Page 12 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

“Not hospitality per se, but his work is a little bit like being a concierge. He has a lot of wealthy clients who need specialized services. I worked as something of a personal assistant and media consultant, subject to their whims. It’s a bit more complicated than that, but…”

“…not so far from catering to the needs of guests at an inn?”

“Exactly, but here it’s my inn, and I set the tone. I guess I’ll find out once I get this place up and running how much of my previous experience will come in handy. My goal was to open after the first of the year, but now, with all the furniture in place, I’d love to be open for the holidays.”

Kate’s mind filled with visions of holiday breakfasts and Christmas decorations. Maybe even a Thanksgiving feast. Could she learn to bake well enough to host something so grand only a few weeks away? With pies and cakes and cookies? Not to mention a turkey. She had never in her life cooked a turkey, or even planned to. That seemed beyond the scope of a B&B. But maybe she could team up with a local restaurant. She grinned at the thought.

“You look like you’re a million miles away, but in a happy place.”

“I’m imagining how great the Mayfield Inn will be.”

“Wait, you aren’t calling it the Hazard Inn?”

Kate shook her head. “Why would I? I don’t want to deter guests by making it sound dangerous. That would be almost as bad as calling it the Danger Guesthouse or Death Trap Hotel.”

Rory nodded in agreement, but Kate sensed he was holding back.

She laughed a little. “Who would want to stay in the Hazard Inn?”

“Not me.” His eyes got big. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“You just proved my point exactly. Words are important. Names are important.”

Rory crossed his arms and leaned back as if studying her. She shifted under his scrutiny, suddenly self-conscious of her cat food-stained T-shirt. Way to make an impression, Katie, she thought to herself.

A half smile flitted over his very expressive face. “If you believe that, why did you move to Hazard?”

Kate gave him a wry smile of her own. “I know it sounds crazy, but I was drawn here. I was only passing through on my way from Newport to Manhattan when I stopped at the bakery. I took my coffee and my croissant and sat on that bench by the statue.”

Rory nodded. “I know the one.”

“It was still and warm outside, and all of a sudden a breeze kicked up and swirled the branches overhead…and I just felt like I belonged here. I took a little walk around the square. Kids were playing tag, and some guy was walking a little Scottie dog, and I just knew I was home. I was pondering how that could be. I’ve always lived in a large city, my whole life. Then, when I walked past this place and saw the For Sale sign,” Kate shrugged.

“You knew.”

“It’s crazy, but I stood here and imagined what it would be like to be an innkeeper. I figured it was just a harmless daydream, something to distract me before I headed into the city and back to my hectic life. Then I strolled to the corner by this cute little realty office with a cheery red awning. Without overthinking it, I stepped in and asked them to show me the inn. By the end of the week, I’d made an offer.”

“The only one, I bet.”

“No, actually, there was another interested party. I was given to understand he was very determined, but for some reason the owners accepted my offer instead. I think if they had waited, he might have countered and cut me out.” Kate shrugged.

“Sometimes it’s just meant to be.”

Kate nodded. “Anyway, I’m not sure why, but this town square with that green open space tugged hard on my heartstrings, and the wind, I really like wind. It breathes life into a community. Also, the sea is close. I prefer being near the ocean. I don’t like stuffy spaces. And the way the wind whips through this community, well, I love it. I think that’s what my basement needs. A good airing out. It needs a little more life down there.

“So nothing is living down there, then?”

“I hope not! I do worry about that.”

“Are there creepy noises? Creaking, groaning, chains rattling?”

“What, like in a Charles Dickens novel? Why would you ask that?” Kate half-smiled at the absurdity.

“You know, stories.” Rory gave a casual half-shrug, yet something in the tension around his eyes made the hair on the back of Kate’s neck stand at attention.

“What stories?”

Rory’s forehead creased. “You really don’t know, do you?”

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