fork from the drying rack beside the sink.
The pie tasted as good as it had earlier that evening, and Amelia’s thoughts drifted back to the man who’d shared her table in the dining room.
She’d only ever had one boyfriend in her life and to say that Sam Blackstone was his exact opposite was stating the absolute truth.
Her thoughts shifted to Edward. She wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. He’d been her boyfriend, then her fiancé and then her ex-fiancé and then her friend. He’d said he’d wait for her, but as time passed, their relationship had grown more and more distant.
Amelia took another bite of the pie and sighed softly. Edward Ardmore Reed the Third. Heir to an old and very successful Boston banking dynasty. He’d been the only man she’d ever loved. At least she’d thought she’d loved him. But he’d been her parents’ choice from a very early age. She hadn’t even dated anyone else. And when she’d broken from her parents’ control, she’d ended her engagement, as well.
In her anger and frustration, she’d thrown him in with her parents, certain that he’d try to control her life the moment her parents signed her over to him. He’d always been good to her, but Amelia wanted more.
They’d stayed in touch over the past year and Amelia knew that he hadn’t given up hope she’d come to her senses. But though there was affection between them, there had never been any heat or passion.
“Can’t sleep?”
The sound of his voice startled her and she spun around to find Sam watching her from the shadows. Her heart skipped a beat, then began pounding in earnest. “I—I didn’t see you there.” Amelia looked around, embarrassed to be caught raiding the kitchen. “I’m sorry. I’m a late-night snacker. I can’t sleep if I’m hungry.”
“It’s all right,” he said, stepping forward. “If you need anything, you just have to call.”
He was dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts that were slung low on his hips. His chest was bare, as were his feet. A tiny shiver skittered through her and her fingers twitched, eager to trace the muscles of his chest. “Would you like some?” Amelia asked.
“Sure.”
He pulled out a stool and sat at the island. “It’s been kind of a crazy day,” he murmured as he watched Amelia cut into the pie.
“Pretty crazy,” she repeated. “Not the typical day in the life of an innkeeper.”
“It’s an exciting life,” he muttered, a sarcastic edge in his voice. “Just what a guy like me always dreamed about.”
“You didn’t want to be an innkeeper?”
Sam took a bite of the pie. “Maybe at some point in my life. But not at twenty-five. To be tied down to one place for the rest of my life is kind of a daunting prospect.”
“Can’t you sell the inn?”
He shook his head. “This is a family business. It’s passed down from generation to generation, from the first son to the first son. And I got lucky. If I’d been the second son of the second son, I could have been an architect. Building great buildings instead of fixing leaky pipes.”
“You have Sarah to help you.”
“She stays out of guilt.”
“Why?”
“The tradition is that the inn is passed along in a person’s later years, almost like a job for retirement. I got it about thirty years early because my father and stepmother wanted out.”
“What about your mother?”
“They divorced when I was ten,” he said. “My mother never wanted the whole inn-keeping life. It’s a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. The demands never go away.” He sighed deeply, then rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. Hell, I have a job and it’s not like I’m digging ditches for a living.” Sam pushed back from the counter. “I’m just going to leave you to your pie.”
“Don’t,” she said, reaching out to grab his hand. “I like the company.”
“The grumpy company?”
“You’re not grumpy.” She smiled. “Well, maybe a little bit. But that’s what the pie is for. Pie always brightens one’s spirits. Look at that cabinet over there. It’s quite a wonderful piece. A Colonial-era pie safe.”
“You’ve been examining our antiques?”
“I can’t help myself,” Amelia said. “It’s what I do. And I can tell you that I wish I had that pie safe in our collection. It’s gorgeous.”
“It was a wedding present from my seventh great-grandfather to his new wife. There’s an inscription carved in the back.”
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Do you have more? I’d love to go through the inn and see everything you have. Especially in the attic.”
“I’ll take you on a private tour,” he said.
“I’d like that,” she said. Amelia looked and realized they’d made a big dent in the pie. “I think I’d come back here just for the pie.”
“It’s an authentic Colonial recipe,” he said. “Right down to the lard. My sister believes that if you’re going to stay in an eighteenth-century inn, you need to be prepared to eat like they did then.”
“I admire that you’ve dedicated yourselves to authenticity. It’s honest and pure.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Amelia finally broke her gaze away from his and stood, placing her hands flat on the counter. “I should go to bed.”
“When are you going back to Boston?” he asked.
“When my bed is packed in the trailer,” she teased. “Do you want to get rid of me? That’s how you can do it. Pack it up and I’ll be out of here.”
“No, I don’t want to get rid of you,” he said with a grin. “I’m starting to like having you around. You make things interesting.” Sam reached out and took her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you up to your room.”
They strolled through the dining room and the keeping room, the old plank floors creaking beneath their feet. When they reached the second floor, she had to walk ahead of him through the narrow hallway. They stood in front of her door for a long moment and Amelia noticed how dark it was in the hallway—how private, intimate.
He placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. “It’s been an interesting day,” he murmured, his gaze scanning her features in the dim light.
“Yes, it has,” Amelia said.
“Kind of a change of pace for me.”
“Really?”
Sam nodded. “You’re the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” His gaze moved to her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he
