by Olivia Miles
“It’s just a hobby really…” Abby’s cheeks flushed.
Bridget smiled and turned to go into the dining room to greet her guests, but Abby said, “I’m hoping to turn it into something more, though.”
Bridget wished they could have this conversation later, but she owed her sister for saving the day yesterday, and so, with more patience than she felt, she nodded. “You should pursue it, then!”
“I’ve been thinking that maybe the guests would enjoy a warm breakfast sometimes. Or lunch? Although, I suppose they are all out and about during lunch.” Abby shook her head.
Bridget blinked. She could hear a guest grumbling about there not being any more croissants in the basket and another complaining that the coffee was almost gone.
“Mind grabbing that pot of coffee?” she asked Abby. She lifted the giant basket, to show her hands were full at the moment.
“Of course!” Abby’s green eyes went round as she hurried across the kitchen to grab the now full pot from the burner. As she walked back toward the entranceway to the dining room, she said, “I was thinking a nice quiche. I make a really good goat cheese and roasted tomato quiche. Or…I mean, I could always share the recipe instead.”
Now another guest was complaining about the coffee. Bridget jutted her chin to the dining room and motioned for Abby to follow her.
“Or baked French toast. Oh! Banana Foster French toast. I’ve brought that for Mimi sometimes and the other residents just follow the smell of cinnamon and come into her room…”
What was her sister talking about? Bridget plastered a smile on her face as she entered the dining room, where the fathers and mothers of the bride and groom were sitting at the large dining table, frowning. “Coffee and croissants!” she announced cheerfully, setting her basket down on the large buffet.
“Are there any more of those blueberry muffins?” the bride’s sister asked. Bridget noticed that she already had one on her plate, but who was she to judge? The sister had also pouted through the entire ceremony, clearly not happy to be the older and still single sister. She sympathized.
“I’ll be right back with those,” Bridget said with a wink.
Abby was quick at her heels on her way back into the kitchen. “I was thinking I could come up with a menu for the week. Maybe do something really special on the weekends. Oh, and seasonal foods! You know, lots of apple offerings in the fall and spices around the holidays.”
Bridget stared at the bakery boxes, calculating how much was left. She hadn’t counted on the guests having such a hearty appetite this morning. She loaded everything into a big wicker tray. It would just have to do. She’d bring in more yogurt and fruit on her next trip.
“I just thought it might take some of the pressure off of you,” Abby continued. “And it might really add something to the business, too. I know that Margo helped with the interior design, and of course you run the place, but, well, I grew up here, too, and I was just hoping to be a part of it.”
“Of course. This is always your home, Abby!” Bridget gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder and hoisted the tray off the counter as she walked back to her guests.
“So then…this will work for you?”
Bridget opened her mouth to ask Abby what she meant, but no sound came out. There, standing in the center of her dining room, with bedraggled hair and a casual T-shirt that hinted at a perfectly sculpted chest underneath, was the man.
The man. The man who had kissed her.
The man who was, by all appearances, her guest.
“So we have an agreement?” Abby was asking.
Bridget’s mouth felt like she had just chewed cotton balls. She blinked, staring at the man, wondering if it was too late to run and hide. Should she ignore him, pass the basket off to Abby and bolt out the back door? Or confront him, smile, see if he had spent the entire night thinking about her the way she had so pathetically done about him?
He turned, and oh, God, in the light of day he was even more handsome than she’d remembered him. Piercing blue eyes and a strong, straight nose, and just enough stubble on his jaw to make her want to feel it scuff her cheek.
His eyes widened slightly before he gave her a boyish, lopsided smile, and oh, if her stomach didn’t roll over.
“So that works?”
Abby was still talking, and Bridget needed that to stop. “Fine,” she said. “Fine.”
But everything wasn’t fine. She’d kissed a guest. Fantasized about a guest. And now…now she could officially stop thinking it could ever happen again.
