Through A Magnolia Filter

“That’s just wrong.” Barbara sighed. “Come to my house. You should be around people who care about you.”

“I’ll think on it.” Now that he had his approval, he wanted to immerse himself in the Irish stories of Savannah and dig into the research.

And he wanted to meet his shirttail relatives, the Fitzgeralds. How should he play this?

It was boarding school all over again.

* * *

DOLLEY PULLED THE cork on another bottle of wine, and it opened with a pop. The tart aroma mingled with the pine of the Christmas tree in the corner. Evergreen boughs on the mantel and the spicy appetizers added to the incredible smells filling the library.

It wasn’t Dolley’s night to host the wine tasting, but since Abby’s fiancé was back in town, she’d volunteered. Abby had jumped at the chance to spend time with Gray. Her sister hadn’t even noticed Dolley’s new dress.

Dolley had planned to volunteer anyway. Mr. Liam Delaney was checking in tonight. The voice. She tugged on her hem. The black dress hugged her curves but kept creeping up. It was probably better for clubbing than for the B and B, but—Liam Delaney. Enough said.

Online, she’d found a wealth of information on their guest. When she grew up, she wanted to be Liam Delaney. He was a documentary filmmaker and a photographer. Envy shot through her. His body of work was amazing. He’d traveled the world, linking his photography to his films. She planned to pick his brain about his career, without being creepy.

She checked the flames under the chafing dish and opened the last bottle of wine.

Her one claim to photography fame was the picture of her mother. And she hadn’t even told her sisters she’d won the contest. Somehow the words just wouldn’t leave her mouth.

Abby and Bess were so talented. One picture was nothing compared to what her sisters had accomplished in their careers, Abby in the kitchen and Bess with her landscaping.

A honeymoon couple walked into the library, arm in arm. The newlyweds had stayed at Fitzgerald House for the last few days.

“How was your day?” Dolley asked.

“We kayaked off Tybee Island.” The bride massaged her upper arm.

“Did you get to the salt marshes?” Dolley asked.

The groom nodded. “Almost had to pull Gretchen across the bay. There was a little chop, but we got there.”

Now she remembered their names. Gretchen and Denny.

The couple headed to the wines and food. Tonight’s offerings were from Germany: a Riesling, a pinot gris and pinot noir. She sampled the red. Not bad. She checked the cards Abby created for the appetizers. Then she took a plate and added pork turnovers, pretzels, warm German potato salad and barbequed kielbasa. She skipped the sauerkraut crepes.

Checking the food layout one more time, she headed to the foyer. Her heels echoed on the marble floor. She would let the guests enjoy their wine and keep an eye out for Liam, the last guest checking in tonight.

She skirted the foyer table. Her sister, Bess, had designed a tower of poinsettias shaped like a Christmas tree. The red-and-pink leaves sparkled with glitter. Another Christmas tree twinkled in the front window. They’d decorated seventeen trees in the House this year, a new record.

She took a seat at the Queen Anne secretary they used as a reception desk.

The front door opened, and she started to stand.

It was another honeymoon couple. They waved and headed toward the library.

Dolley sank back into her chair. What if Mr. Delaney didn’t show? That would hurt. He’d eventually asked for a discount, but they were still going to clear a tidy profit from his stay. She’d held firm that they couldn’t discount rooms during the St. Patrick’s Day festivities. They had to maintain their prices during high season.

Finishing her dinner, she returned the plate to the packed library. Cheryl, a B and B employee, restocked the food. They smiled at each other. Dolley bussed a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen.

Might as well check the reservation line messages. She put a hold on a room and returned the call, entering the credit card information. Then she pulled this year’s reservation data down into a spreadsheet. For fun, she created a comparison graph with the prior year’s reservations. These cool facts would be nice to show at their next sister meeting.

She pushed back a curl that kept falling in her eye. What next? Pulling out her bag, she settled behind the desk. She would work on photo cards, her creative contribution to the gift shop scheduled to open in January.

She glued pictures on a pale blue fold-over card stock, hoping the result was classy and contemporary. They would sell the cards as six-packs. Each pack included a picture of Fitzgerald House and the rooms the guests saw most: the formal dining room, library and sunroom. All photos she’d shot. The rest of the packet varied, with shots of the gardens or guest rooms. By the time she’d glued all the pictures, she’d made ten packs.

She checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock. Mr. Delaney was supposed to have been here by six. This was getting ridiculous. She’d never waited at the reception desk for a guest.

The front door opened, and there was a swoosh of nylon rubbing nylon. A lean man with dark wavy hair lugged two large suitcases across the foyer. Mr. Delaney?

“Let me help.” She grabbed a roller bag.

“Thank you.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, his eyes a brilliant blue that almost looked purple. “I’m checking in.”

Hurrying around the desk, she asked, “Liam Delaney?”

“Absolutely.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “And would you be Dolley Fitzgerald?”

“Guilty.”

“After all our conversations, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He reached out a hand, his expression way too serious.

“Oh. Thank you. You, too. Or me, too.” Flustered, she shook his hand, hanging on a little too long.

He dropped her hand and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet.

Shoot, she was supposed to be checking him in. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “How was your trip?”

She glanced up long enough to see him grimace.

“I raced through the Atlanta airport to catch my flight, then there was some broken widget on our plane, so we all trooped off.” He pushed back his black hair with long artistic fingers. “They sent us to another gate where we sat and sat. When I got to the car rental, they’d let all the cars, so I waited for one to be turned in.”

“I’m so sorry.” She had his reservation in front of her.

“I’m looking forward to sitting someplace where I can stretch my legs.”

Dolley peeked. He had a lot of leg.

Taking his credit card, she said, “We’ll charge your card each week in advance.”

“That works.” He signed the slip.

Handing him a key card, she explained breakfast, tea and wine tastings. “I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s wine tasting.”

“Damn.” He huffed out a breath. “I guess I could use a recommendation for a restaurant.”

“I can throw something together in the kitchen.”

Relief filled his deep blue eyes. “I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Sure.” Moving around the desk, she grabbed his bag.

“That’s my cameras,” he said. “I can get it.”

“I’ll be careful. You’re juggling two suitcases.”

She led the way to the elevator. “There’s always coffee, tea and soda in the dining room.” She pointed to the library. “Our evening wine tastings are held there. Feel free to borrow the books and movies.”

He kept glancing at his camera bag. Or was he checking her out?

She tightened her glutes.

“The house is lovely,” he said as they wedged into the elevator.

“It is.” She inhaled, catching a whiff of his scent. Nice. “We just finished the full renovations in August.”

“Your website said you were under construction.”

“That’s Carleton House.” She stepped out of the elevator and stopped at the window overlooking the adjacent mansion. “We’re in the process of restoring the house next door. I’ve booked your crew into Carleton House. It opens in February. If you prefer, we can move you there when they arrive.”

“I’ll think on it.” He stopped in front of his room. “This it?”

“Yes. You’re in the Martha Jefferson room.” Instead of setting the bag down, she handed the strap to him so he wouldn’t worry. “If you use the front stairs and head down the hallway by the reception desk, you’ll find a swinging door. That’s the kitchen.”

He touched her shoulder. His scent wrapped around her. Mint, apples, lemons. Not a fragrance she would associate with a man—but he made it work. She leaned in and took another sniff. Delicious.

His gaze caught hers. “I appreciate the help with my bags. It was a long day.”

She stepped back. Her objective was to learn more about photography, not drool over him or his cologne. She headed to the back stairs. “Let me see what food I can scrounge up.”

She would ply him with food and if there was an opportunity—questions. Find out if she could use her photography for more than selling cards.

* * *

LIAM ROLLED HIS suitcases next to the bedroom door, settling the camera bag on the bed. It was foolish, but he unzipped the bag. The Hasselblad, Rolleiflex, his Canon, Nikon and all his lenses and filters looked undamaged. Barbara had come through with a portable, and it was fine.

Dolley had been careful. And watching the bag had given him the opportunity to admire a really lovely bum.

He stretched, working a kink out of his lower back. Ms. Dolley Fitzgerald was more interesting in person than in her website photograph. She had...energy. A camera couldn’t capture her gleaming green eyes or the life in that mass of red curls.

