"Maybe you should just do it yourself," she said. "Screw the big corporate mentality and follow your grandfather's footsteps and do your own hotel."
"Great-grandfather, and it's a little more complicated than simply jumping in. But I appreciate the sentiment."
She scrunched up her mouth as if she was about to argue, then blew out a loud breath. "Okay, I suppose it would be. But how am I supposed to help?"
She'd finished eating, so he reached over and collected her trash, then tossed it with his in a trashcan at the end of their table. "Wanna walk? I'll explain while we window shop."
They were on the south end of the SoCo shopping area, which consisted of a stretch of South Congress Avenue about a mile past the river. Now they started walking north along the wide, charming street lined with funky shops. Everything from costumes to candy to original art to cowboy boots. On the horizon, the Capitol building loomed across the river. A long walk, but doable if someone was motivated.
Today, Derek wasn't. He only wanted to stroll lazily with Amanda, sharing his story and talking about whatever else came to mind.
"Okay, so tell me," she urged.
"The owners have run the place since they were in their twenties," he began. "And they're both in their seventies now."
"Any kids?"
"Nope."
She paused, and for a moment, he thought she was looking at the cute cat photos in the shop window. "I think you're wrong. No human kids, maybe, but after that much time, that motel is their baby."
"I know. That's the problem."
"What did you do? Offer them more money?"
"And we explained the concept of the boutique."
"Hmm. They still said no?"
He nodded, even though the question was obviously rhetorical.
"The thing is, they don't know if this is Mary Poppins or The Hand that Rocks The Cradle."
"Huh?"
"Okay, maybe not the best way of putting it, but in one, the nanny swoops in and makes everything magical and awesome. In the other, she comes in and people fall over dead. How do they know which one you are? Have you seen Cradle? Rebecca De Mornay sounds all sane and normal and awesome, but she turns out to be a basket case."
"I'll have to watch it," he said dryly as they began walking again. "But how does this apply to me?"
"Take them something concrete. I know a woman who does business remodels. She's helped on some of my properties that need a little work before we put them on the market. She could draw something up, maybe. Or walk through with the owners and tell them what you have in mind. That might be better." Her tone was musing, as if she was considering all the possibilities as they strolled. "More personal, you know."
He pulled her to a stop beside him. "You'd do that?"
"Sure."
"That would be fabulous," he said, and not just because he could use the help on the deal. No, the truth was he liked the idea that their lives were intertwining more and more. She'd snuck up on him, no doubt about that. And he still wasn't sure where they were going. But he was damn sure enjoying the journey.
"Her name's Brooke Hamlin. Do you want me to set up a meeting?"
"Yes," he said, then stole a quick kiss before she could protest that they were in public. "That would be great."
* * *
"Amanda!" Brooke Hamlin flashed a picture-perfect grin and ushered Amanda and Derek into the recently remodeled detached office that dominated her tiny backyard. Tall and curvy, with blonde hair at least two shades darker than Amanda's, Brooke was the kind of woman who could easily appear on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.
Today, her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, she had a streak of paint on her cheek, and she wore paint-splattered jeans and a SXSW tank top.
"Thanks so much for squeezing us in," Amanda said. "This is Derek Winston."