Lowering his camera, he turned back to her, studying her face as he leaned one shoulder against an oak tree trunk in a casually comfortable pose that suited his easy tone. “The inn was closed during most of your childhood, wasn’t it? Do you remember it being open to guests?”
She glanced toward the back of the inn. A row of wooden rockers lined the long back porch. Only the honeymooners sat there now, rocking, sipping tea, chatting and watching Kinley give the tour. She could almost picture her younger self and her late mom sitting there rocking and drinking lemonade and enjoying the sounds of a lazy summer afternoon while Logan tagged behind Leo doing maintenance chores and Bonnie played innkeeper with her dolls. The image was bittersweet, making her smile even as her heart ached with missing her mother.
“I was eleven when my great-uncle closed the place after my great-aunt died, so I have some vague recollections of it being open to guests.”
“Do you remember your great-aunt well?”
“Yes. She was a very sweet woman. Uncle Leo adored her. He never fully recovered from losing her, though he led a quiet, comfortable life here after she died. He always seemed to enjoy our visits. He and our mother—his only niece—were close, and he was very fond of us. He and Aunt Helen never had children of their own, so he sort of claimed our mom as his honorary daughter and us as surrogate grandchildren.”
“Does your mother still spend time with you here?”
“We lost our mother three years ago, a little less than a year before Uncle Leo died. She was only fifty-eight. It was very unexpected.” She had tried to speak matter-of-factly, but she suspected he heard the faint catch of grief in her voice. She was still feeling a bit misty about that mental image of her mother on the porch.
The quick look of distress in his blue eyes let her know that he had, indeed, heard her pain. He reached out automatically to lay a hand on her shoulder, his palm warm and comforting through the thin fabric of her spring clothing. “I’m sorry, Kinley. I didn’t realize—”
With a hard swallow, she shook her head. “Thank-you. I guess I thought you already knew, for some reason.”
“No.”
She bent a bit too nonchalantly to gently brush a grasshopper off one leg of her slacks, which served the purpose of dislodging Dan’s hand from her shoulder. She found it difficult to think clearly and professionally with him touching her that way. Not that she minded, exactly, but better to choose prudence than to let an unguarded moment get away from her.
He shifted obligingly away from her, putting a more comfortable distance between. “Is your father still living?”
Nodding, she straightened, tucking her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “Dad’s somewhat of a restless spirit. He and Mom divorced when I was seven and he’s traveled a lot since, all around the globe. We see him once a year or so and he calls a couple times a month. He has zero interest in being tied down to any one place, such as running an inn.”
She and her siblings had long since acknowledged that their father was never going to change, and had learned to accept their relationship with him for what it was. Cordial, but distant. Disappointing, of course. She was certain that Logan had resented not having his father in his life, though he kept those feelings to himself for the most part, and she thought Bonnie had bonded so closely with Uncle Leo partially to fill that void. As for herself, she’d wondered occasionally if her unsatisfactory connection with her dad had anything to do with her poor choices regarding her unsuccessful marriage, but she didn’t let herself dwell on that too often. Now was certainly not the time to do so, she reminded herself, focusing instead on the conversation with Dan.
“None of his kids inherited his wanderlust?”
“I suppose not, though I enjoy taking vacations occasionally. Moving from Tennessee to Virginia to take over the inn was a big adventure for us,” she added with a wry laugh.
He fidgeted with his camera. “I guess I have something in common with your dad. I tend to get restless in one place, myself.”
She told herself she wasn’t disappointed to hear that. Why would she be? Keeping her expression politely interested, she said, “I suppose that’s why you chose to be a travel writer.”
He grinned. “Well, that—and the fact that my cousin is the managing editor for the magazine. Like you, I can credit family connections for my current career.”
Her eyes narrowed. He’d spoken teasingly, but she couldn’t entirely help getting a bit defensive. “We may have gotten our jobs because of family connections, but we are successful at them because of hard work and training,” she said, not quite achieving the light tone she attempted.
He seemed to realize his lame joke had fallen flat. “It’s obvious that you work extremely hard here. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
She nodded somewhat stiffly.
Dan made a slow circle to study the grounds. “You’ve done a great job renovating the place. I can picture it looking very much like this back in the mid-1900s.”
He was trying so earnestly to make up for his gaffe that she couldn’t help softening a little. “That’s the goal. It’s an ongoing project, of course, but we’re pleased with the progress we’ve made so far. Let me show you our wedding facilities now.”
Shifting his camera to his other hand, he nodded with what might have been relief. “I’d like that.”
She backtracked to the deck, explaining that the wedding parties exited the inn through the back door, then descended the right-side stairs which led directly onto the wide, pebbled path to the Queen Anne gazebo. On wedding days, white folding chairs were arranged on either side of the path, forming a central aisle to the gazebo where the officiate would be waiting. Though subject to individual brides’ tastes, the decorations generally included garland, candles, flowers, tulle or fairy lights, she added. She didn’t mention that the Sossaman wedding would probably feature all the above and then some.
Dan nodded. “Nice setup.”
“We’ve had some beautiful weddings here since we reopened. And quite a few more booked in coming months.” She tried to keep her tone more informative than boastful, but suspected a little of the latter might have crept in. She couldn’t help being proud of how much she and her siblings had accomplished in the past two and a half years. “We have several wedding packages available, from full-service with wedding planner, florist, caterer, music and officiate included or customized to the client’s specifications. The side lawn will accommodate a large tent that will seat up to 150 guests for a wedding meal. We can even provide chandeliers and an orchestra dais for the tent.”
Dan glanced in the direction she’d indicated toward the corner of manicured side lawn visible from where they stood, accessible by three stone steps and a wheelchair ramp. “Did your uncle leave the place in this condition? Eighteen years after closing?”
She grimaced instinctively, but quickly smoothed her expression into a bland smile. “He kept up the basic maintenance, but the decor and gardens had always been Aunt Helen’s department.”