He unpacked a few things, plugged in his phone to recharge and set the stack of releases on the desk with his computer.

His stomach rumbled. He pocketed his key card and headed downstairs.

The curved railing was silky smooth under his palm. What a difference between the uncared-for Kilkee manor house and this well-preserved Savannah mansion.

He would get something to eat, take the lay of the land with the first Fitzgerald sister and then fall into bed.

Tomorrow he planned to wander Savannah, get a sense of the city and the historic district. He loved exploring and listening to the natives. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t an aboriginal community in Australia or a small tribe forced out of their hunting grounds in Africa.

Skirting a tower of poinsettias, he found the right hallway and pushed on the swinging door.

Dolley stood in front of a stainless steel counter, containers covering the surface. The worktops, grills and a wall of fridges made this look like a restaurant. But in the back was a small sitting area with a glowing fire and a Christmas tree.

“You found me.” Dolley pointed to the back area. “Grab a chair by the fire. I’ll bring everything over.”

He snatched a chunk of cheese as he passed by the counter. “Thanks ever so much.”

“What would you like to drink? Beer, wine, soda? We have Jameson if you’d prefer.”

He sank into an armchair. “A Jameson, neat, would be appreciated.”

She dropped off a tray of cheese, sausage, crackers and fruit. “I’ll grab your drink.”

She pushed through the swinging door. Her short black dress flirted with her tidy bottom. Nice.

He piled a cracker with cheese and meat and took a bite. Followed up with some cool green grapes. He kept going as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Ever since Seamus’s funeral, his appetite had been—off. His meals had been haphazard at best. He’d do better. He’d comply with the schedule Dolley had rattled off. She’d said the hours were in the pamphlet she’d handed him. He’d make sure he didn’t miss meals like he’d been doing in Ireland.

“Sorry it took so long. Jameson is in the library.” Dolley pushed through the doorway. “It’s always there for guests, FYI.”

The room brightened. Why? He turned his photographic instincts to the question. Dolley? It wasn’t just her hair, it was her—her smile—her sparkle. Being in Kilkee had drained him. Maybe in Savannah he could absorb some of her vitality.

“This is great.” He waved his hand over the half-decimated spread of food.

“I could make you a sandwich,” she offered.

He took the tumbler from her hand and their fingers bumped. Awareness surged through him. “This will hit the spot.”

“Would you like company?” she asked.

“Please.”

She took the armchair across from him, curling her feet underneath her trim bottom. She tipped her wineglass. “Welcome to Savannah. Sláinte.”

Her pronunciation was spot-on. “Sláinte.”

They both stared into the fire. He popped grapes in his mouth, enjoying the silence, so different from the cacophony of airports and planes.

“Did you fly straight from Ireland today?”

He shook his head. “I was in New York for a week. Meetings.”

“My sister, our chef, trained in New York.” Her smile dimmed. “I visited when I was seventeen. Not sure I could live there. I enjoy fresh air too much. But the city—everything moved and breathed. It was alive.”

Weird that she mentioned the one thing that bothered him about the city—the smell. “I can never get the stench of petrol out of my nose. I hate the crowds.”

“I love crowds.” Her grin made her green eyes twinkle. “Savannah smells like life to me. Green and growing. And when you get closer to Tybee, the ocean.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “I love it here, but I’d like to see...the world.”

The world? Been there. Done that. “Tybee sounds like Kilkee, but warmer.”

“Kilkee? Is that where you live in Ireland?”

“Only for part of my childhood. Before that I lived in county Kerry.”

“It sounds so—glamorous.”

He shook his head. “It’s a small coastal village.”

“I checked out your website.” She leaned forward. “It’s amazing. I love your Irish landscapes—well, all your landscapes. But the Irish ones made me feel like I was walking a path home to a cottage. Or I’d just stepped into a pub and someone built me a Guinness.”

Her compliment sounded genuine. “Have you been, then?”

“To Ireland? No. Closest I’ve come is Kevin Barry’s pub here in Savannah.” She laughed. “Sad when we’re Irish-Americans, isn’t it?”

