Hope blinked, confused.
“She asked how long you planned to stay.” Verna resumed her seat at the table after removing perfectly formed biscuits from a cast-iron skillet and dropping them into a heated bread basket.
Hope had been convinced she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite, but then Verna handed the basket to her. The wonderful aroma teased her nostrils. She took a biscuit and began to butter it, conscious that John was still looking at her.
“How long?” she repeated when he didn’t answer but continued to stare.
“Didn’t Verna tell you?” John cast a curious glance in his foster mother’s direction. He appeared to relax at Verna’s encouraging smile. “I’m moving back to Harmony.”
The biscuit Hope had been buttering slipped from her fingers onto the bread plate. “Why, that’s . . . wonderful.”
She picked up the biscuit and tried to gather her thoughts. It seemed like a quirk of fate that, on the day she discovered they might still be married, John showed up in Harmony.
Consoling herself that John’s proximity would only make getting an annulment—if it proved necessary—that much easier, Hope bit into the biscuit.
Verna nudged Hope’s hand with the bowl of carrots and persisted until Hope added a few to her plate, then passed the bowl to John.
His fingers brushed hers, and a sizzle of heat traveled up her arm.
Hope inhaled sharply. Her reaction made no sense. She was reacting to him as if their connection had never been severed.
Botheration, nothing was making any sense. Hope put a hand to her head and closed her eyes for a second.
“Are you okay?” Concern filled John’s voice.
She opened her eyes and forced a wan smile. “Just a little headache. It was a long day.”
“Tell me about the bridal fair,” Verna urged. “I’ve been so busy getting dinner made that we haven’t had a chance to talk.”
“John’s decision to move back is so much more interesting.” Hope shifted her attention to him. “What made you leave Portland? I thought you liked it there.”
“I did.” He added carrots to his plate. “But Harmony has always felt like home. And I can work from anywhere.”
He hadn’t really answered her question, but to press further might appear as if she was hounding him . . . or was overly interested.
“You and Verna have a great thing going with Harmony Creek,” he said, bouncing the conversational ball back to her. “I’d think that’d be enough to keep you busy, but she tells me you’re doing payroll for the Tuttle banks as well as some tax work in the spring.”
It appeared Verna had done quite a stellar job updating John on her life. Too bad her aunt hadn’t done quite so well keeping Hope informed of his activities.
“I like to stay busy.” She stabbed a carrot with her fork. “And I’m in the critical years of building my portfolio. I put most of the money from my accounting work into the market. So far, so good.”
“I’d have expected you to be more conservative in your investments. Perhaps a CD or maybe a money-market account.”
Hope narrowed her eyes. Was he making fun of her? His stoic expression made it difficult to tell. “The return on a CD or money market wouldn’t even keep up with inflation.”
“But no risk,” he said, a tiny smile hovering on the corners of his lips. “From what I remember, you’re averse to risk taking, for any reason.”
The heat rose up Hope’s neck like a fire in dry kindling, reaching her cheeks in seconds. She wasn’t fooled by his innocent expression. No, sirree.
She slammed the glass she’d brought to her mouth back on the table with such force the milk sloshed in the air. Placing her hands on the edge of the table, Hope leaned forward. When she spoke, her voice was razor-sharp. “What I’m not willing to take are foolish risks.”
“I believe this time together around the table is the perfect opportunity to let you in on my latest brilliant plan,” Verna interrupted, her tone cheerful but determined. “I’m going to call it Mistletoe Inn.”
Hope sat back, suddenly confused. “Call what Mistletoe Inn?”
“The house, of course.”
“What house?” John asked.
“The one you’re sitting in, silly.” Verna’s lips lifted in a pleased smile, as if knowing she now had their full attention. “I’ve decided to open my home for weddings—initially, during the month of December only. We’ll offer small wedding packages. Couples can marry in the parlor and use the entire main level for the reception. We’ll make a few rooms on the upper level available for the wedding couple and their guests.”
“When did you decide this?” Hope couldn’t hide her confusion.
“I’ve been considering it for some time.” Verna added a dollop of honey to her biscuit.