it is, and will continue to be. But you and I . . . I miss what we had. We can have it again. I’d take very good care of you.”

“You’d take care of me.” Each word dropped from her lips like a stone.

“You wouldn’t want for anything.”

He continued, oh, that confidence—proving he didn’t know her at all. And never had.

“You’d have the work that fulfills you, a home of your choosing. There’s a charming property on Q Street I know you’d love. I think we should take a short holiday before you resume your position so we can get reacquainted, so to speak.” He leaned toward her, intimately. “It’s been a long year, Hope, for both of us. I’ll take you anywhere you like. How about a week in Paris?”

“A week in Paris, a home in Georgetown. I’m assuming some spending money to furnish it, and to outfit myself, of course, for my return to the Wickham—and you.”

He lifted her hand to his lips—a habit she’d once loved—smiled at her over it. “As I said, I’ll take care of you.”

“And what does your wife think about
your
generous offer?”

“Don’t worry about Sheridan. We’ll be discreet, and she’ll adjust.” She watched him shrug marriage, vows, fidelity away in a smooth and careless gesture. “You can’t be happy here, Hope. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”

She took a moment, almost surprised she had room for the enormity of the insult. Then equally surprised her voice stayed calm and level when the insult clawed at her to shriek.

“Let me explain something to you. I’m responsible for my own happiness. I don’t need you, or your incredibly insulting—to me and your wife—offer. I don’t need your father or the Wickham. I have a life. Do you think I put that life on hold because you used me and discarded me?”

“I think you’re settling for less than you can have, less than you deserve. I apologize, sincerely, for hurting you, but—”

“Hurting me? You
freed
me.” She shoved to her feet. Calm and level were done. “You gave me a hell of a rude shove, you bastard, but you pushed me hard enough to make me reevaluate. I was settling, for you. Now this is my home.” She threw a hand up toward the porches—thought for a moment she saw a shadow of a woman. “A home I love, can be proud of. I have a community I enjoy, friends I treasure. Come back to you? To
you
when I have—”

She couldn’t say what made her do it. Impulse, unspeakable fury, pride. But she saw Ryder crossing the lot, and went with it.

“Him. Ryder!” She dashed through the arch of wisteria when he stopped, frowned at her. She imagined the smile on her face showed edges of insanity. She didn’t care.

“Go with me on this,” she muttered as she rushed to him, “and I’ll owe you big.”

“What—”

She threw her arms around him, pressed her lips to his as D.A. wagged and tried to nose between them to get in on the action. “Go with me,” she said against him mouth. “Please!”

She didn’t leave him a lot of room for otherwise as she was plastered against him like a second skin. So he went with her. He fisted his hand in her hair, and went.

She lost track of the point for a moment. He smelled of sawdust, tasted like candy. Hot, melted candy. A little unsteady on her feet, she pulled back.

“Just follow my lead.”

“Wasn’t I?”

“Ryder.” She took his hand in hers, squeezed it as she turned. “Ryder Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Jonathan Wickham. Jonathan’s family owns the hotel in Georgetown where I used to work.”

“Oh, yeah.” Okay, now he got it. Sure, he could play the part, no problem. He slid an arm around Hope’s waist, felt her tremble. “How’s it going?”

“Well, thank you.” Jonathan gave the dog a single cautious glance. “Hope was showing me around your inn.”

“It’s as much hers as ours. Your loss, right? Our gain.”

“Apparently.” His gaze skimmed over Ryder’s work clothes. “I take it you do the construction work yourself.”

“That’s right. We’re hands-on.” He grinned when he said it, tugged Hope a little closer. “Looking for a room?”

“No.” Annoyance sparked in Jonathan’s eyes even as he smiled—tightly. “Just visiting an old friend. It’s good to see you again, Hope. If you change your mind about the offer, you know how to reach me.”