“Yes. I’m confirming the December reservations this week. If anyone cancels, I’m calling them right away.”

Winona ran through the guest list with Dena and handed her the December menus to review.

“Have you met your roommate?” Winona asked with a grin. “He’s very swoon-worthy.”

“He’s not my roommate. He lives downstairs.”

“Giving you even more access. You share the courtyard. Maybe he’ll see you and invite you in for a nightcap.”

“Unlikely. Besides, I can’t drink.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. So a bite to eat or a quickie up against the wall.”

Dena wrinkled her nose. “That’s romantic.”

Winona’s smile turned knowing. “You’re judging because you’ve never been taken up against a wall. It can be very exciting.”

“I’m not sure how the logistics would work or if my thigh muscles would be up to the task.” She leaned against the bar. “And before you get too lost in your fantasies, have you made sure there isn’t a Mrs. Swoon-worthy around?”

“He seems very single. I’m thinking of calling dibs.”

Dena laughed. “You go ahead. I doubt he’s my type anyway.”

“Oh, honey, he’s everyone’s type.”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, you will.”

Dena walked back toward the carriage house. She let herself into the small walled courtyard that led to the entrance to the upper and lower apartments. The bottom one took up half the ground floor. Her upstairs apartment covered the downstairs unit and the storage area, giving her two spacious bedrooms, two bathrooms and a small study. The corner kitchen had lots of light, and there was even a small fireplace in her living room.

She’d just fished her key out of her handbag when she heard a low male voice say, “Hello. I think we’re neighbors.”

Dena turned and saw the mystery guest standing just inside his open front door. He was, as she and Winona had discussed, completely and totally swoon-worthy. About six-two or -three, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His jaw was square, his shoulders broad. He was lean and strong at the same time, and his smile was whatever was better than perfect.

“Um, hi,” she said, wondering how, exactly, one did it up against a wall. It sounded uncomfortable to her, but if the man in front of her was doing the asking, she was willing to risk the—

Ack! She had to get a grip.

She pulled her mind back to the present moment and walked toward him, hand outstretched.

“I’m Dena Somerville. Welcome to the Wishing Tree B and B.”

“Micah Ruiz.”