скачать книгу бесплатно
“You don’t need my approval to date Connor.” What did she know about successful relationships?
Anne’s shoulders relaxed. “But he was your friend first. I don’t want this to be between us.”
“Never.” Dolley caught her hand. “I think you’ll be great together.”
Anne squeezed her fingers. “Really?”
“Really.” Dolley hated that her friend had hesitated to tell her about a relationship. Maybe letting her in on her secret might soothe her feathers. “The reason I’m heading to Fitzgerald House is because our long-term guest, the Irishman, is considering whether he’ll take me on as a photography apprentice.”
Anne’s eyes were as big as saucers. “An apprentice?”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe he can jump-start my photography career. He must know all the right people. It would be the perfect leg up.”
“You want to change careers?”
“I hope so,” Dolley said. “And Liam could help me hit the fast track.”
“I don’t want to be alone at Jackson.” Anne pouted.
“You won’t be alone. And who knows if I’m any good.” Dolley winced. “Don’t tell anyone.”
Anne turned a key on her mouth. “Is the Irishman as hot as his accent?”
“Hotter.” And Dolley wasn’t kidding. “Total eye candy.”
Anne fanned herself. “Go, girl.”
“It won’t be a hardship to befriend the man.” Dolley grinned. And maybe she could get him to smile.
Dolley cut across Columbia Square and skirted the fountain. Everyone around her was pairing up. Anne and Connor. That was a shock. Abby was engaged. Bess and Daniel had been hot and heavy for a while, but that had ended. Even so, Bess didn’t want to stop for drinks anymore.
Soon there wouldn’t be anyone to go clubbing with her, and she’d sit at home, become a recluse and take in stray cats.
Across the street from the B and B, she stopped and stared at Fitzgerald House. At three full stories plus the attic, it towered above Carleton House. The black wrought iron balconies gave it a feminine look.
Dolley didn’t remember Fitzgerald House ever being her home. She’d been five when Mamma had opened the B and B.
She only remembered Papa through pictures. He’d died when she was four. But whenever she smelled Old Spice, she got a warm, happy feeling. Abby was the one who’d told her it had been Papa’s aftershave.
Sunshine sparkled on the windows. A cascade of red poinsettias flowed across the porch and down the steps. Dolley had wrapped fairy lights around the green garland draped along the low wall running the length of both Fitzgerald and Carleton House. Her fingers clenched, wishing she had her camera.
The day they’d decorated, she’d taken tons of pictures. That B and B blog had gotten the most hits ever. The blog was her small contribution to finding new guests.
She took the Fitzgerald House porch stairs two at a time and pulled open the bright blue door. She sniffed. Ginger molasses cookies? Abby was baking her favorite treat.
She wanted to see if Liam was attending afternoon tea, but she also wanted to grab a warm cookie. She inhaled. Darn it. A career she was passionate about was more important than her sister’s cookies, right? She forced her feet to move down the hall, away from the kitchen.
In the sunroom, guests gathered in groups of two or four, drinking and eating the offerings. She leaned against the door frame.
Liam sat next to the bay window. A group of local women who came to tea each month formed a ring around him. Wouldn’t they love his accent?
His knuckles were white around his plate. His teeth clenched. Poor man.
She entered the room.
His head jerked up. Relief filled his deep blue eyes and he scrambled to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Pressing her lips together, she held back a laugh.
“Ms. Fitzgerald.” He almost lunged toward her. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”
She smiled. “Good to see you, too.”
“Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace other than—” he looked back at the ladies “—here?”
She took pity on him. “Follow me.”
“Goodbye, Liam,” a woman called.
“Goodbye, Mr. Delaney,” another said.
“Let me know if you need more information on my family,” a woman called as he left.
As soon as they turned the hallway corner, she burst out laughing.
He slumped against the wall. “Devil take me, those women were talking my ears off.”
“I know just what will help, my sister’s molasses and ginger cookies.” She linked their arms. His was firm and muscular. “They’re the best.”
She would be able to talk to Liam and have her favorite cookie. Score.
“As soon as I told the group what I was doing in Savannah, they...they attacked.” He was a little breathless. “And they all looked alike. What are you doing down here, cloning crones?”
She glanced behind her, but they were far enough away from the sunroom that no one could have heard him. “They all went to school together, and they’re wonderful.”
“I’m sure they are, but they’re overwhelming.” His words ran together, a lovely Irish slur of sounds.
She slipped her arm out if his. If she wanted an apprenticeship, she wouldn’t complicate things by acting too familiar.
Photography was her focus.
She pushed open the kitchen door.
Abby slid cookies onto racks. She glanced up, her ponytail bouncing. “Hey, Dolley.”
