A Proposal at the Wedding. Gina Wilkins

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      Her smile was wry. “A few, and I’m sure I’ll see many more in the future.”

      She was optimistic about the long-term success of her establishment, he noted. An admirable attitude, reminding him how very attached she was to the inn. How deeply she’d planted her roots here.

      “Cassie made all her friends promise that if they saw even a glimmer of ‘Bridezilla’ making an appearance in her, they were to give her a swift kick in the butt.”

      Bonnie laughed softly. “That’s cute. So many brides act like one little glitch in their obsessively detailed plans will ruin their lives forever.”

      She bit her lip suddenly, looking as though she wasn’t sure if she’d stepped over a professional line. “Of course, we do our best here to make sure all our events go as smoothly as our clients desire,” she assured him.

      Trying to hide his amusement, he nodded solemnly. “Surely you don’t get blamed for things that are out of your control.”

      Forgetting herself again, she rolled her eyes. “A bride once threatened to sue us because it rained on her wedding day.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      Shaking her head with a pained sigh, she said, “I wish I was. She also blamed her groom, her mother and God, in that order after us, and spent an hour crying in the ladies’ room before we could coax her out after the brief rain shower ended. She ended up having a very nice, if a bit damp, wedding.”

      “So that’s why you spell out in your contract that you aren’t responsible for weather or other acts of nature. Cassie thought that was funny.”

      “More like a necessity. Can you put this container on that shelf, please? The top one?”

      Obligingly, he slid the lidded plastic box easily onto a shelf well above Bonnie’s head.

      “Thank you. You saved me from having to pull out the stepladder.”

      Glancing at the high cabinets lining the no-wasted-space kitchen, he smiled. He was unable to resist patting the top of her blond head, which came just about level with his shoulder. “I have a feeling you spend a lot of time with that stepladder.”

      She grinned up at him. “Are you kidding? If I ever get married, it’ll be one of my attendants.”

      Even though it was only a joke, her reference to marriage made him automatically drop his hand and take a half step back from her. He tried to cover his foolish reaction by opening the second basket for unpacking. “Are there any other high shelves I can reach for you before I go?”

      “As a matter of fact…” Seemingly oblivious to his awkward moment, she had him store several more items.

      “I hope this gets me extra points in the class.”

      Wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, she smiled. “You know I’m not grading the class.”

      That fleeting little dimple at the corner of her mouth could make a man’s mouth go dry. He swallowed before murmuring, “Still…”

      Draping the towel over a rack, she pushed back her hair and said, “I think it’s safe for you to go now. The parking lot should be empty. Thank you for your help.”

      “I wasn’t afraid to go out with the class,” he said with exaggerated male dignity. “I just, uh, thought you could use a hand.”

      As he’d hoped, she laughed again. She had such a pretty laugh, soft and musical. His lips quirked automatically upward in response and he bade her good-night with a smile. If he fantasized about parting with a kiss—well, he assured himself as he headed for his car, that was only natural considering his attraction to her. Because he sensed the attraction wasn’t entirely one-sided, he hoped maybe someday soon that fantasy could come true.

      Darkness had settled fully over the grounds by the time Bonnie headed out of the inn that night. After class she’d checked on the guests playing board games in the shared front parlor, and did some prep for breakfast the next morning. Finally deciding to call it a day, she slipped out a back door onto the long wooden deck where an older couple who were staying a few days to celebrate their fifty-first wedding anniversary sat in rockers, sipping tea and enjoying the moonlight. She exchanged good-nights with them, but didn’t linger, leaving them to their quiet companionship.

      Rather than heading straight into her half basement apartment, she turned at the foot of the stairs and walked along one of the graveled paths toward the back of the gardens. She needed a few minutes of fresh air to clear her head before turning in for the night. The lighting was sufficient to safely guide her steps, but not so bright as to dim the beauty of the star-­studded sky overhead. Not that she needed lighting at all. She could walk every inch of the inn’s grounds with her eyes closed.

      The gardens spreading around the gray-painted, white-trimmed Queen-Anne style inn had been designed to be inviting, peaceful and reasonably low-maintenance with well-tended pathways winding through the flower beds. A large, three-tier fountain was the central attraction, with a white-painted wedding gazebo at the east side of the grounds. The east side lawn had been leveled, providing space for tents or tables and chairs for outdoor parties and receptions. Stone steps and a wheelchair ramp led down from that lawn to the lower gardens.

      As she walked, Bonnie saw both the beauty of the grounds and the many backbreaking, blister-raising, sweat-drenching hours of manual labor she and her siblings had put into the restoration. They had helped their uncle Leo as often as they could, but they’d been busy establishing careers in Tennessee, so there’d been a lot of work to do when they’d officially inherited the place. Bonnie regretted none of it, and she was confident Kinley and Logan felt the same.

      She paused at the back of the grounds, just before the trailhead of a hiking path that led through dense woods to the peak of Bride Mountain. They eventually planned to do a bit more development here, hoping to create a quiet meditation garden complete with a koi pond.

      Movement to her right made her turn. A massive dark shape separated from the shadows to bump against her, a low rumble issuing from its throat. The dog’s head came higher than her waist, so she didn’t even have to bend to give him an affectionate pat on the head. He growled louder when she rubbed his ears, a sound that she’d always thought of as Ninja’s version of a purr. The dog almost never barked, but he made this sound frequently, leading some wary observers to think he was growling at them.

      “I thought you and Ninja had already made your rounds for the evening,” she said to her brother.

      His hard-carved face mostly in shadow, Logan Carmichael would probably have appeared intimidating to anyone who didn’t love him as much as his younger sister did. “Guess we’re both restless tonight. Nothing good on TV.”

      “You want to come in for cake and tea? I have a little left of that coconut cake I made for dinner last night.”

      “Thanks, but not tonight. Ninja and I are just going to walk the trail a bit.”

      Looking up from the dog, she raised an eyebrow at her brother. “Hiking in the dark?”

      “Not a hike. Just a short walk. There’s enough moonlight to guide us. And I’ve got a flashlight if needed.”

      “Still…”

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