Future Perfect Read Online Free

“and to live up to the expectations of the critics.”
    But he still hadn’t answered her question.
    “Fiction,” he finally said. “Is there anything else? No, don’t answer that. Dumb thing to say, particularly for a guy who used to be a journalist.”
    A journalist. Juliana felt a flash of uncertainty. There was supposed to be a reviewer from the
Boston Globe
coming out to review 31 Farmer’s Hill Road, and his review would be included in a book about New England bed and breakfasts. A good review was worth big money. If Webster Donovan was the reviewer, they’d already gotten off to a shaky start.
    But what kind of reviewer would come and stay for six weeks? No, it couldn’t be Webster Donovan. Besides, he was obviously prejudiced toward writing fiction.
    “I’ve laid towels out in the bathroom,” Juliana said, feeling the silence in the room drag on a bit too long as she stood there examining him from the tips of his scuffed boots to the top of his curly mop of dark hair. “Let me know if you need extras.”
    She crossed to one of two closed doors and opened it. “Bathroom’s here,” she said. She opened the other door. “Here’s your sitting room.”
    The second room was as large as the bedroom, but the wallpaper was a green print. Even the ceiling was papered with a matching design. The curtains were cream lace, and they let in the bright October sun. There was a table in front of the bay windows, just the right size for his computer.
    Yeah, he was going to like working here.
    “Both of the fireplaces work,” she said. “If it getscold enough, I’ll light a fire in the evening, if you plan to be in.”
    There were two easy chairs in front of the green tiled fireplace, a huge, ornately framed mirror above it. The rug, the antique furniture, the wallpaper, everything about the room was right out of the late nineteenth century. It was perfect.
    “You did a good job decorating,” he said, looking back into the bedroom. That big bed had caught his attention so totally, he hadn’t even noticed the color of the walls until now. It wasn’t quite pink, but it was close. Dusty rose, he guessed it would be called. The spread on the bed matched the wallpaper, and the wall was papered in the tripartite style—divided into three sections with three different patterns of the same colors. The bedroom ceiling, too, was papered, in a different, lighter print. The woodwork in the room had been painted white.
    A quick glance back at the sitting room, his office, he already thought of it, revealed natural colored woodworking, polished to a high shine. “This house is a real gem.”
    “You should’ve seen it when I first bought it.” Her smile transformed her face, making her even more beautiful.
    She stopped smiling almost immediately, as if she were afraid of giving too much of herself away.
    “If you wouldn’t mind coming downstairs, Mr. Donovan,” she said, “I have some forms for you to fill out.”
    Again, he followed her, this time back down the glistening oak staircase. “The guest rooms are all on the second floor,” she said in a voice like a tour guide’s. “You’ve found the library—”
    “And the kitchen,” he said. “This is a terrific house. Is it Anabel?”
    “What?” The non sequitur caught her off guard.
    He was smiling at her. “Or maybe Briana. That fits your hair.” He reached out to brush a rebellious curl off her face.
    Juliana took a step backward, impatience on her face. “Please respect the other guests’ privacy. As I said before, many of them don’t bother locking their doors when they go out.”
    His grin widened, revealing straight, white teeth. “Yeah,” he said. “No problem. Let’s see,
A
 … 
B
 … 
C
 … Cassandra?”
    “All of the guest rooms are on the second floor.” She tried to ignore him. “Here on the first floor, I’d appreciate it if you’d restrict yourself to using only the front parlor, the living and dining rooms, and the