Page 58 of Winter Vows

“No, of course not. I just meant it can wait till morning. Since I’m not officially opening until next Friday, I’ll have plenty of time to put things back in order.”

“Cleaning up is part of the caterer’s responsibility,” Sharon Lynn countered.

“But you’re not a real caterer, so it doesn’t count,” Trish said, trumping her argument. “Don’t fight me on this. You and your family have done more than enough to help out today.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just go and try to shoo everyone else out of here, graciously, of course.”

Trish wasn’t about to argue with that plan. “Thank you,” she said fervently.

She forced herself to say goodbye to the last of the well-wishers. As soon as Sharon Lynn was gone, Trish brought the still-sleeping baby into the front so she could keep an eye on her. Then she sank down in a chair in front of the fireplace and kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to savor the sweet success of the event. If half the people who’d said they’d be back on Friday came, she would do a booming business on her first day. Her first catalogue for this new location would go into the mail tomorrow. And the next day she would get her Web page up and running so that Internet orders could start coming in. By this time next week, she would have the first indications of whether her decision to stay here had been a sound one, at least from a business perspective.

On a personal level the jury was still definitely out. As if just thinking that had conjured him up, Hardy returned, pausing in the doorway.

“All clear?”

“The meddlers have pretty well vanished, content with their day’s work,” she said wryly.

He closed the door, then turned the lock, his gaze never once leaving her face. On his way across the room, he seemed to make himself look away, then paused by the food.

“Can I bring you something?”

“Any scones left?”

“A few. Orange, cinnamon-raisin and plain.”

“One of each.”

“With this fancy cream stuff?”

She grinned at his description of the very expensive clotted Devonshire cream that Sharon Lynn had somehow tracked down. “Of course. A little raspberry jam, too.”

“You’ve got it.”

He handed her a plate loaded down with the bitesize scones. His own plate had a half-dozen little ham and biscuit sandwiches and miniature barbeques. He’d even poured them each a glass of the still-cold punch.

“You look beat,” he said, studying her worriedly.

“It’s a good kind of beat,” she said.

“Today was a triumph, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far, but it did surpass my wildest expectations.”

He finished his sandwiches, then leaned forward, his elbows propped on his knees, and regarded her intently. “Now what, Trish? What’s the game plan?”

“Game plan?”

He gestured toward her and then the baby. “Will you stay at Kelly’s so she can baby-sit? Find that house you talked about? Move on?”

He said the last as if he fully expected her to seize that option, despite today’s success.

“Why would you think I’d be moving on? Especially after today? This is it, Hardy. The store’s about to open. I intend to become a part of the community here. I’ll probably start to look for my own place this week.”

He nodded, again with that vaguely relieved expression that she’d caught once or twice before.

“Hardy, tell me about your family.” She had the feeling that once she knew about his past, she could finally unravel the mystery of Hardy Jones.

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