the thought of Nate Green, late at night. Maybe not then. “Because I’m rubbish at that too. As Nate can attest.”
“You were fine,” Nate said, but he raised his glass to his mouth quickly so he couldn’t be pushed further.
“I was awful.” Carrie smiled at Cyb. “What about it? Want a new pupil? I saw you and Stan spinning round the floor like the next Strictly champs.”
“That would be lovely!” Cyb seemed a little too excited at the prospect of spending time with Carrie stamping on her feet, but Carrie wasn’t going to question it. Weddings always required dancing, and it was the one aspect of the whole affair she hadn’t managed to master yet.
“Great. As soon as we have some free time, then.” Although God only knew when that would be.
Stan bustled over to the table, Moira in tow. She had what seemed on the face of it to be an excellent suggestion. “Why don’t we all swap round after each game? That way Carrie and Nate will get to play with all sorts of people.”
“And my appalling playing won’t annoy anyone for the whole night,” Carrie translated with a smile. She got to her feet, and the wine made her head spin. “Sounds like a plan. Where are we next?”
Their next game was sitting with a retired vet and his ex-schoolteacher wife. “What you really need up here,” the vet said, dealing the cards, “is a petting zoo for the kids.”
Nate topped up Carrie’s glass as the vet’s wife added, “We were always looking for good local places to take the kids on trips. A petting zoo would be perfect.”
“I do still do some part-time work, you know, if you’re interested,” her husband added, and Carrie gulped at her wine.
After them came the retired doctors turned property developers. “What we’ve found,” the wife said, “is that any piece of property is worth a lot more if you just give it the right look.”
“What you want to do is go for clean, bright lines,” her husband said. “Maybe with some accent walls in jewel colours.”
Nate popped back to the bar for another bottle of white before the next game, and Carrie gave him her most grateful smile on his return.
Next was the widower architect, who wanted to know if she had plans for the gatehouse at the bottom of the drive. Then the head of the local fuchsia society. Carrie pushed the bottle of wine towards Nate for that conversation.
Finally, another couple had to leave early, and Carrie and Nate were able to bow out and return to their observation points at the bar.
“People have strong feelings about this place,” Nate said, putting the wine bottle back in the fridge. “I did warn you.”
“You did,” Carrie allowed, remembering that first night curled up on the sofa in his summerhouse. “I just didn’t expect...”
“They were a bit over the top.” Nate gazed out over the card tables. “But this was the first chance most of them have had to talk to you, since the dance night. And then you were too much of an unknown quantity for them to say what they really thought. You’d only been here a week.”
“Whereas now I’m fair game.” Carrie’s phone rang, and she groaned as she yanked it out of her pocket. “Uncle Patrick,” she said, slipping off her stool to take the call in the lobby.
“Carrie, good,” Uncle Patrick said, his voice booming from the handset. “I’ve had some thoughts about what we can do up at our inn...”
On the Thursday, Matt the builder showed up to start work in the bridal suite. He’d managed to score a deal with a heritage window firm who’d suffered a number of cancellations, and got them in quickly to measure up. They couldn’t do the whole building just yet, but Matt figured getting new windows in the most important rooms—dining room and bridal suite—would mean they could get on with finishing those rooms off, while they waited for suppliers, money, and cooperative schedules to combine into the right set of circumstances to do the others.
Matt, Nate had noticed, was looking less confident and enthusiastic with every day he spent at the inn. Still, business was slow all over. The people needed work. And the Avalon Inn needed an awful lot of workers. Perfect match.
Probably best to stay out of the way, all the same, lest Matt remember who’d got him into this in the first place.
Nate was knee deep in compost and bulbs when he spotted Carrie on the terrace. Figuring the daffodils could wait another half an hour, he shook off his boots and headed to the inn to check how things were going.
“I’m planting the spring beds, if you’re short of something to do,” he called as he got closer.
Carrie gave him a half-smile and a rather unenthusiastic wave. “I’m not much help with window fitting, but I suspect I wouldn’t be a lot better at gardening, either.”
Nate leaned against the wooden trellising and smiled up at her. “It’s not that hard. I could teach you.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to what I know, in this instance. Besides, I’ve got to go discuss kitchen requirements with Jacob. I’m not sure when Nancy had that kitchen put in...”
“Thirty years ago,” Nate answered. “Year I was born.” Nancy had tried to convince him it was ‘classic’ once when he’d laughed at it. She downgraded it to ‘retro’ when he’d just laughed harder.
“Which explains a lot,” Carrie said, scribbling something on her ever-present clipboard.
“About me, or the kitchen?”
“Both.” Carrie flashed him a smile that almost made him miss Nancy less.
“I’ve had an idea about the gardens,” Nate said, keen to get back to business. “Have you got a moment to come and see?”
Carrie looked apologetic but harried. “Sorry, but I really do need to go and see Jacob. And...” She paused, and Nate waited to see what she didn’t want to say. “Perhaps you should hold off making any big changes to the gardens until we’ve had a chance to discuss them,” she finished, eventually.
Nate tensed, bracing for impact. What the hell had happened now? “Why, exactly?”
“It’s just something Uncle Patrick said last night.” Carrie’s gaze flickered back to the inside of the inn, and Nate wished she hadn’t taken the damn call at all.
She hadn’t even come back to the bar afterwards, and he’d been looking forward to a nightcap with her once all the Seniors had gone. And he’d had all sorts of creative things to say about Mrs Evans from the fuchsia society. “What did he say?”
Carrie shrugged. “He just suggested there might be another way to raise some extra money for fixing the inn. Make better use of our assets, he said.”
Nate blinked, and put it together. “He wants to sell off my gardens.”
“Not