“No.” He popped one last cracker in his mouth. “You take the photos for the website, right?”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

“You’ve an excellent hand with the camera.” He tried not to stare at her mouth. He was supposed to be scoping out the territory. But the sight of her lower lip, now wet and slightly pink from her teeth, was...entrancing.

“Me?” Her eyes widened. Her fair skin turned a beautiful peach color with her blush.

“Your photographs are well composed. You use light like an artist.”

“Coming from you, I’m awestruck.” Her hand pressed against her chest. A rather lovely chest, at that.

He forced his gaze up to her face. “Did you study under someone?”

“I took classes in college, but nothing serious.” She shook her head, and her curls danced. “Nothing like what you must have done.”

“I never went to university.”

She leaned forward. “But you’re so good.”

Her frock gapped, and he got a small peek of the valley between her breasts. Devil take his soul, he was having trouble keeping his eyes where they belonged.

“I apprenticed with some wonderful photographers,” he said. “That sounds grander than it really is. I hauled equipment and spent hours in the darkroom, or scrolling and deleting blurred photos, but I watched them work. They critiqued and explained and made me the photographer I am.”

“You were an apprentice.” Her fingernail tapped the cutie-pie curve of her top lip. “I don’t suppose you need one while you’re in Savannah? I really want to learn more.”

“I’ve only had one apprentice.” He exhaled. “It’s a commitment to bring out the artist in a photographer.”

And that hadn’t ended well. Kieran had used him to get ahead. That was expected. But his apprentice had had little patience. He’d falsified a recommendation by using Liam’s own email.

Since Kieran, he’d been reluctant to take on anyone else. His focus in Savannah was his documentary, not training a novice.

But working with Dolley might be another way to absorb the Fitzgerald experience.

“Let me get some sleep.” He stood. “I’ll think on your request.”

CHAPTER THREE

Diligence is the mother of good luck.

Proverb

DOLLEY’S FINGERS BEAT a rhythm on her keyboard. Three o’clock. What was Liam doing? Maybe tea at Fitzgerald House?

She could accidentally run into him there. He might have an answer about taking her on as an apprentice. She rolled her head, easing the tight muscles in her neck.

What would it be like to apprentice with Liam Delaney? Could he be her ticket to showing her family she had creativity, too? She wouldn’t be the youngest Fitzgerald sister anymore. She’d be someone.

Anne poked her head over the cubicle wall. “I’m heading across the street for coffee. Do you want anything?”

“No, but I’ll walk out with you. I need to run over to Fitzgerald House.” She shut down and tucked her laptop in her bag.

Time to stalk Liam Delaney. God, she was sad.

“I heard from Connor,” Anne said, pushing open the door. “He asked me to drive up to North Carolina to visit.”

“You kept in touch?” Dolley would never have put them together.

“We saw each other a couple of times the weekend we met.” Anne started across the street. “Then got together during Thanksgiving.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” She and Anne were friends, close friends.

Anne chewed her thumbnail. “When we met, you didn’t approve of us as a couple.”

“That’s because Connor’s self-absorbed.” Or had been during high school.

“He’s not.” Anne stopped in front of the coffee shop, hands on her hips. “Sure, he likes to talk about his job, but it’s interesting. You should hear what they’re researching. Ways to deliver chemotherapy in fat cells, nanotechnology and injecting tumors with viruses.” Anne shot Dolley a stern look. “What he’s doing could change the world.”

Dolley sighed. “I...I didn’t realize.”

“He’s amazing,” Anne said.

“You don’t need my approval to date Connor.” What did she know about successful relationships?

Anne’s shoulders relaxed. “But he was your friend first. I don’t want this to be between us.”

“Never.” Dolley caught her hand. “I think you’ll be great together.”

Anne squeezed her fingers. “Really?”

“Really.” Dolley hated that her friend had hesitated to tell her about a relationship. Maybe letting her in on her secret might soothe her feathers. “The reason I’m heading to Fitzgerald House is because our long-term guest, the Irishman, is considering whether he’ll take me on as a photography apprentice.”

Anne’s eyes were as big as saucers. “An apprentice?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe he can jump-start my photography career. He must know all the right people. It would be the perfect leg up.”

“You want to change careers?”

“I hope so,” Dolley said. “And Liam could help me hit the fast track.”

