Page 27 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

“Wait, Grandma’s family once owned the inn?”

“Well, yes, that’s why it was her furniture…sort of. Anyway, long story, but the families were opposed to us falling in love.” Seymour got a faraway look in his eyes. “This was a small American Colonial home before it burned down. My grandfather bought the property cheap from Margot’s family and built this mansion. She wasn’t considered good enough for me by my family. Can you imagine? But Margot could always see into the past. I think your father can, too. He refused to enter any of the old buildings on the town green. He couldn’t wait to get out of Hazard. He’s much happier living in a new section of Providence with all new buildings. But for you, there’s just something about Hazard. It’s in your blood. Part of you.”

“You don’t see into the past.”

“I wish I did. I love the history of Hazard. Margot used to share her gift with me, give me glimpses. It was wonderful.”

Rory nodded. If one discarded all rational thought, all science, and everything he had ever learned in school, sure, Hazard made sense. Hazard was magical, and he was from here, and his ancestors were from here,andhe could see into the past. Made perfect sense. Yep, so, okay…moving on.

But if his grandmother had been able to share her gift, maybe he could too. Rory took Seymour’s hand. “Share the past with me.”

*

Kate finished upher painting and showered to get the paint off her skin and out of her hair. Her well-worn Linkin Park T-shirt was a total loss. She wasn’t sure how she felt about losing that relic of her teen years, so she tossed it in the wash. Shewouldbe doing more painting. It could be her paint shirt now, she supposed.

Once clad in soft jeans and a comfy sweatshirt adorned with autumn leaves, Kate got to thinking about how the woman had said RoryRollins, not Throckmorton.

Where have I heard that name?

Rory was not a common first name, so the woman must’ve been referring to Kate’s guest. Anything else was too much of a coincidence. Plus, she had mentioned seeing him carrying in the furniture.

Kate had been busy with painting so she’d let what the woman said slide, but it bugged her. Of course, she could ask Rory, but she had the decided feeling he wouldn’t share much.

What did she really know about him except that he was Seymour’s grandson? He had gone to school with Ivy. And he’d been locked in her basement.

Kate decided an internet search was in order, but would it be invasive to run a search on her guest?

Kate shook her head. Absolutely not. In fact, she might find it necessary from time to time to run internet searches on a guest. Becausesafety. And she certainly wouldn’t be drawing on her contacts for personal info as she had in the past when she worked for her father. This was just an innocent internet search. Still, as she settled at her laptop and typed Rory Rollins into the browser, she was not expecting what she found.

Rory was a keyboardist.

For aband.

An indie band she had heard of. In fact, in certain circles, a really popular indie band, with songs that hit the indie charts. Kate had even seen some of their videos.

“Classical pianist my ass,” she muttered as she started to read. “He’s with Endeavor Street!”

Chapter Twelve

Rory paused onthe threshold of the Hazard Community Library, drawing in the scent of old, well-read books. He loved this smell. Nowadays, so many libraries shared their books with other libraries, the interlibrary system all the rage, that there weren’t always that many books lining shelves. With electronic versions of new books now the norm, he missed the days of his childhood, when he would come to the library every week to browse the stacks and choose seven books to take home, one exciting adventure for every day of the week. He’d spent countless hours reading growing up. He missed it. But life interfered now. Adulting took precedence.

But today was not for browsing novels, as he had in his youth. Today was for tackling the historical archives. Well, that is, if he could convince stodgy old Mrs. Winegarden, intrepid librarian, to permit him within the locked room stationed at the very back of the library. That locked door had tantalized him for years. Forbidden access had been a definite draw.

He wouldn’t have stood a chance as a youth—not without Seymour paving the way—but he was hoping he could now charm his way in. He’d developed some skills in that respect, things he’d learned from marketing his band. He could be persuasive.

Expecting to have to deal with old Mrs. Winegarden, he was surprised to see Whitney Hopewell at the information desk. What’s more, she didn’t recognize him. What fun. His former classmate peered at him through her stylish Saint Laurent eyeglasses. “Can I help you?”

Rory smiled and put on the charm. “Good morning. I was hoping I could visit the historical archives to research some of the older buildings in Hazard. The ones remaining from the 1700s.”

Whitney shook her head. “I’m sorry…you’re welcome to put in a request for a document. We have a computer there where you can search,” she motioned to it, “but we don’t just open up the room. Is there something in particular you’re looking for? I’m quite familiar with the history of the town.”

Rory leaned on the counter and gave his most irresistible smile. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Whitney paused and eyed him. She tilted her head and gave him a thorough appraisal. “Should I?” Her raised brow was just what one would expect from a librarian. Rory bet Astrid Winegarden had given her lessons.

“You’re Marjorie’s granddaughter, right?”

“Ye-es.” She stepped back and tucked a wayward strand of sandy brown hair behind one ear.

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