“I read the history of the inn you emailed me,” he commented absently, still looking at her image on the screen. “Built by your great-grandfather in the mid-1930s. He and his wife ran it until their son, Leo Finley, eventually took it over. Leo kept the inn open until his wife died some twenty years ago, after which it was closed until you and your brother and sister inherited the place.”
She smiled in approval. “You did read the history.”
After snapping a couple more shots, he looked up from the camera. “I try to be prepared.”
She nodded. “That’s my motto, too.”
He chuckled. “Why does that not surprise me?”
They grinned at each other in a moment of silent communication that felt oddly like bonding—as if they already knew each other, in a way, even though they’d met only an hour or so earlier. Brushing off such uncharacteristic foolishness, she stepped away from the desk and motioned toward the staircase as she went back into her tour-guide spiel. “We have five suites upstairs, the other four very similar to yours. Two handicap-accessible suites are on this main floor. We aren’t set up for children, so we accept only guests over the age of twelve. We direct callers with younger children to several local motels that are more family oriented.”
“A nice little perk for your guests who want to get away from kids,” he murmured.
She nodded and continued, “Bonnie lives full-time downstairs in the basement apartment. It’s accessible only from the outside, to keep it separate from the inn. Uncle Leo converted it into living quarters for himself and his wife many years ago, and that was where he continued to live even after he closed the inn. We had it renovated for Bonnie’s use. We use the attic for storage.”
“You don’t live here?”
Leading him toward the common parlor, she shook her head. “I spend the night downstairs occasionally, especially when we want to get an early start the next day, but I rent a house nearby.”
“And your brother?”
“Logan lives in the caretaker’s cottage at the back of the property, just down the hillside from the gazebo.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “So you all work together but you’ve managed to maintain private residences. Good idea.”
She smiled over her shoulder before entering the room they called the parlor. “We know that even the closest of siblings should give each other plenty of space, especially if they want to remain close.”
“I don’t have any siblings, myself, but that sounds like a reasonable philosophy.”
“We think so.” Entering the parlor, she greeted the couple who sat on one of the comfortable sofas, both studying the screen of a tablet computer one of them held. They looked up when she and Dan came into the room. “Dan, this is Travis Cross and Gordon Monroe, who are visiting us for a few days. Guys, meet Dan Phelan, a travel writer who’s staying in room 203.”
After exchanging polite greetings, Gordon explained, “Travis and I were just looking at a list of nearby attractions, trying to decide how to spend the day. We’re thinking about driving down to Wytheville and checking out a few of the museums.”
“Good choice,” Kinley assured them. The inn was located close to the Blacksburg-Christiansburg-Radford area, bordered by the Blue Ridge Mountains on the south and the Allegheny Mountains to the north. Historic Wytheville was less than an hour’s drive south. She would be sure and encourage Dan to mention the many local attractions in his article.
Travis and Gordon obligingly posed in conversation with Kinley for Dan to snap a few photos of the common room in use. Dan thanked them for their cooperation, but Kinley could tell the couple rather liked the idea of appearing in the magazine. Dan chose several angles to maximize the view of the room Bonnie had decorated in inviting Southern style. Kinley considered igniting the gas logs for the photos, but decided to leave it alone for now. Maybe they would take more photos in here before he left, perhaps with a crackling fire in the background.
Two games tables were positioned at the far side of the room, and an eclectic assortment of games were displayed on nearby shelves. As Travis and Gordon departed for their museum outing, Kinley explained to Dan that almost every evening guests gathered around those tables for games and socializing. “They tell us it’s nice to simply unplug their electronics for a few hours and play some old-fashioned board games, face-to-face with other people.”
“I’d like to get a shot of your guests playing the games, if no one objects. I happen to like game nights myself.”
That didn’t particularly surprise her. Dan seemed like the social type. That was probably a benefit to him in his travel-writing job, making it easy for him to draw out his interview subjects. Not that he’d had to resort to that talent with her. She’d had her sales spiel ready from the moment she’d received notice that the inn would be featured in the magazine.
Continuing in that vein, she motioned toward the doorway. “Ready to see the grounds?”
“Absolutely,” he assured her with a smile that almost made her forget her practiced presentation.
Okay, so she hadn’t expected the writer to be quite this interesting on his own. Hadn’t been prepared to get so lost in his vivid blue eyes that she had to pause for a moment to remember which way to turn upon leaving the parlor. Could not have predicted that her skin would warm and her breath would hitch a bit when he reached around her to open the back door, his arm brushing her shoulder with the gesture. It was so very rare that anyone managed to sidetrack her that she wasn’t quite sure how to process that.
* * *
Dan was obligingly attentive as Kinley led him along the paths through the gardens. She pointed out the invitingly placed swings and benches and the secluded, nicely shaded nook that would eventually be called the Medi
tation Garden, which would incorporate a koi pond and perhaps a couple of nice sculpture pieces. Beyond that section was the starting point for a moderately challenging hiking trail through the woods to the peak of Bride Mountain and then around to the bottom and back up to the inn, just over six miles start to finish.
He snapped a photo of the trailhead sign. “I suppose you’ve made that hike a few times.”
She chuckled. “I could just about walk it blindfolded by now. My brother and sister and I used to love hiking the trail when we visited here as kids.”