“I don’t want to be alone at Jackson.” Anne pouted.

“You won’t be alone. And who knows if I’m any good.” Dolley winced. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Anne turned a key on her mouth. “Is the Irishman as hot as his accent?”

“Hotter.” And Dolley wasn’t kidding. “Total eye candy.”

Anne fanned herself. “Go, girl.”

“It won’t be a hardship to befriend the man.” Dolley grinned. And maybe she could get him to smile.

Dolley cut across Columbia Square and skirted the fountain. Everyone around her was pairing up. Anne and Connor. That was a shock. Abby was engaged. Bess and Daniel had been hot and heavy for a while, but that had ended. Even so, Bess didn’t want to stop for drinks anymore.

Soon there wouldn’t be anyone to go clubbing with her, and she’d sit at home, become a recluse and take in stray cats.

Across the street from the B and B, she stopped and stared at Fitzgerald House. At three full stories plus the attic, it towered above Carleton House. The black wrought iron balconies gave it a feminine look.

Dolley didn’t remember Fitzgerald House ever being her home. She’d been five when Mamma had opened the B and B.

She only remembered Papa through pictures. He’d died when she was four. But whenever she smelled Old Spice, she got a warm, happy feeling. Abby was the one who’d told her it had been Papa’s aftershave.

Sunshine sparkled on the windows. A cascade of red poinsettias flowed across the porch and down the steps. Dolley had wrapped fairy lights around the green garland draped along the low wall running the length of both Fitzgerald and Carleton House. Her fingers clenched, wishing she had her camera.

The day they’d decorated, she’d taken tons of pictures. That B and B blog had gotten the most hits ever. The blog was her small contribution to finding new guests.

She took the Fitzgerald House porch stairs two at a time and pulled open the bright blue door. She sniffed. Ginger molasses cookies? Abby was baking her favorite treat.

She wanted to see if Liam was attending afternoon tea, but she also wanted to grab a warm cookie. She inhaled. Darn it. A career she was passionate about was more important than her sister’s cookies, right? She forced her feet to move down the hall, away from the kitchen.

In the sunroom, guests gathered in groups of two or four, drinking and eating the offerings. She leaned against the door frame.

Liam sat next to the bay window. A group of local women who came to tea each month formed a ring around him. Wouldn’t they love his accent?

His knuckles were white around his plate. His teeth clenched. Poor man.

She entered the room.

His head jerked up. Relief filled his deep blue eyes and he scrambled to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies.”

Pressing her lips together, she held back a laugh.

“Ms. Fitzgerald.” He almost lunged toward her. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

She smiled. “Good to see you, too.”

“Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace other than—” he looked back at the ladies “—here?”

She took pity on him. “Follow me.”

“Goodbye, Liam,” a woman called.

“Goodbye, Mr. Delaney,” another said.

“Let me know if you need more information on my family,” a woman called as he left.

As soon as they turned the hallway corner, she burst out laughing.

He slumped against the wall. “Devil take me, those women were talking my ears off.”

“I know just what will help, my sister’s molasses and ginger cookies.” She linked their arms. His was firm and muscular. “They’re the best.”

She would be able to talk to Liam and have her favorite cookie. Score.

“As soon as I told the group what I was doing in Savannah, they...they attacked.” He was a little breathless. “And they all looked alike. What are you doing down here, cloning crones?”

She glanced behind her, but they were far enough away from the sunroom that no one could have heard him. “They all went to school together, and they’re wonderful.”

“I’m sure they are, but they’re overwhelming.” His words ran together, a lovely Irish slur of sounds.

She slipped her arm out if his. If she wanted an apprenticeship, she wouldn’t complicate things by acting too familiar.

Photography was her focus.

She pushed open the kitchen door.

Abby slid cookies onto racks. She glanced up, her ponytail bouncing. “Hey, Dolley.”

Liam stepped in next to her. Even through the magnificent smell of molasses, sugar and ginger, his scent came through.

“Abby, have you met Liam Delaney?”

“Not yet.” Abby grabbed a towel and dusted her hands. Moving across the kitchen, she shook his hand. “So glad you chose Fitzgerald House for your stay.”