Liam stepped in next to her. Even through the magnificent smell of molasses, sugar and ginger, his scent came through.
“Abby, have you met Liam Delaney?”
“Not yet.” Abby grabbed a towel and dusted her hands. Moving across the kitchen, she shook his hand. “So glad you chose Fitzgerald House for your stay.”
“Thank you for making an exception during the holiday.”
“You are very welcome.”
“I rescued him. He was corralled by the Saint Peter School ladies.” Dolley raised an eyebrow. “They were overwhelming him.”
“They offered to help with my research.” Liam winced. “Even the women who weren’t Irish.”
“What are you researching?” Abby asked.
“Savannah’s Irish roots. For a combination book and documentary.”
“That sounds like fun,” Abby said.
“It will be.”
“Since your tea was interrupted, would you like a cup in here?” Abby offered.
“Yes, please.” His words rushed out. “I’d kill for one.”
Dolley snatched up a couple of the warm cookies.
Abby smacked her hand. “I’ll serve. Go light the fire.”
“They’re best right out of the oven.” Dolley moved back to the sitting area. Passing Liam a cookie, she whispered, “I filched one for you, too.”
He grinned, a wicked pirate grin that promised adventures and fun. It was the first smile she’d noticed crossing his face.
She frowned. He hadn’t smiled at all last night.
“I won’t rat on you.” He leaned close, his dark, wavy hair brushing next to her ear. “But I’d best get rid of the evidence.”
She couldn’t help inhaling his scent. Could cologne be addictive?
Liam took a bite. His eyes closed. “Oh, my,” he mumbled, his mouth full.
“I know.” Dolley devoured her cookie and then pushed the buttons on the gas fire. It lit with a whoosh.
“I saw that,” Abby scolded, although she was smiling. She set cookies and bars on the coffee table.
“These are incredible.” Liam plucked another cookie from the platter.
It was a sacrifice, but she nudged the cookies closer to him. A sugar high might lull him into agreeing to the apprenticeship.
Abby set a teapot with cream, sugar and mugs on the table. “I’d love to chat, but I need to refresh the tea.”
“Go.” Dolley waved her off. Besides, she didn’t want Abby finding out about her request for a mentorship. Especially if Liam said no.
He poured cream in his mug and added tea. “It’s nice to get a real pot of tea. Some places I stay, I can hardly find a tea bag.”
He prepped a cup for her. She couldn’t think of any man ever making her a cup of tea, or much of anything.
“How was your morning?” She slipped deeper into her chair.
“I took a long ramble around the squares, getting my bearings.” He took another cookie. “Savannah is beautiful.”
“Wait until the azaleas bloom.”
“And when will that be?”
“Early March,” she said. “They peak around the St Patrick’s Day invasion.”
“I can’t wait.” Liam took another cookie. “I want to film the festivities.”
She sipped her tea. How could she steer the conversation to the apprenticeship? “Did you take any pictures?”
“Thought I would scope things out first.” He downed his tea. “But I took a couple.”
“When you’re doing a documentary, do you think in photographs or film?” she asked, not sure how to blurt out her request.
“No one’s ever asked me that question.” He refilled his mug and slid back in his chair. “Both, I guess. I see moments that unfurl into scenes, into movement or a story.” He shook his head. “That sounds thick.”
“I see that.” Her pictures tended to be of the B and B, but it was pictures like the ones of Mamma’s wedding, where Martin was twirling her in a circle, that she loved. It was a story of joy. “I get it.”
“I did do one other thing today.” Liam pushed back his black hair. It was thick and long enough to curl around his shirt collar. What would his hair feel like?
She refocused on his face, although that was distracting, too. “What?”
“Called my producer. I’ve got room in the budget to put you on the payroll.”
Dolley’s feet hit the floor. “You do?”
“You can be my—Savannah guide.” He held up a hand. “I’m not promising an apprenticeship. I’d want to assess your skills before I commit. Are you still interested?”
She juggled her mug, setting it down before she spilled. This didn’t sound like an apprenticeship. “I’d be on trial?”
“Probation. It won’t be much money.” He named an hourly rate that was barely over minimum wage.
Her stomach dropped. She still had to live. “How many hours a week?”
“Let’s say—ten to fifteen to start. If I need more hours, we’d reassess the money.” Liam leaned close enough for her to catch a heady whiff of his cologne. “Is the money a problem?”
Money was always a problem for the Fitzgerald family, but she wouldn’t tell Liam that. She wanted a chance to improve her skills. This might be her big break or it could be a lowly gopher job. How would she pay her bills?
“I’ll see if I can cut back my hours at work.” She kept her tone calm, when inside, everything started to shake.
He frowned. “I thought you and your sisters ran the B and B?”
