Moonlight and Roses

“Oh?”

“No offense,” he said quickly. “It’s just that you’re not, well, you’re not a…”

“A what?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “A frilly sort. And neither is the house.”

“You only say that because you haven’t been inside yet.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ll see.”

Jaye opened the front door, ushered him inside, and Zack understood exactly what she’d meant.

Beyond the foyer he could see into the formal dining room. Busy floral wallpaper and a cabbage-rose area rug obscured the dark plank flooring and high wood baseboards. Not that either design element had much of a chance to shine in a room that had been stuffed with so much furniture. In addition to a mahogany sideboard and matching server, a massive curved-leg table stood surrounded by a dozen ornately carved, high-back chairs.

“The decor is very…unexpected,” he managed when he recovered the power of speech.

“Unexpected? I call it hideous.”

He let out a discreet sigh of relief. “I was trying to be tactful.”

“No need. I’m not the one responsible for cluttering up the house’s clean lines with all of these spindly legged antiques. I detest the stuff.” She sloughed off her coat and tossed it over the scrolled arm of the English mahogany hall chair for emphasis.

“So, the entire place is decorated this way?” Zack hung his on the brass coatrack that stood next to the chair.

“Every room except the kitchen. Margaret wasn’t much of a cook.”

“You know, with the right furniture, this house would be a real showplace.” He offered it as a casual observation even as an idea formed and excitement bubbled beneath the surface of his calm facade.

“Yeah, well, my stuff is in storage at the moment. Once I sell off all of Margaret’s flea-market finds and auction-house antiques, the place will be decorated in a style more suited to its contemporary look.”

“So you plan to continue living here?” he inquired. “I thought perhaps you would sell it since you don’t need all the room.”

“I’d like to sell, but I can’t really bring myself to do it. It’s so close to Medallion. It wouldn’t be right to have someone else living here and enjoying the view.”

He made a little humming noise as he processed her response. It wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear, but he was relieved it wasn’t an outright no. He glanced toward the stairs. “And you said it has seven bedrooms?”

“Actually, eight. Margaret turned one into a showroom for her dolls. She collects the kind that have eyes that open and close. Thankfully, she took all 212 of them with her when she left. The things gave me the creeps.” Jaye shuddered.

Zack was only half listening. It just kept getting better and better. Jaye’s house was perfect, absolutely perfect, for his plans to add a sumptuous, spa-style bed and breakfast to the winery.

He’d tried to convince his family to do something similar with the century-old mansion that had belonged to his great-grandparents. The massive Italian Renaissance–style structure at the southern edge of the vineyard had sat empty for the better part of three decades. It was in need of major repairs and renovations to make it habitable. With a little more investment, though, Zack saw it as a profitable venture. When he pitched the idea of an inn to his father and cousin, though, they’d shot it down quickly.

“We’re winemakers, Zack, not innkeepers,” his father had said.

Phillip had stood at Ross Holland’s side, the positioning apropos. The two men always seemed to be in synch, while Zack felt out of step.

“Why are you constantly trying to push Holland Farms in directions that distract from our product?” Phillip had asked.

Zack didn’t see the addition of an inn as a distraction. He saw it as a complement, and a necessary one as competition grew fiercer for space on store shelves and in restaurant wine cellars.

One way or another, Medallion would have an inn, but he didn’t want to cut into the vineyard’s prime acreage to build one. He wouldn’t have to if he could convince Jaye to sell. That realization had him frowning.

“Have you lost your appetite?” she asked.

Zack cleared his throat and reined in his thoughts. “Sorry. No. Just…thinking.” He sent her the charming smile that had always distracted Mira. Jaye’s eyes narrowed, so he changed the subject. “Which way to the kitchen?”

“Follow me.”

As Jaye had said, the kitchen was generously proportioned and gorgeous, its decor leaning toward modern with granite surfaces and professional-grade, stainless steel appliances. It was big enough, functional enough to accommodate a chef’s needs.

“Much better,” he murmured.

“Not a fan of antiques?”

“They have their place, but not in a house like this. Anything Victorian clashes with its architectural style. But your stepmother acquired some pretty pricey pieces from what I could see. They should bring in a decent sum when you sell them.”

She eyed him warily. “You know antiques?”

“What can I say?” Zack shrugged. “My mother is a fan of late-eighteenth-century French furnishings. I started going to auctions with her when I was in grade school.”

Jaye grunted out an oath. “No wonder Margaret picked you to buy Medallion.”

He cleared his throat then, wanting also to clear the air. “About that, Jaye. She never told me that you wanted to buy the vineyard.”

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