Page 11 of You Had Me At Valentine

“I would never.” I affect my most innocent expression which actually makes Lyra laugh. “I’m simply pointing out that your grandmother’s decorations were tasteful and fitting with the existing design. Maybe stick with the tried and true.”

“Which will appeal to buyers more than partygoers,” Lyra points out. “So that’s a no dawg from me.”

“Isn’t the phrasenah, dawg?” Tabitha says with obvious amusement.

Lyra waves that off. “My mouth autocorrects how it will. No apologies.”

“I can’t believe you’re enabling this, Byron,” Tabitha muses. “Is your participation Lachlan-approved?”

The mention of Lachlan threatens to dampen the mood, but Lyra just shakes her head. “He’s not enabling, he’s supervising. Isn’t that right, Counselor?”

“Strictly professional oversight.” I hold up my phone. “See? I’m documenting everything.”

I know Lyra thinks I’m reporting back to her father. I’m not. Furthermore, I hope this party works to change Lachlan’s mind. Doubtful I could convince anyone of my sincerity in that, though.

My phone buzzes with an incoming email. Another potential buyer. All I had to do was list the inn as “upcoming” and interest frothed up immediately. This one has heard about the party and is asking about the inn’s event-hosting capabilities.

“Speaking of professional oversight,” I say, turning the screen toward Lyra. “Looks like your Valentine’s party idea is already generating buzz. The MacLellan Inn’s reputation for hosting community celebrations is apparently still going strong.”

“Really?” She peers at the email and makes a face. “I guess you were right.”

“Mark the date and time. That admission should probably go in writing.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile stays. “Don’t push your luck, Hale.”

Something has changed. I can’t put my finger on what it might be, but Lyra is nowhere near as hostile as I would have expected. She’s also…smiley. It doesn’t feel faked either.

I admit I am not hating this.

The front door chimes again. Justine Douglas bustles in with her arms full of baking supplies, followed by what looks like half her family, all carrying various contributions to the cause.

Everyone in Kilt Valley loves the idea of resurrecting the Valentine’s Day party. The news spread so fast that I thought I saw literal smoke coming from various spots as folks burned up the phone lines.

“Byron!” Justine sets down her bags and pulls me into a hug that smells like vanilla and cinnamon. “It’s been too long. How is my favorite lawyer faring in Denver? Eating enough?”

“The bakeries are subpar. No one can compare with you,” I assure her.

Some things never change in Kilt Valley. The Douglas women’s baking is one of them. Their ability to make me feel simultaneously welcomed and guilty is another.

“Flatterer.” Justine pats my cheek. “Now, are you going to help us test Gran MacLellan’s recipe or are you just going to stand there looking pretty in that fancy suit?”

“He’s supervising,” Lyra and Tabitha say in unison.

I straighten my tie. “Actually, I thought I’d make myself useful and start delivering some of those Valentines.”

The sooner I get that box away from Lyra, the better. Bonus—it gets me out of this inn and away from all the Douglas women with their smiles (Justine, and her daughters, London and Nola who were both named after the places they were conceived)(don't ask) and cool, assessing stares (Tabitha).

But Lyra’s whole face lights up. “Really? You’ll help deliver them?”

“Strictly from a business perspective,” I say, in case anyone clues in that I’m A ) angling to get out of Dodge and B ) a sucker when Lyra looks at me like this. “You said we’re handing out invitations to the party at the same time. It’s a good way to get the rest of Kilt Valley involved with the inn. So it will sell.”

“You have your agenda, I have mine,” she says, as if she doesn’t quite buy what I’m selling.

Guess I’m not so good at hiding a blessed thing from her. Maybe it’s not such a disaster if she knows I’m on her side.

I’m saved from my waffling by Tabitha's other aunt, Emma Douglas, announcing she’s brought sample centerpieces from her flower shop. Soon the lobby is a whirlwind of activity, everyone talking over each other about ribbons and recipes and the proper shade of pink for romance.

I edged toward the door, snagging the box of Valentines from the desk. “I’ll just get started on these deliveries, then.”

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