too, huh? Eloise told me several islanders are working to renovate the lighthouse. And I read about the jam session in that Greta woman’s column. That should be a challenge, from what I hear—raising funds for renovation.”
He entered the room, ran his gaze over the pale cream painted walls and the feminine wallpaper border that depicted shoes, hats and purses from the turn of the century. Then he turned to her.
“I like a good challenge.”
“Well, then, you’ll love the job I have for you,” she replied, her nerves stretching as tight as the rigging on a sail. “I hope…I think I have everything in order.” With a wave of her hand, she strolled around the empty rooms. “As you can see, the walls and floors are done. And I’ve ordered some armoires and side-buffets for displays. They should be here any day now. The major appliances are all brand-new and industrial size—those will be installed this week. Mainly, I need you to take a look at the kitchen cabinets and tell me if they can be salvaged. And I’d like you to maybe redo the walk-in pantry and build some functional shelves in the kitchen, too.”
Rock stood listening, his gaze once again moving over the central hallway and two long open rooms on each side of the front of the house. “The original parlor and dining room—this will be the restaurant area?”
“Yes, diners will be seated in both rooms, but our artwork and other wares will be displayed on the walls and all around the dining tables. Then we have a room in the back for private parties, which will also display a collection of antiques and art. The cash register will be here in the vestibule by the front door. I found an antique counter in an old drugstore in Savannah. It’s being shipped.” She pointed to an open door off the rear of the hallway. “And I have a small office right across from the kitchen. There’s a bathroom back there, too.”
He nodded, made notes on a small pad. “You seem to like the Victorian era.”
“I do,” she said, grinning. “I’ve always loved old things, all periods of history. Maybe because I read a lot growing up—stories of long ago, all about valor and romance.”
“Oh?” He stopped writing and glanced up at her. “I’d figure you’d have been too busy chasing off boys who wanted their own valor and romance, to sit around reading books.”
Blushing, Ana shook her head. “My sister got all the boys. I got my romantic ideas from books.”
He stopped scribbling to stare at her. “I reckon you do look like a Jane Austen kind of girl—all Sense and Sensibility.”
Unsure if that was a compliment, Ana replied, “I’m a little old-fashioned and sensible, but I try not to live in the past.”
“‘The tender grace of a day that is dead…will never come back to me.”’
Stunned, Ana shrugged. It was as if Rock had hit on her deepest, most bittersweet memories with the precision of cupid’s arrow. “That’s…very melancholy.”
“Alfred, Lord Tennyson,” Rock explained. “This house has a tender grace. Maybe it will bring you a little romance…and some comfort.”
Comfort? Was that what she’d been seeking all her life? Ana pushed at the dark memories blocking out the rays of hope in her mind. “Romance I doubt. But I guess I could use some comfort. Anyway, I love this house. And I’m thrilled to be here on the island. We used to vacation here with my parents. I fell in love with Sunset Island and I’ve always wanted to come back.”
“You came from Savannah?”
“Yes. We lived out from Savannah, near Fort Stewart. My parents still live there in a house on the Canoochee River. Tara—that’s my sister—and I attended college at Savannah State.” She stopped, took a breath. “I was a senior when she was a freshman. She got married a year later and never finished college. After I graduated, I moved to Savannah to work in the art gallery.” She lowered her eyes, stared at an aged spot in the floor, memories as rich as the lacquer on the wood coloring her mind. “Anyway, now I’m here. I’m moving forward, even if I do like things from the past.”
Ana quieted, thinking she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself of this. And maybe she was. She still had hurtful memories from her college days, memories that had colored her whole adult life and her rocky relationship with her younger sister. But she was determined to make a new start, with both her life and her sister.
“The past can be good,” Rock said, his keen eyes sweeping over her face. “As long as we keep it in perspective.”
“Oh, I keep it in perspective, all right. I don’t want to ever go back there.”
“Bad memories?”
Ana looked up at him, saw the sincere curiosity in his beautiful eyes. “Some.” Lots. But she wasn’t about to tell him any of that. She ruffled her hair with her hand. “Do you want to see the kitchen?”
“Sure.”
She started toward the back of the house, heard him behind her, then willed her heart and her head to stay calm. Ana reminded herself that she’d given her heart to a man once, only to have it returned bruised and battered.
She would never make that mistake again. Even if this handsome preacher named Rock did cause her to think of romantic things like strolling on the beach at sunset and intimate dinners by candlelight.
Ana would stick to her art, her cooking and her books. Those were safe, tangible things.
Love wasn’t safe. That “tender grace,” as Rock had quoted, would never come back to her again. She was all business now. And all on her own.
If only Rock Dempsey’s eyes would stop looking at her with that anything-but-business gaze.
This woman meant business.
Rock had measured, suggested, tested, rearranged, gauged and decided on what could be done for the beautiful old cabinets in the long, sunny kitchen. A good stripping of old paint, some new hardware and a lot of wood restorer and varnish would make them shine like new. That part had been easy.
But testing and gauging Ana Hanson—ah, therein lay the challenge of this assignment.
She had been hurt somewhere in the past. Maybe during her childhood, maybe during her college years. But something had left her unsure and unsteady, even if she did try to present a calm, capable facade to the world.
Rock had no doubt she was capable. She seemed as intent on making her tea room a popular tourist attraction as his mother did on creating intriguing artifacts from rocks and stones. That ability to focus should serve as a warning to Rock. Ana held many of the traits he’d seen too many times in his mother—that tendency to shut everything out, that need to finish the work, create the next sculpture piece, or, in Ana’s case, create a haven for fine art and good food.
There was nothing wrong with that. But Rock wondered if Ana was pouring all of her strength into this new venture because she was running from the past. Running from herself, just as his mother had done most of her life.
Turning to see where she’d flittered off to this time, Rock found Ana standing on a footstool wiping one of the big bay windows in the front parlor. He almost called out to her, but then the way the last of the sun’s rays were gleaming all around her from the open west window on the other side
