Page 18 of Mixed Motives

“Then that’s what you should be doing.”

“Keane?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Do what feels right. And if that means you end up with your ex-boyfriend’s father”—he shrugs—“then great.”

That sounds a bit too easy, but I’d like it to be true.

“You’re both adults,” he adds. “You don’t need to ask anyone’s permission to date Keane. Except him. And yourself.”

“I’m the one in charge of my life.”

“Precisely.”

“Still, I worry about Kerrigan. I know I’m supposed to be all ‘Tough, you blew it’ and move on. He hurt me, and I wanted to hurt him. But I know how it feels when someone gets over you in the blink of an eye.”

“You’re a good person, Henry. This is why I love you. Keane will, too.”

Love? I want to scoff.

Keane was amazing, and I do think we have a real connection, but I need to be rational about this. Of course I want to be loved by a man like that, but some things are too good to be true.

While most people just walk into a bed-and-breakfast—that’s kind of how public accommodations work—the doorbell rings Saturday evening, and I know it’s Keane arriving for our next date.

I welcome him inside, and he whistles. “Wow, this place is so cool.”

I take a look around as if I don’t know the decor in detail. This is a Victorian mansion, and it’s filled with period-appropriate furniture and accessories. It looks like a great-aunt decorated it, though it’s not as fussy as it could be—I said hard pass on the doilies and cut down on the fringed lampshades by at least 30 percent. Even still, Aunt Veronica made sure there were lots of books and comfy chairs and couches. It’s the kind of place that invites you to stay a while. And I think that saves it.

The door closes behind us, and I go right up to him and kiss him—something I think I’ve always wanted to do. In turn, his arms snake around me and hold me to him, and he ravages my mouth.

I hear a chuckle as a couple on their honeymoon walk into the foyer, presumably headed out for dinner.

I pull back, clear my throat, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Sorry,” I say, not really feeling apologetic at all.

“All good,” one of them says as they slip past.

When Keane and I are alone, he says, “Okay, show me around,” and I remember why he’s here. I mean, yes, we’re going on a date, but he also offered to take a look at my newly inherited career.

I give him a tour of the parlors and downstairs breakfast room, the remodeled kitchen, and the large downstairs bedroom with attached bathroom, which is where Aunt Veronica used to live and where I moved in.

He glances around, noting the art tacked up on the walls.

“Is that yours?” He points to a watercolor of the grape-covered hills.

“Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful. I’d love something like that for our tasting room.”

“You can have it,” I blurt.

He shakes his head. “Your art is lovely. Don’t go giving it away for free. We’ll talk to some dealers, and I’ll pay you a fair price. What do you say to that?”

“But if I’m your … you know. I mean, if I’m seeing you. Wouldn’t you want a bargain?”

He shakes his head. “I’d want to show you how much you were worth. Though the answer to that is: way more than money.” Keane tugs me to him. “Okay, back to the B and B: I don’t want to run your life. If you want me to take a step back, I will. But it seemed like you were a tad overwhelmed by suddenly running a business you hadn’t planned on owning.”

“Yeah. I am,” I admit. “I’m grateful for any help you can offer.”

He kisses me softly, and I really don’t know how I got so lucky. “Why don’t you show me the rest of the place, and then we can go out to dinner. Sound good?”

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