“We want them,” Will said immediately. “Every room should have one.”
James nodded, looking relieved to have the emotional portion of the conversation behind him. He wandered toward the windows, studying the view of the lake with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“When do you expect to open?”
“September, if everything stays on track.” Tara carefully refolded the quilt and set it back in the box. “We’re calling it The Blueberry Inn. There’ll be five guest rooms upstairs, each with its own bathroom. Breakfast included, obviously. Maybe some special events—Ally’s already talking about wedding flowers, and Sam wants to teach watercolor classes.”
“Sounds like half the town will be involved.”
“That’s the idea.”
James turned from the window, and something in his expression had shifted. Less guarded than usual.
“I’d like to book a room,” he said. “When you open.”
Tara blinked. “You live ten minutes away.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Tara wondered if he was seeing anyone. He was a great guy, and she hoped he’d find someone who fit him like Will fit her.
“You have a perfectly good, beautiful home.”
“I know.” He paused, seeming to weigh his next words. “Sometimes a writer needs a change of scenery. New walls to stare at when the words won’t come. And I’ve been thinking it might be good. To be around people more. In controlled doses.”
Will caught Tara’s eye. James Roberts, volunteering to spend time in a building full of strangers?
“We’d love to have you,” she said carefully. “But your visits would be on the house. To thank you for your generosity.”
“Early mornings,” James said quickly. “Before the other guests wake up. I could write on the porch. Watch the sunrise over the lake. Then disappear before anyone tries to make conversation about the weather.”
“That could be arranged.”
Will grinned. “Look at this.” He walked over to the wall. “We’re going to put floor-to-ceiling bookshelves across the entire wall with a rolling ladder, but see this door?”
James nodded, looking intrigued.
“It leads to a study.” He opened the door to show off a small room with a half bath and floor to ceiling windows.
“I’d pay full price for that. Who doesn’t love a hidden room?”
“James.” Tara waited until he met her eyes. “You’re always welcome here. But those quilts and the generous donation…” She looked at Will, who nodded. “Consider using the study whenever you want when we open. It’s yours for the next year.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, or the kind of discomfort that came from being offered kindness without conditions. He nodded once, sharply, and turned back toward the door.
“I should let you get back to work. Just—” He paused at the threshold. “Let me know if you need anything. Supplies. Labor. Whatever.”
“We will.”
He was gone before she could say anything else, the screen door swinging shut behind him. Through the window, she watched him climb back into his truck, sit for a moment without starting the engine, and then finally he pulled away down the gravel drive.
“Well,” Will said. “That was unexpected.”
“The donation?”
“The wanting to book a room.” He moved to stand beside her, his arm settling around her waist. “I’ve known James for a while now. I’ve never seen him voluntarily seek out human company.”
Tara leaned into his warmth, watching the dust settle in James’s wake. “Maybe he’s ready for something different.”
“Maybe.” Will pressed a kiss to her temple. “Speaking of different—we should talk about those bookshelves before I call the lumberyard.”