Chapter Three
Jack stared at the woman standing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes round, the tray of pastries tipped precariously to the left. Her blond hair was down, loose at her shoulders, and the black dress was replaced with jeans and a blouse, but there was no denying it was the woman from the wedding last night.
“Hello,” he spoke first, gauging the mood. “We meet again.” He gave a tight smile. This was…not planned.
She blinked, and then righted the tray before setting it on the buffet table. “I didn’t realize you were a guest.” Her eyes were so wide he could see the whites all around them.
He nodded. “I didn’t realize you were staying here, too.” Didn’t think that one through, had he?
Complicated, he thought, and not exactly an unwelcome scenario, other than the fact that he wasn’t here for fun.
And he should have remembered that last night. Should have never left his room, really. Instead, he’d gone looking for distraction. And found it.
She laughed softly. “Oh, I’m not a guest. I’m the owner.”
Now it was his turn to be shocked. “You own this place?”
She nodded and gave a boastful smile. “The Harper House Inn. I’m Bridget Harper.”
And I’m in trouble, Jack thought.
“Jack.” He gave an uneasy smile as he replayed last night. It hadn’t been a dream. He’d most definitely kissed this woman. A woman he wasn’t supposed to see again. Certainly not a mere matter of hours later.
“Well, Jack, please help yourself to some pastries and coffee.” She didn’t make eye contact as she gestured to the spread. “If there’s anything you need, I’m around. Check out is at noon.”
Was it him, or did her voice take on a disappointed edge on that last line?
“Oh, I’m not checking out,” he said, clearing his throat. At least he hadn’t planned to. Now he wondered if he should pack his bags, head back to the city. But then he thought of his book. And the deadline. And the threatening calls from his agent. And the fact that after searching online this was the only inn he’d found with two weeks of availability.
“Oh.” Bridget looked startled. “Are you extending the stay by another night?”
“I’m here for two weeks, actually.”
Bridget paused. “Room Four?”
He glanced at her, sensing there was underlying meaning in her question. “That’s right. Room Four.”
She sucked in a breath and began backing out of the room, her eyes fixed on the buffet table. “Well. I’ll just…let you…enjoy your breakfast,” she finished with a smile, before turning and disappearing into the kitchen.
Jack stood with a plate in his hand, weighing his options, and not the pastry variety.
He could pack his bags, be home in a few hours. Or he could bunker down and get to work here as planned.
He had less than fourteen days to do what he had come to do: crank out as many words as possible. Shut out the real world. Push through. Half a manuscript was due by the fifteenth of May, and despite knowing this for the better part of a year, he’d waited until today to start the damn thing.
He didn’t have time to drive back to New York right now. As much as he would love to.
***
Bridget stood in the pantry, which was really a fancy word for an oversized closet, wondering just how long she could stay in there until she was needed outside. An hour? A day? Two weeks, maybe?
A
tapping at the door made her jump. With a thumping heart, she reached for the handle, letting out a long sigh of relief when she saw it was just Margo.
“What’s going on?” Bridget whispered.
“Why are you hiding in here?” Margo whispered back.
“I’m not.” Bridget pretended to take great interest in a box of oatmeal.
“Then why are we whispering?” Margo asked.
Bridget pinched her lips and pulled her sister into the pantry, closing the door tightly behind her.
“I kissed that guy.”
Margo’s eyes went round. “You kissed a guy?”
As if it were such a foreign concept. Still, Bridget thought begrudgingly, her dry spell had lasted eight years. She hadn’t even known she could kiss anymore. Turned out, it really was like riding a bike…
“That guy. I kissed that guy.” Bridget felt like she could cry when she thought about all this implied. She’d have to face him again. Put on her innkeeper hat and offer him service, like a newspaper or suggestions for dinners in town. The thought of it was simply unbearable.
