want DVDs of all the room books, and I’m going to make you a list of what I want us to have on hand for guests. You can add any ideas you have on those, too, if you think of any.”
“I will.” She grinned at Carolee. “It is fun. I’m going back over later, to get a better sense. Beckett asked if I’d help write the brochure copy.”
“Did he?”
“If that’s all right.”
“It’s just fine with me.” Justine smiled as she licked whipped cream from her fingertip.
CHAPTER FOUR
ARMED WITH A NOTEBOOK SHE’D ALREADY ORGANIZED and divided, Clare crossed Main Street. Helping out with room descriptions wouldn’t take much time or trouble, but it made her feel a part of the project. In a minor role. Plus, she’d help select and supply some of the books and DVDs.
She wondered what the inn’s library would look like. Would there be a fireplace? Oh, she hoped there’d be a fireplace. Maybe, if she inched her way in, they’d let her help set it up.
She stepped in through the back, into the bangs, buzzes, and echoes. She heard a voice say “fuck yourself, Mike” in easy, casual tones—and the answering “I would, but your sister did such a good job of it last night.”
Laughter rolled out just ahead of Beckett.
He stopped, stared at her, then blew out a breath. “Lady in the house,” he called out. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I thought there were already ladies in the house.”
“Mom and Carolee are checking out the third floor. And they’re used to it anyway. So, okay. Ah . . .”
He looked distracted, she realized, and busy. And just a little confused.
“If this isn’t a good time, I can—”
“No, just shifting gears. We can start right here.”
Relieved she wouldn’t have to bottle her excitement for later, she turned a circle.
“Where is here?”
“You’re standing in The Lobby—double glass doors where you came in—they’ll look out on The Courtyard. Tile floor, nice pattern, with a tile rug centered to highlight the big round table under the chandelier. The light’s kind of contemporary and cool, and organic. Looks like white glass pieces that melted. Mom wants big, showy flowers on the table. Couple of slipper chairs there.”
“Tell me you’re keeping the brick wall exposed.”
“Yeah. The chairs, the tile have a French feel to them, straw green upholstery, bronze rivets on the chairs, so it’s a blend of rustic and French. Mom’s still fiddling with the table for the chairs. Maybe another chair in the corner, and I think we’ll need something on the facing wall.”
She studied it, tried to get a picture. “A little server, maybe.”
“Maybe. Artwork to be determined, but we’re going local all the way, and we’ll have a list of the art and artists in the room packages, with pricing.”
“That’s a great idea.” He rattled everything off so fast she assumed he was in a hurry. She scribbled down notes as quick as she could, trying to keep pace. “So this is really a pass-through? A place to sit down with a cup of coffee or tea, maybe a glass of wine? You didn’t say anything about a desk or counter for check-in, so—”
“That’s Reception. Entrance for that’ll be right off the sidewalk. I’ll take you around. Jog left from here, and into The Lounge.” He gestured, vaguely, toward a short hallway. “It’s crammed with equipment and materials right now. It’s long, a little narrow. It used to be the carriageway.”
“A lounge, for . . . lounging?”
“Hanging out. Kind of a contemporary pub feel, I guess. We’re going leather sofa and chairs. Big, comfortable, rolling ottomans for the wing chairs. Mom went for yellow.”
For the first time, he smiled, seemed to relax.
“I thought Ry was going to have her committed.”
“Buttery yellow, buttery leather.” She tried to imagine having a yellow leather sofa, thought of the kids. Just couldn’t do it. “I bet it’s going to be fabulous.”
“She and Carolee swear it’ll have that upscale pub feel. Some kind of card or game table, with lime green leather club chairs,” he continued. “Thirty-two-inch flatscreen. Three ceiling lights—organic feel again—oak leaves. We’re still filling in the details.”
“I can’t believe how far ahead you are, and how you can furnish a place when it’s still under construction.” She scribbled in her notebook as she spoke. “I should’ve known Justine wouldn’t go for chintz and gingham.”
“She wants a jewel, every facet sharp and shiny. We’re going to give it to her.”
Struck, Clare looked up. “It’s nice, the way you are. All of you.