“You—Oh.” Not a conversation she’d expected to have with an inn full of people playing gin rummy.

“That’s not accurate. I’ve finished considering the idea.”

“I see. And what’s your conclusion?”

He gave her that look—that not exactly a smile, a sneer, a smirk. “What do you think?”

“I’m going to take a leap and say you’ve concluded in favor.”

“Good leap.” He reached out; she stepped back.

“I have people inside. Guests inside. I wouldn’t call this an optimum time to move forward with that conclusion.”

“I wasn’t figuring on wrestling you to the ground here and now.” But he put his hands in his pockets as the image of doing just that had considerable appeal. “So, what would you call the optimal—Christ, now I’m talking like you. When’s good for you?”

“I—”

He pulled his hands free, waved it away. He had smoother moves than that, for God’s sake. She just threw him off-stride. “You want dinner or something? That’s fine. You’ve got a night off sometime, or a night without bookings. I can work with that.” When she hesitated, he shrugged. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No.” Simple, she reminded herself. Straightforward, no frills. That’s what she wanted. Wasn’t it? “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Okay, then. You’ve got the schedule in that spreadsheet in your head. I’ve got a brother who has the same kind of brain.”

“Tuesday’s good.”

“Tuesday works. We can—”

“Damn it. Sorry.” She spotted someone crossing The Lobby toward the kitchen. “I’ve just got to check on the guests.”

When she dashed inside, Ryder looked down at his dog. “Wait here. You know how she is about you coming in when people are inside.”

D.A. sighed, plopped down, gave his sad look before his face nestled on his paws.

Ryder went in. A burst of laugher exploded from the direction of The Lounge, with a lot of voices in its wake. Another rumble of it rolled out from the direction of the kitchen.

Lively place, he decided. He’d never actually been in it when she had paying customers. It didn’t hurt his feelings to know that when she did, they enjoyed themselves. He just wished they’d all go the hell away for a few minutes so they could finish this deal.

Better yet, they could go the hell away for a couple hours, then they’d just seal the deal. He caught the scent of honeysuckle, rolled his eyes. “Stay out of it, sister,” he muttered.

Hope came back through with a man wearing what Ryder thought of as dad jeans—though his own had never worn them. He had a beer in each hand while Hope carried two glasses of red wine.

“Got yourself a walk-in, Hope.” The man grinned, all affability. “Better make up a cot.”