just going to leave your check-in to Sam. He’ll get you a room. Dinner is at six. There’s a menu in your room. Just call down with your choices before five.”
“Sarah is a great cook,” Sam said.
Amelia regarded Sam suspiciously. “You don’t get anywhere near the food, do you?”
“Do you think I’m going to spit in it?” he asked.
“No, of course not. I was more worried about poison.”
Sarah laughed again as she headed toward the kitchen. Sam waited until the door swung shut behind her, then turned and stepped behind the front desk. “You’d like to spend the night?”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said. “Do you have a problem with me taking a room?”
“Not at all,” he said. “Everyone is welcome here.”
“Are you busy?”
“We have just six guests tonight, so we can give you our full attention.”
“Good,” she said. Amelia pulled her wallet from her purse and grabbed her business credit card, placing it on the counter between them. “I’d like to see the inn and choose a room for myself. Would you give me a tour?”
He glanced up, as if surprised by her request. “Sure. Why don’t we leave your bag here? The rooms in the oldest part of the inn are smaller, but many of them contain original Federal furnishings.”
“That sounds perfect,” Amelia said.
He followed her up the stairs and she couldn’t help but wonder what he was looking at as they climbed to the second story. All the doors were open and she strolled down the narrow hall, peeking inside each room.
The drapery and upholstery fabrics were a bit timeworn and faded, but very well chosen. Beautiful Federal-era beds dominated each room, the canopies reaching the high ceilings. Comfortable wing chairs sat in front of the small fireplaces and each room contained a small writing desk and a pair of bedside tables with oil lamps.
“We have electric lamps,” he said, “but a lot of our guests enjoy the true Colonial experience. I can switch the lamps out if you like.”
“No, I love antique lamps.” When they reached the corner room at the end of the hall, Amelia paused before entering the room. “This is nice.”
“There are shared bathrooms in this part of the inn,” he said. “The new rooms are en suite.”
“The shared bath is fine,” Amelia said. “I’m only here for a night.” She walked into the room and nodded. “Yes, I’ll stay here.”
“Funny,” Sam said. “This is the George Washington bedroom. The bed that you want to steal used to be in this room. George Washington slept right here.”
Sam smiled—the first true smile he’d given her—and it was dazzling. Her pulse began to beat faster and she felt a bit light-headed.
“I’ll just go get your bag,” he said and left the room.
Once the door shut behind him Amelia let out a tightly held breath. She sank down onto the edge of the bed and folded her hands on her lap. Until this moment she hadn’t realized the energy it took to maintain a calm and composed nature when he was standing next to her.
There was a current of anticipation that pulsed inside her, like an electrical current that threatened to spark and ignite if he touched her...or kissed her. Amelia groaned softly and pressed her fingertips to her lips.
Maybe that’s why she’d decided to stay. To see if he’d kiss her. As he’d led her through the rooms, she’d caught his gaze lingering on her mouth, as if he were thinking about it. Or was that all just in her imagination? Emotions ran so high between them it was hard to tell what it all meant.
And if they did succumb to curiosity or desire or passion, what then? It would only complicate an already tangled relationship. Maybe it was a mistake to stay, Amelia mused. She was only tempting fate. But, oh, what a fate...
“What are you thinking?” Amelia flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the coffered ceiling. “Stop all these silly fantasies.”
A knock sounded on her room door and she jumped to her feet, smoothing her hair as she walked to the door. Sam was waiting on the other side with her bag. He held it out to her. “Dinner is at six. The menu is on that table over there. Just call down to the kitchen and let Sarah know what you’d like.”
“Thank you,” she said. But he didn’t leave. Should she give him a tip? Maybe that’s what he was waiting for. Amelia grabbed her purse and took a step toward him. Sam took a step back.
“Well, I’ll see you at dinner, then,” Sam said and closed the door.
Amelia stepped up to it, pressing her forehead against the cool, painted wood.
* * *
“IS SHE OUT THERE?” Sam asked. He peered through the small window of the kitchen door but he couldn’t see the entire dining room from his viewpoint. “What did she order?”
“Fillet of beef, potatoes Anna and the house salad with Gorgonzola. She’s also put away two glasses of our best red wine and six slices of bread with butter. Would you like me to go out and get her pulse and temperature for you?”
“She’s not a vegetarian, that’s good.”
“Good for what?” Sarah asked.
Sam shook his head and turned away from the door. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”
Sarah slid a pie pan across the kitchen island. “Why don’t you take her some dessert? There’s ice cream in the freezer and whipped cream in the fridge. If she wants coffee, you know how to make it. And you can take care of the dishes tonight. I’ve got Pilates class.” Sarah walked out, leaving him alone in the kitchen.
He’d been searching for an opportunity to speak to Amelia again since her arrival at the inn. He’d been tempted to check on her during the afternoon but hadn’t wanted to appear as if he were hovering.
Millhaven was a small town and it was almost impossible for him to have a social life. Sam knew almost everyone in the village who was single and around his own age. Since he’d come back to the inn four years ago he’d gone from an unrepentant skirt-chaser as a college undergrad to Mr. Responsible. He wasn’t even sure if he remembered how to flirt.
And he’d need to be at the top of his game for Amelia Sheffield. He sensed that it would take a lot more than prompt service and homemade desserts to break through her icy façade. She probably expected to be entertained with witty chitchat or intrigued by important conversation about art or current events. But Sam had never been comfortable at cocktail parties. His charm was more homegrown, rising out of the humor of the moment. Then again, they weren’t at a cocktail party. They were in his inn. His territory.
He placed the pie, plates and forks, and the can of whipped cream on a tray, then carried it out into the dining room. When Amelia saw him, her gaze followed his path as he wove through the dining room tables to where she sat.
Though
