“The kitchen is original to the lodge when it was built in the 1940s, so it has a lot of vintage charm.” Abby paused in the doorway.
Vintage charm. A Realtor’s term for gold linoleum and chrome-trimmed Formica countertops.
He stepped past her, bracing himself for what was behind door number one.
“Your eyes are closed,” Abby said.
So they were. Quinn opened them. “They’re adjusting to the change in light.”
He had to look. No getting around it.
Relief crashed over him when he stepped into a room that could have been featured in a home decorating magazine. Given the fact the place was going to be a bed-and-breakfast, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Abby had devoted most of her time and effort to the kitchen.
She’d stayed true to the time period by keeping the original glass-front cupboards and painting the bead board walls a sunny shade of yellow. Old-fashioned dish towels had been recycled into valances.
The marble-topped island in the center of the kitchen blended seamlessly with the vintage decor but the granite sink and gleaming stainless steel appliances were definitely modern, state-of-the-art tools for the serious cook.
Quinn’s gaze continued around the room and snagged on an ancient green oven, straight off the set of a seventies sitcom.
“I couldn’t part with her.” Abby followed the direction of his eyes and accurately read his expression. “She’s an icon.”
“She?”
“Mrs. Avocado.”
She’d named the oven. “Does she…it…still work?”
“Sometimes.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but if you’re running a bed-and-breakfast, don’t you need an oven that works all the time?”
“She’s a little temperamental but we’re getting to know each other.” Abby gave the appliance an affectionate pat.
Quinn steeled himself against the woman’s infectious charm. Abby Porter was a job. He didn’t want to think of her as a person. And he certainly didn’t want to like her.
Maybe Faye didn’t need a new air conditioner in the office that badly….
Unaware of his thoughts, Abby tapped the toe of one sandal on the ceramic tile beneath their feet, setting the plastic petals into motion. “The floor was a bit of a challenge because it wasn’t even when I started.”
“You did all this yourself?”
Abby’s shoulders lifted in a modest shrug. “It wasn’t that hard. I bought a book.”
She’d bought a book.
“Are you ready to see the rest?” Abby was already on her way out the door. “I hate to rush the tour but I still have a hundred things to do today.”
“More like a million,” Quinn muttered.
“Excuse me?” Abby paused on her way out the door.
“Nothing. Lead on.”
While Abby took him through the rest of the house, Quinn followed along, taking mental notes along the way. Alex, he discovered, hadn’t been exaggerating. The windows on the first floor were the old-fashioned casement kind that had gone the way of the eight-track tape player. And a chimpanzee with a nail file could have picked the locks on the doors.
Abby wanted him working on the cabins but Quinn knew he’d have to come up with a plan that would put him alongside Abby at the lodge in order to make the house secure.
“This bedroom is called Serenity.” Abby paused to open one of the doors. “I finished painting the trim this morning.”
“This morning?” Quinn raised an eyebrow. He’d pulled in to the driveway at nine. “What time this morning?”
Abby tucked her full lower lip between her teeth before answering the question. “Mmm. I think it was around four.”
“Four o’clock in the morning?”
One slim shoulder lifted. “And some people think insomnia is a bad thing.”
Quinn didn’t comment because he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Abby had been up before dawn. Working. He could relate. He’d done the same thing after he’d moved back to Mirror Lake. Slept a little, worked a lot. Especially because his father, in his final months, hadn’t bothered to put money into anything other than the cash register at the local liquor store.
“So what do you think? Does it live up to its name?”
Abby’s question yanked him back from the edge of those memories and he looked past her into the bedroom.
Quinn had expected Abby to copy the more popular rustic decor—characterized by an overabundance of largemouth bass and whitetail deer—used in other places that catered to tourists.
Instead, by combining cool blues and soft greens, Abby had brought the outdoors inside. And in the process, provided a comfortable oasis guaranteed to instantly lower a person’s blood pressure.
“Very serene.” Quinn’s own blood pressure didn’t agree with the assessment. Not with Abby standing close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of…cinnamon?…in the air. Not exactly a designer fragrance but oddly appealing. “Where is your room?” he asked abruptly.
Abby blinked. “On the third floor. I didn’t want to take up space the guests could use. Plus, there’s an enclosed, private staircase leading up to it, so I have my own entrance.”
“There’s a third floor?” Considering the two levels of windows on the house, Quinn wouldn’t have guessed the house had an additional story.
“It’s more like an attic, really, but if you don’t count the cabins, I have the best view of the lake.”
Quinn debated whether he should ask her to prove it but decided to wait for another time. When Abby was occupied with something else he’d take a look at it.
“Speaking of the cabins, maybe you should show me the one I’ll be staying in so I can start unloading some of my things.”
“The cabin you’ll be staying in?” Abby echoed. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be living on-site until Daniel gets back. Didn’t he mention that?”
“No.” Abby’s eyes darkened with an emotion Quinn couldn’t quite identify. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t.”
Chapter Two
“Is there a problem?”
Definitely more than one, Abby thought as she tried to tamp down her rising panic.
She might have been rambling on like a cruise director who’d downed a shot of espresso, but she thought she’d done a pretty good job hiding her emotions after Quinn O’Halloran introduced himself as the new carpenter. But once again the man had thrown her completely off balance.
“You can’t stay…here. I don’t know what Daniel was thinking if he told you differently.”
“Why not?” Quinn leaned against the door frame and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
Why not?
Abby wasn’t sure how to respond to the question. Was she being silly? Or worse yet, paranoid? Daniel had assured her that the carpenter he was sending over had worked with him before and came with excellent references. But having Quinn O’Halloran working on the property and having him living on the property were two different things entirely.
Over