He feigned disappointment.
And Sarah feigned not having delirious butterflies winging about inside her at the prospect of getting to know Shane Peters better.
“THIS…” HEATH’S TOUR guide said with a flourish, “is our world-famous Tennessee Williams Suite. He dropped in himself to give it his official seal of approval.”
“I thought you’d only been in business five years?”
“True.”
“But he died, like, in the early eighties.”
“Your point?” She asked the question with a straight face, but crinkles at the corners of her pretty eyes told him she knew she was full of bologna.
“I stand corrected.” He also stood in awe. He’d never noticed decor one way or the other before. Don’t get him wrong—he appreciated a comfy sofa the same as the next guy, but whether that sofa was red, yellow or purple didn’t make a difference. This room, however—make that the entire inn—proved to him that Sadie wasn’t only a great cook and gardener but an interior designer, too. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do? “You must’ve meant that Mr. Williams’s ghost gave the room his endorsement.”
“Yes. That’s absolutely what I meant.” She made no effort to hide her grin, for which—as cute as it was—he was appreciative.
The suite had been done in a New Orleans French Quarter theme, with plenty of deep red velvet and a black wrought-iron bed. The combo sounded risqué, but Sadie had made it work, right down to the gold satin tassels on the drapes.
“Do you put a lot of couples in here?”
“Why do you ask?” she teased. “Find it steamy—just like the city?”
“A wee bit.” Reddening, he fanned the neck of the white St. Louis Cardinals T-shirt he’d donned for the tour. “What’s our next stop?”
“Well,” Sarah said, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door. “You’ve now seen the whole place. What do you think?”
“Pretty sweet. I’m still in awe that you did all of this yourself.”
“My parents helped when they had time—and my sister, Sarah. She’s awesome. Very handy with a hammer, nails and paintbrush.”
“She older or younger?”
“Younger, but not by much. How ’bout you?” she asked, leading him down the back staircase. “Have any brothers or sisters?”
“One slightly older brother. And when we were little, he lorded it over me.”
“I know the feeling.” Glancing over her shoulder, she shared a laugh with him, and in that moment something about her smile, her bright eyes, gave him the keenest craving to kiss her. Yes, it was bad for business, as his brother had said, but seeing how the woman need never know of the switch or the review, would just one kiss hurt?
His conscience said yes.
The part of him that was eyeing her sweet derriere screamed for him to go for it.
“There you are,” a sixty-something bottled redhead said from the bottom of the stairs. Not that he was a hair-color expert any more than he was an interior designer, but the orange-pink glow kind of gave it away. “Where’ve you been? If you plan on serving anything beyond peanut butter and jelly for dinner, girl, you’d best be movin’ along.” The woman’s all-white chef’s garb, combined with an ample figure, called to mind the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. But then, he didn’t have a middle-European accent, did he? Did he even speak at all?
“Sorry,” Sarah said. “I lost track of time.”
“Easily done with a good-looking man by your side. Introduce me.”
Heath tried to ignore their proximity in the cramped hall outside the kitchen.
“Helga,” Sarah began, “meet Shane Peters. He’s the current resident of the Mark Twain Suite.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance,” the older woman said, oddly rubbing the center of her forehead. “Are you alone here at the inn?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Then it’s a good thing our Sadie has been keeping you company.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Helga!” Sarah protested. “That’s completely out of line.”
“What?” the woman complained. “My all-seeing eye says the two of you may make a good couple. It never lies, you know.”
“You can’t just go around asking men questions like that,” said Sarah. “And, Shane, just to let you into the loop, Helga comes from a long line of Gypsies.”
“Not just Gypsies,” Helga corrected. “True visionaries who hold the power to see deep into the future. Therefore it is my obligation to tell a man and a woman whether or not they would be suited for marriage.”
“M-marriage?” Sarah sputtered. “Helga, stop this right now.”
“It’s all right,” Heath said, fighting to hold back a laugh. “As a matter of fact,” he said to the older woman, “in answer to your prior question, yes, I am very much single. But what about Sadie here? Seems like I read somewhere that she’s engaged.”
Chapter Three
It took Sarah a good five seconds after Shane Peters had asked the question to remember to breathe. What should she say? Yes, Sadie was very much engaged, but if she said so, there went her opportunity to get better acquainted with a seriously cool guy. Then again, beyond casual conversation, she wasn’t supposed to fraternize with the guests. If she admitted that her sister was engaged, then that gave her a noble “out” to keep things on a strictly professional level, instead of pulling him in for a forbidden kiss.
Something her guilty conscience had been contemplating for at least the past fifteen minutes!
“She was getting married,” Helga said, “but that boy turned out to be no good. I say, Sarah—I mean, Sadie—forgive me, I’m all the time getting them confused. I say, that boy, he’s no good for you. You must break up right away. My eye sees all.”
Nodding, Heath said, “Sounds like sage advice.”
“Oh, it was,” Helga said with a firm nod. “Now you two go drink some lemonade—or whatever it is you do these days.”
“Helga!” Sarah’s cheeks flamed.
The cook, who was like a second mom to her sister, waved off Sarah’s concern. “I thought you were loafing, which is why I asked for help. But if you have romance, then I say focus on that.”
“Helga!”
“Thank
