“Good, because I’m about to lose my breakfast.”
Gravel crunched under the truck’s tires until Tom pulled to a stop.
Jorie led Hilary by the arm after they were out of the truck.
“Just another minute,” Jorie said.
Hilary took baby steps. She didn’t entirely trust Jorie not to lead her into something, not out of maliciousness but because Jorie’s attention was always pulled in a million different directions. She missed things.
“Going up steps. Let’s take it slow,” said Jorie.
The hollow thud of wooden steps was a giveaway. They were at the Robillaud house. She recognized the fresh wood smell when they walked through the front door.
“Can I take this off yet?”
“A few more steps.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell Jorie she knew where they were. She got so uptight about the littlest things sometimes.
Jorie tugged on her arm. “Okay. Stay here. I need to do one thing.”
There was the sound of blinds being opened.
“I think we’re ready.”
Hilary slipped off the bandana.
Confusion clouded her reaction.
Hilary oriented herself by looking out the living room window for the road. That was how foreign her surroundings seemed at the moment. What threw her off the most was the furniture in front of her. The futon and oak entertainment she and Will bought together after their wedding, their first big purchase together, sat in this newly painted room instead of the farmhouse she shared with Cal, Jorie, Tom, and sweet little Hattie. There was other furniture she didn’t recognize set in groupings for easy conversation and games or something else guests might want to do in a spacious common area of an inn.
Speechless, Hilary walked into the kitchen, now fitted with the dark wood cabinets, white tile floor, and a cherry red Aga stove she and Jorie decided on months ago.
“I decided to have the contractors just take the walls down to the studs and put in drywall here. I figured there was no sense in getting a brand-new kitchen without getting brand-new walls.”
Hilary turned a complete circle, taking in the gorgeous kitchen. Gone were the plaster walls she’d diligently stripped of wallpaper layers and painted last fall. What was the point of all the work if Jorie already secured money for these major renovations?
“I don’t even… I have no words.” Hilary looked around, thinking the mirage would clear and the half-finished house with exposed lathe walls and worn woodwork would appear again.
“Isn’t it amazing? Tell me you love it.”
“Didn’t we decidenotto put up new drywall because of costs?”
Jorie shrugged. “Tom and I scraped a little more money together. Plus, the drywall guy gave me a great quote once I told him the extent of the project. It was much lower than I thought it would be.”
All Hilary heard was “I.” This was Jorie’s project, not theirs.
“I thought this would take months to finish,” Hilary said in a measured tone. She rubbed her neck, feeling the heat of shock and frustration there. “I thought we were working on this together.”
There were even utensils in a salt-glazed crock on the counter, cordless blinds installed over the new nine-paned window above the sink. Braided rugs, placemats, and a shiny chrome-and-black espresso machine on a rolling metal cart too. The inn looked ready to host their first guest that night.
Jorie leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. She looked at the floor, taking her time to answer.
“Honestly, I didn’t want to wait anymore. And we did do it together. I just hastened the process.”
“This was a huge thing to keep from me, Jorie.”
Jorie’s expression turned sympathetic. “I thought you were losing interest. You haven’t been over here in months. I figured if I got it up and running, you might get excited about it again.”
