The Perfect Hope Part 16

"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 h.e.l.l. "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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+ft 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 fl.u.s.tered.

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 gla.s.s 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 a.s.sume 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 relations.h.i.+p, then announcing your engagement to someone else? Oh, and telling me of that someone else just after we'd had s.e.x?" 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."