The Perfect Hope

“What is that man’s problem?”

Carolee, face flushed from baking, slid a batch of cookies in the wall oven. “Which man, honey?”

“Ryder Montgomery. Is rudeness his religion?”

When he came back with a small duffle, she offered the key. “You know how everything works?”
“Everything but you, but I’ll figure it out.”

He shut the shed door, turned to study her.
“Is there something—”
“Yes.”
After silence followed she lifted her eyebrows. “All right, what?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “I’m considering the idea.”
“You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.

“People should mind their own business.”

A lot of work was better than no work.