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“I’d give nearly anything to know what you’re thinking,” he said as I took a bite of the most perfect filet I’d ever tasted.
When I groaned, devoured another bite, and murmured, “Practically orgasmic,” Beau gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles were white. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yes. Fine.” He took a large gulp of water, finished his dinner, and announced his intention of taking a shower before going to bed.
I dozed off, waiting for him.
We got an early startthe following day and arrived in East Aurora before dark. I had the next four days to look into my inheritance and determine whether or not it was a hoax. If it was authentic, I honestly had no idea what I’d do about it.
Either way, we’d have to leave on our return trip to California by then, or I wouldn’t be back in time to reopen the wine bar after our annual holiday break.
I was initially concerned that wouldn’t be enough time to find out who Cena Covert was or why she’d named me her beneficiary. Now, I saw our schedule as a blessing, and it had nothing to do with her.
I’d begun counting down the days I had left with Beau, knowing once I got home, we’d both go our separate ways like we always did. Then I’d be able to get the ridiculous notion of him kissing me out of my head. I’d have time to remember who Beau was. Namely, a man I could never fall in love with. Allowing myself to would result in unimaginable heartache because Beau didn’t believe in love. He’d told me so often enough. Except when it came to Daphne.
While he might be angry with her over something he didn’t want to talk about, I’d seen them together many times over the years, and they were perfect for each other.
Something inside me ached at the thought, but there was no sense being jealous of Daphne. Beau and I would be friends—like brother and sister—for the rest of our lives. He’d never love me in the way I was beginning to fear I loved him.
When he pulled up to the front of the place where we’d spend the next three nights, I was thankful it wasn’t snowing. In fact, there was very little on the ground. I got out and walked to the back of the vehicle, retrieving Wanda when he opened the hatch.
“You’re deep in thought. And worried,” he said, motioning to the way I cradled my cat.
“I just want to get this over with so I can go home,” I snapped.
Beau raised a brow.
“Sorry. I’m just…”
“Out of your element.”
“Way out of it.”
He took Wanda out of my arms, put her inside her carrier, and drew me into a hug. “Think of this as a grand adventure, Samantha. One that could give your life new meaning.”
I stepped back and out of his embrace. “I’m not looking for new meaning. I like my life the way it is.”
He raised a brow. “You’re saying working in a bar and living in a studio apartment are your highest aspirations?”
I scowled. “Watch it, Beau.”
He closed the little distance I’d put between us. “While I can understand why you’d assume I’m joking, I’m not. This inheritance can change your lifefor the better. I cannot understand why you wouldn’t want that.”
“What are you suggesting I do, move to New York? I’ve lived in California my whole life.”
He cocked his head. “No, that isn’t what I’m suggesting. All I’m saying is you might want to have an open mind.”
I shook my head and followed him inside. While Beau spoke with the people at the front desk, I set Wanda’s travel carrier on the floor and took a look at the photographs and display cases showing the history of the inn.
It was called the Roycroft, and I learned it wasn’t limited to lodging. It had a five-star restaurant housed inside the main building, and additional structures were scattered around what they referred to as a campus. Many housed studios and shops where resident artists worked and sold their creations. There was also a gift shop, a museum, and a library.
According to what I read, Elbert Hubbard, the man who’d originally constructed the mini community, had been a key player in the Arts and Crafts Movement, which included more well-known men like William Morris and the Stickley brothers.
The furniture in the lobby was marked with the distinctive Roycroft logo, and from what I also read, some of the pieces were worth thousands of dollars.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” said Beau, pointing to the front cover of the newspaper mounted in one of the display cases. “The story of how Hubbard and his wife lost their lives on theRMS Lusitaniais quite romantic.”
I turned to him and scrunched my eyes. “Interesting word choice.”
