Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms #6)(6)

The inn was beautiful, an elegant, old-fashioned estate with twenty guest rooms, a bar and restaurant, and gorgeous lobby with cathedral ceilings, a wide central staircase, and a giant fireplace that was always ablaze in the winter months, making the place feel warm and cozy.

There was also a winery on the premises, as well as a wedding barn, all nestled among hundreds of acres of vineyards and orchards. The old red horse barn was still there too, and I recalled many a childhood summer afternoon spent playing in there with my sisters while our dad worked.

My official title was Hospitality Specialist, which meant I did a little bit of everything. Over the summer, I’d run weeklong summer camps for kids, organized live music nights on the winery patio, assisted at wine tastings both on and offsite, and helped with weddings whenever my sister Millie needed an extra pair of hands—she was the event coordinator there. I also filled in at the front desk reception quite a bit, and a few times I even tended bar.

My parents had helped me buy this condo, which was only about ten minutes away from the house where I’d grown up. They still lived there with my two youngest sisters—the twins, Audrey and Emmeline, who’d been born a few years after my dad had married Frannie and were now sixteen. I saw them all every Sunday for family dinner.

I was happy here, even if I hadn’t found my true purpose yet.

My phone buzzed on the floor where I’d been sitting, and I tore myself away from the window to answer it. Ellie calling, the screen said. I took the call and wandered back toward the window.

“Hello?”

“Hey. What are you up to?”

“Painting my nails and spying on my hot neighbor.”

She laughed. “I didn’t know you had a hot neighbor.”

“I didn’t until today. He’s moving in right now.” I watched him carry a large cardboard box down the ramp. “At least, I think he’s hot. It’s hard to tell for sure since I’m stalking from the second-floor window.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Tall, dark, and broody.”

“Ooh. Tell me more.”

“He’s wearing a shirt that says TCFD. It’s very tight.”

“A firefighter! How old, roughly?”

“Not sure. Maybe thirties?” I watched him walk back toward the truck, pause, and lift off his cap before wiping the sweat from his forehead with his inner arm. My breath caught. “He just took his hat off.”

“And?”

“Hotness confirmed.”

“Is there a wife or girlfriend?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go introduce yourself.”

Suddenly he glanced up in my direction, and I backed away from the screen. “Shit. He just saw me being all Gladys Kravitz at the window.”

“Gladys who?”

“Gladys Kravitz! The neighbor lady from Bewitched that was always standing at her window spying on everyone.”

“What the hell is Bewitched?”

“It’s a classic sitcom! Comfort TV! You’ve never seen Bewitched?” To remove temptation, I went downstairs into the kitchen.

“No, I rewatch Friends for comfort like everyone else who isn’t ninety. Listen, it’s not weird to be friendly to a new neighbor. Go say hi and welcome. Bring him a pie or something.” She laughed. “But no falling in love with him. Give it at least a week.”

“Haha.” I opened the fridge and stared at the contents, possibly hoping to find a stray pie. But the only sweet thing in there was my half-eaten chocolate Frosty from yesterday with a plastic spoon sticking out of it, which I didn’t think would make a very nice welcome gift. “You’re just trying to sabotage me so you can win the bet.”

“I’m going to win the bet anyway,” she said with confidence. “I can’t believe you made it in the first place.”

Honestly, I couldn’t either. It must have been the vodka.

Three months ago—right after my engagement imploded—Ellie and I went out for drinks, and I announced I was swearing off men.

Ellie had laughed. “Ha! You won’t last six months.”

“Wanna bet?” I’d challenged, tossing back the rest of my second martini and licking vodka off the last olive on the bamboo pick.

She’d raised one eyebrow. “It’s May, Winifred. You think you can make it to November without falling in love? You?”

“Definitely,” I’d replied, and then hiccupped.

“I admit,” Ellie said to me now on the phone, “I didn’t think you’d even make it to the Fourth of July.”

“See?” I gloated, although generally, I did enjoy having a significant other on national holidays. And bank holidays. And especially Hallmark holidays.

“But fall is coming,” she said suggestively. “Cuddle weather.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I took a quick bite of the Frosty before closing the fridge. “I am the boss of my feelings.”

“Glad to hear it. But if you fall in love before Thanksgiving, you still owe me the thing.”

I shuddered. I did not want to owe her the thing. “I can absolutely make it to Thanksgiving. In fact, let’s make it Christmas.”

“Christmas!” She burst out laughing. “Now you’re just talking crazy. You didn’t even like being single at Christmas in seventh grade.”