I smile at him. “They got back together. Kept it.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It is. I’m happy for them.”
“I’m happy for you,” he says. “That you’ve found your way.”
“Have you? Found your way?”
“I’ve stepped out onto a ledge. Let go of my paranoia about needing my hand in every pot at work. Tried to be a bit more courageous. Trust myself more.”
“That’s why you bought the inn.”
He smiles. “That’s why I bought the inn. Can I show it to you?”
“I’d love that.”
A soft rain begins to fall as we walk back to the village. We follow a narrow country road up a hill until we reach a beautiful Georgian-era limestone manor on a bluff with sweeping views out to sea.
It doesn’t look as dilapidated as Pear and Prue implied. You can see the age and wear, the life the place has lived. But it’s beautiful.
“This is unbelievable,” I say.
“You think?”
“I love it. Show me everything.”
He leads me inside the front doors into a lobby that looks more like the great room of a country lord’s house than a hotel. Which makes sense, given the place’s origins. From there he shows me the restaurant—already renovated into a beautiful, clubby room. We walk up the grand staircase to the third floor—which has been finished, unlike the second, which is still under construction.
“Where are you staying, if there’s no furniture?” I ask him.
“I’ll show you.”
He takes me to an apartment at the far west of the building, above the pub.
“My flat,” he says, opening the door to a lovely sitting room with a view of the ocean. “Sisters?” he calls out. “Hope and I are here.”
No one answers.
He looks confused, then takes out his phone. A smile breaks across his face.
“They’ve gone back to London,” he says. “Apparently they have a crisis with the so-called Maynards deal.”
“So-called?”
“It’s obviously a ruse. They wanted to give us privacy.”
“Do we need privacy?” I ask.
“I hope so,” he says.
He pulls me into his arms.
I put my hands around his waist.
We stand that way for a long time.
“Let’s have a summer romance, Hope,” he says. “Properly, this time.”
