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Surprise flashes across her face. “That’s quite a change of subject.”

“I’ve been wondering.”

“How flattering.” She takes a sip of wine. “Maybe I’m a nightmare.”

“I assumed that was part of the appeal.”

She laughs, but some of the amusement fades as she sets down her glass. “Honestly, my relationships always seem to run into the same problem.”

“The Hartwell?”

“Yes.” She frowns a little. “Men like the idea of dating a woman who owns a hotel. Then they realize how much of my time it takes, and they don’t like having to share.”

“Maybe you should try dating another hotelier.”

Her mouth curves. “Oh?”

“We understand long hours, demanding guests, and why I’ll call you back in five minutes is usually a lie.”

“That does sound promising.” Her smile lingers. “But even another hotelier would have to understand that if it ever came down to him or the Hartwell, I’d choose the Hartwell. Every time.”

“Then he shouldn’t be foolish enough to make you choose.”

Her smile slips. “You really mean that.”

“Of course. The way you fight for that hotel is one of the things I admire about you.” I lean closer. “Even when I’m the one you’re fighting.”

For once, she has nothing to say.

An attendant arrives with our first course, breaking the moment. Rachel thanks him, but even as the plates are set between us, she keeps watching me.

Dinner passes quickly as we move on to lighter topics. I ask about the worst guest she’s ever had, and she tells me about a man who tried to bring six chickens into a suite because he claimed they were emotional support animals.

I tell her about a complaint that made its way up to my office from one of our coastal hotels. A guest claimed the moon was too bright and demanded that the staff do something about it.

“You’re making that up.”

“I wish I were.”

“What did they offer him?”

“Blackout curtains.”

“Did that work?”

“No. He wanted a room without windows.”

We trade stories about our first jobs, then talk about places we still want to visit. Rachel wants to spend a month in Italy without planning a single day.

“How often would you call the Hartwell?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Fine. Only if they needed me.”

“So every day.”