He’d noticed the Bride Mountain Café on his drive up to the inn earlier. The diner was on the smaller side, nondescript in architectural style, but sparkling windows and fluttering green canopies gave it a welcoming appearance. It looked clean and inviting, with enough cars in the tidy lot to demonstrate its popularity with the locals. It also couldn’t hurt that the next closest eating establishment was probably a good three miles away, he thought.
The café was busy, but not overly crowded on this Thursday lunch hour, so he and Kinley were seated immediately. She seemed to know everyone who worked there and several of the other diners, as she was greeted by name with smiles and waves. A thirtysomething woman with intricately styled hair and warm, dark chocolate eyes, wearing a plastic tag engraved with the name Mary, handed them each a menu.
Kinley introduced him to the server, then asked, “Is Liza here? I want Dan to meet her.”
“No, she had to leave for a little while. She had an appointment in town,” Mary replied. “I’ll give y’all a couple of minutes to look at the menu and then I’ll be back for your orders. Not that you need to look at the menu,” she added with a wink for Kinley. “I imagine you have it memorized.”
“Pretty much,” Kinley agreed with a laugh. She looked across the table at Dan when the server moved to another group of customers. “Liza Miller owns the café. She’s a good friend. I hope you have a chance to meet her while you’re staying at the inn.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back here in the next day or two. I’ll introduce myself to her if you aren’t with me, and I’ll definitely mention the diner when I write the article.”
His words obviously pleased her. She explained that Bride Mountain Café was best known for its soup-and-sandwich combos, and everything was made in-house, even the bread. The café was open for lunch and early dinner, from eleven until eight Monday through Saturday. “Though we serve only breakfast at the inn most days, we provide a big brunch and a light supper on Sundays,” she added. “Between our schedule and the café hours, our guests can enjoy every meal without getting into a car, if they like.”
His mouth quirked into a half smile in response to her practiced spiel. “You’ve thought of every detail, haven’t you?”
She seemed oblivious to his irony. “We certainly try.”
Glancing at the menu again, he asked, “What do you recommend?”
“I really like the chicken tortilla soup with a quesadilla, which is today’s special. My brother is partial to the loaded-baked-potato soup with a Virginia ham sandwich. Bonnie loves the minestrone with the eggplant-and-artichoke panini. Honestly, you can’t really go wrong. It’s all good.”
Dan had listened attentively to her recitation. When she finished, he said, “You actually have memorized the menu, haven’t you? You sounded like a radio ad.”
She frowned just a bit, as if trying to decide if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t mocking her, of course, but he couldn’t help teasing her a little, just to try to coax her out of that strictly business mode she seemed to fall into so naturally.
Quickly smoothing her expression, she gave him a bland smile. “All entirely sincere, I assure you. I wouldn’t eat here so often if I didn’t genuinely enjoy the food.”
“And you wouldn’t have brought me here if you didn’t think I’d like it, too.” He had no doubt that her invitation to lunch had been as much a marketing move as a gracious one.
“Um, right.”
Only when they’d ordered and their food had been served did Kinley get around to asking something she’d probably been wondering all morning. “So how did you end up arriving here a day early?”
He chuckled. “Long story. Short version is, I drove up from Atlanta to Charlotte yesterday expecting to spend at least part of today interviewing a museum curator in Charlotte. That interview fell through at the last minute. I woke up in a particularly uncomfortable motel bed at five this morning and decided on impulse to make the drive to the inn. As I said earlier, I figured I’d either spend an extra night at the inn or find a room nearby until my scheduled arrival time. I’m glad you had a room for me. The bed looks a heck of a lot more comfortable than the one I tried to sleep in last night.”
“I hope it will be.” As if she were suddenly a bit too warm, she pushed up her sleeves. “If there’s anything at all you need to make your stay more pleasant, please let us know.”
“You’re certainly making it very pleasant so far,” he said, unable to resist adding a smile just a touch too personal to be considered strictly business. Maybe she already sensed he was attracted to her. Was it strictly wishful thinking on his part that she was aware of him in that way, too?
His instincts were usually pretty good in that regard, but Kinley was a bit hard to read. She was so intensely, almost amusingly, focused on presenting a positive spin for his article. And even though he told himself to follow her lead and keep his own feelings reined in, there was just something about her that tempted him to forget he was with her only on assignment for his job.
“Congratulations on your new wedding booking, by the way.” He could still easily picture the jubilant, unself-conscious smile she’d exchanged with her sister when she’d closed the door behind the future wedding party, before she had realized he was there to see her. He’d like to see that carefree side of her again.
“Thank you.” Setting down her tea glass, she picked up her soup spoon. “Are there any other questions I can answer for you now?”
“A few.” There was quite a lot he’d like to know about her, but he’d content himself with a few random queries now.
She nodded encouragingly. “Feel free.”
He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “What’s your favorite color?”
The faintest of frowns appeared between her tidily arched brows. “Moss green. The color we chose for the upstairs hallway of the inn, actually. Bonnie let me pick that one.”
“Favorite candy?”
“My sister’s homemade peanut brittle. She makes it sometimes for our guests to enjoy in the evenings around the game tables. We—”
“Favorite musical group?”
“I, uh—Black Lab.” She couldn’t seem to think of a way to turn that answer into a plug for the inn. “What do these questions have to do with—”
“Which do you like better, football or soccer?”
She laughed softly then, as if she couldn’t quite help doing so, and the musical sound was a nice reward for his persistence. “I grew up in Tennessee. So, football. Is there a point to this interrogation?”
He flashed a grin at her. “Just checking to see if you’re always in business mode. So you do have outside interests?”
“Of course.” She touched the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “But you aren’t here to write about me. My sister, brother and I are equal partners in the inn.”
“One more personal question?”
She eyed him warily. “That depends on what it is.”
“Is there a Mr. Kinley?” The answer to this question, of course, was more relevant than his professional ethics to whether he would continue flirting with her. He might be somewhat lax in his work habits, especially compared with what he’d seen of Kinley thus far, but he wasn’t a jerk.
“Not anymore, there isn’t.” She changed the subject with a firmness that told him there was a lot more to that story. “What else would you like to know about the inn?”
Sensing the invisible barrier she’d just erected between them on that personal topic, he obligingly backed off. “Tell me more about the inn’s history. You said your