Only when they’d ordered and their food had been served did Kinley get around to asking something she’d probably been wondering all morning. “So how did you end up arriving here a day early?”
He chuckled. “Long story. Short version is, I drove up from Atlanta to Charlotte yesterday expecting to spend at least part of today interviewing a museum curator in Charlotte. That interview fell through at the last minute. I woke up in a particularly uncomfortable motel bed at five this morning and decided on impulse to make the drive to the inn. As I said earlier, I figured I’d either spend an extra night at the inn or find a room nearby until my scheduled arrival time. I’m glad you had a room for me. The bed looks a heck of a lot more comfortable than the one I tried to sleep in last night.”
“I hope it wi
ll be.” As if she were suddenly a bit too warm, she pushed up her sleeves. “If there’s anything at all you need to make your stay more pleasant, please let us know.”
“You’re certainly making it very pleasant so far,” he said, unable to resist adding a smile just a touch too personal to be considered strictly business. Maybe she already sensed he was attracted to her. Was it strictly wishful thinking on his part that she was aware of him in that way, too?
His instincts were usually pretty good in that regard, but Kinley was a bit hard to read. She was so intensely, almost amusingly, focused on presenting a positive spin for his article. And even though he told himself to follow her lead and keep his own feelings reined in, there was just something about her that tempted him to forget he was with her only on assignment for his job.
“Congratulations on your new wedding booking, by the way.” He could still easily picture the jubilant, unself-conscious smile she’d exchanged with her sister when she’d closed the door behind the future wedding party, before she had realized he was there to see her. He’d like to see that carefree side of her again.
“Thank you.” Setting down her tea glass, she picked up her soup spoon. “Are there any other questions I can answer for you now?”
“A few.” There was quite a lot he’d like to know about her, but he’d content himself with a few random queries now.
She nodded encouragingly. “Feel free.”
He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “What’s your favorite color?”
The faintest of frowns appeared between her tidily arched brows. “Moss green. The color we chose for the upstairs hallway of the inn, actually. Bonnie let me pick that one.”
“Favorite candy?”
“My sister’s homemade peanut brittle. She makes it sometimes for our guests to enjoy in the evenings around the game tables. We—”
“Favorite musical group?”
“I, uh—Black Lab.” She couldn’t seem to think of a way to turn that answer into a plug for the inn. “What do these questions have to do with—”
“Which do you like better, football or soccer?”
She laughed softly then, as if she couldn’t quite help doing so, and the musical sound was a nice reward for his persistence. “I grew up in Tennessee. So, football. Is there a point to this interrogation?”
He flashed a grin at her. “Just checking to see if you’re always in business mode. So you do have outside interests?”
“Of course.” She touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “But you aren’t here to write about me. My sister, brother and I are equal partners in the inn.”
“One more personal question?”
She eyed him warily. “That depends on what it is.”
“Is there a Mr. Kinley?” The answer to this question, of course, was more relevant than his professional ethics to whether he would continue flirting with her. He might be somewhat lax in his work habits, especially compared with what he’d seen of Kinley thus far, but he wasn’t a jerk.
“Not anymore, there isn’t.” She changed the subject with a firmness that told him there was a lot more to that story. “What else would you like to know about the inn?”
Sensing the invisible barrier she’d just erected between them on that personal topic, he obligingly backed off. “Tell me more about the inn’s history. You said your mother’s uncle inherited it from his father, the original owner.”
Looking relieved to be back on topic, Kinley nodded and spoke more comfortably. “Yes. My great-grandfather Finley had two sons, Leo and my mother’s father, Stuart. Stuart died when my mother was just a toddler. Her mother wasn’t interested in staying in Virginia, so she moved back to Tennessee to be closer to her own family. My grandmother remarried and settled down in the Knoxville area. She had two more children with no biological connection to the inn. Every summer during her childhood and teen years, my mother came back here to Virginia to stay with her paternal grandparents and with Uncle Leo and Aunt Helen, who were all running the inn together during that time. When Mom’s grandfather died, he left the inn to Uncle Leo, who had been running it almost exclusively for several years by that time.”
“And your great-uncle, who had no children of his own, kept it in the family by leaving it to his niece’s kids when he passed.”
She nodded in approval that he’d followed along. “Yes.”
“It’s great that you have that connection to your family’s past. I’m sure your mother would have been very proud of what you and your sister and brother have accomplished in the past two and a half years.”
He’d spoken somewhat artlessly and almost immediately second-guessed his words, hoping she didn’t take them as patronizing. But she seemed pleased, instead, by the sentiment, seeming to sense his sincerity.