way into the parlor, with its elegant period furnishings and thick moldings.
“Oh, I love the custom woodwork in here. They just don’t put the same time and effort into houses these days.”
Genevieve perched on one of the camelback horsehide sofas. “This is so exciting! Okay, tell me what you want!”
If she knew that, she wouldn’t need Genevieve, would she? She made a face. “I want a finished product that isn’t too ostentatious or flashy but is romantic and elegant. I want people who stay here to remember it forever. A decade from now, I’d like them to say, ‘George, remember that charming little inn where we stayed in Hope’s Crossing? We had the best time there. We should go back. Today!’”
Genevieve chuckled. “Okay. Specifics are good. Anything else?”
“The house has ten bedrooms. Eight of those have en suite bathrooms. The other two don’t but they’re small rooms, anyway. I’m thinking we could combine them with two of the other rooms to make them large suites with sitting rooms.”
“Oh, I like that idea. It will cost you, though.”
“Everything’s going to cost me,” she muttered. Fortunately, she had money in savings, and Annabelle had left a comfortable inheritance that would help tide her over through the transition.
“What about the owners’ quarters? Have you thought about which rooms will be yours? We can’t leave that out of the equation. You’ll want a private space where you can retreat at the end of the day when you’re tired of dealing with guests.”
“I’ll be here at start-up but my intention is to hire someone to run the B&B for me for the long-term.”
“So you won’t be staying here?”
“No. Only here for a few months.”
She really needed to start putting her résumé out there. She’d had a few of her networking contacts already ask what her plans might be. So far, she had remained mum, preferring to focus on Iris House for now.
That couldn’t continue indefinitely, of course. The nest egg was comfortable but not coast-the-rest-of-your-life comfortable—especially with the renovations she needed to make to the house.
Besides, sitting around doing nothing but living off her previous gains wasn’t in her nature, anyway.
She and Genevieve talked a little more about a possible color palette and the multiple-use potential for the main floor public rooms, like weddings and large parties. Finally Genevieve stood. “I can’t wait another moment. Let’s see what we have here.”
They started on the top floor and worked their way down. Genevieve exclaimed with delight at something in each room—a wide, deep window seat in one, a built-in oak bookshelf in another, an oversize claw-foot tub in another.
By the time they made it to the main floor, it was obvious Genevieve saw far more potential in the house than Lucy, which was the first encouraging sign she’d had since coming up with this harebrained idea.
“My Dylan and Sam Delgado would love to get their hands on this house.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Sam.”
“He’s pretty new in town, but you might know his wife. Alex McKnight. She runs a great restaurant in town, Brazen. You have to go there while you’re in town! Did you know Alex?”
“I did. She was a few years older than me but I think we had a few mutual friends.”
“Well, Sam, her husband, did a lot of work at A Warrior’s Hope. He’s fast and he does a great job—even better now that Dylan works with him.”
The pride shone through her voice like a lighthouse beacon and Lucy smiled.
“What’s A Warrior’s Hope? You’re not the first person in town who’s mentioned it to me.”
“Oh, it’s a fantastic program that was started up last year to provide recreational therapy to help injured veterans. We run summer and winter sessions and provide help to about six or seven veterans in a session, all through donations of time and resources. The whole town has really rallied around it.”
“And you and Dylan
“Oh, I love the custom woodwork in here. They just don’t put the same time and effort into houses these days.”
Genevieve perched on one of the camelback horsehide sofas. “This is so exciting! Okay, tell me what you want!”
If she knew that, she wouldn’t need Genevieve, would she? She made a face. “I want a finished product that isn’t too ostentatious or flashy but is romantic and elegant. I want people who stay here to remember it forever. A decade from now, I’d like them to say, ‘George, remember that charming little inn where we stayed in Hope’s Crossing? We had the best time there. We should go back. Today!’”
Genevieve chuckled. “Okay. Specifics are good. Anything else?”
“The house has ten bedrooms. Eight of those have en suite bathrooms. The other two don’t but they’re small rooms, anyway. I’m thinking we could combine them with two of the other rooms to make them large suites with sitting rooms.”
“Oh, I like that idea. It will cost you, though.”
“Everything’s going to cost me,” she muttered. Fortunately, she had money in savings, and Annabelle had left a comfortable inheritance that would help tide her over through the transition.
“What about the owners’ quarters? Have you thought about which rooms will be yours? We can’t leave that out of the equation. You’ll want a private space where you can retreat at the end of the day when you’re tired of dealing with guests.”
“I’ll be here at start-up but my intention is to hire someone to run the B&B for me for the long-term.”
“So you won’t be staying here?”
“No. Only here for a few months.”
She really needed to start putting her résumé out there. She’d had a few of her networking contacts already ask what her plans might be. So far, she had remained mum, preferring to focus on Iris House for now.
That couldn’t continue indefinitely, of course. The nest egg was comfortable but not coast-the-rest-of-your-life comfortable—especially with the renovations she needed to make to the house.
Besides, sitting around doing nothing but living off her previous gains wasn’t in her nature, anyway.
She and Genevieve talked a little more about a possible color palette and the multiple-use potential for the main floor public rooms, like weddings and large parties. Finally Genevieve stood. “I can’t wait another moment. Let’s see what we have here.”
They started on the top floor and worked their way down. Genevieve exclaimed with delight at something in each room—a wide, deep window seat in one, a built-in oak bookshelf in another, an oversize claw-foot tub in another.
By the time they made it to the main floor, it was obvious Genevieve saw far more potential in the house than Lucy, which was the first encouraging sign she’d had since coming up with this harebrained idea.
“My Dylan and Sam Delgado would love to get their hands on this house.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Sam.”
“He’s pretty new in town, but you might know his wife. Alex McKnight. She runs a great restaurant in town, Brazen. You have to go there while you’re in town! Did you know Alex?”
“I did. She was a few years older than me but I think we had a few mutual friends.”
“Well, Sam, her husband, did a lot of work at A Warrior’s Hope. He’s fast and he does a great job—even better now that Dylan works with him.”
The pride shone through her voice like a lighthouse beacon and Lucy smiled.
“What’s A Warrior’s Hope? You’re not the first person in town who’s mentioned it to me.”
“Oh, it’s a fantastic program that was started up last year to provide recreational therapy to help injured veterans. We run summer and winter sessions and provide help to about six or seven veterans in a session, all through donations of time and resources. The whole town has really rallied around it.”
“And you and Dylan
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