Or she could apologize. Blame it on the drink. But then, he’d known she hadn’t had anything all night, hadn’t he? And she’d only had a sip of champagne before he…
Her eyelids fluttered when she thought of that kiss.
Nope, she told herself, righting herself firmly. Not going there.
“Which guy?” Margo’s eyes were so wide, Bridget wasn’t sure she would ever blink again.
“Room Four!” Bridget hissed in despair. “Room Four!” Of all the rooms!
“Room Four?” Margo cried. Then she burst out into laughter. “Room Four! You kissed Room Four!”
“Shh! Well, I didn’t know it was Room Four when I kissed him. Obviously.” Bridget set her jaw, working out this dilemma. She prided herself on professionalism. Clean bedding, fresh towels, impeccable service. And now she had gone and kissed one of her guests.
She felt a headache coming on.
“Where is he? I need a look at this guy.”
“He’s getting breakfast. Dark hair. Tall.” Terribly handsome, she finished to herself.
Margo’s lips curved into a mischievous smile as she set her hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be back.”
“Mar—” Bridget started, but it was no use. Her sister was gone, off to do her spying, while Bridget…rearranged the bottom shelf of the pantry.
In less than a minute, Margo was back.
“Well?”
“He recognized me from checking him in. Can’t say I could do the same. How on earth did I miss that? He’s cute!” Margo’s eyes lit up.
Of course he was cute. Really cute. And cute, single men of the right age didn’t frequently pass through Oyster Bay, Maine, and certainly not her inn. Harper House was more of a romantic getaway type of place, not a bachelor hangout.
Margo winced. “But he’s also a pain in the ass, isn’t he?”
Was he? Bridget couldn’t even think about that nonsense right now. She had more pressing concerns to deal with. Like the fact that she’d kissed him, and he was staying here for two weeks.
“Are any other guests staying on?” She couldn’t even remember her own reservations. What was happening to her?
“The brother and sister-in-law of the bride are staying until the morning. After that…You’d have to check.” Margo gave a dramatic bite on the tip of her thumb, but Bridget could see plain as day that her sister was clearly enjoying her dilemma.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d be willing to stay here with me for a while?” Bridget knew it was pointless to ask, but it was worth a shot.
“Sorry, but Eddie and I have dinner plans tonight,” Margo replied. “You could always try Abby.”
Abby. She’d fled pretty quickly, hadn’t she? Bridget thought of the conversation she’d just had with Abby and groaned. She had the unnerving sensation that she’d agreed to something with her sister that she didn’t exactly intend to.
Well, she would deal with that later.
“I actually think this is a good thing,” Margo had the nerve to say.
Bridget gaped at her. “Margo. I kissed a guest. A paying guest. A client.”
Margo tilted her head, and gave Bridget a long look. “Did you kiss him, or did he kiss you?”
Bridget blinked, trying to pull up the very memory she was so eager to banish just a short while ago. There had been drinks and conversation and then…“He kissed me.”
And had he. It wasn’t a short, eager, sloppy kiss. It wasn’t wild or desperate either. It was just slow and nice and…Oh, God. Did she just shiver?
Right. Rearranging the pantry. For the next two weeks.
“Well, then you’ve done nothing wrong! And really, Bridget, wasn’t it about time that you got back out there? I mean, God knows Ryan has moved on.”
“Nice.” Bridget frowned at the mention of her ex, whose girlfriends rotated with the cycles of the moon, it would seem.
“I’m just saying that Emma is older now. You’re settled. You’ve been on your own long enough. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a man in your life again?”
Bridget had never dared to give that much thought. She’d been too busy raising Emma, and then taking care of Mimi, and lately, making a go of this place.
“I’m fine on my own,” she said firmly.
“Yes, but are you happy?”
“I’ve never been happier! We kept this house. I finally got Emma out of that apartment we’d been living in since the divorce. And I have my own business.”
“And what do you do for fun?” Margo crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, patiently waiting for an answer.
Bridget racked her mind for an answer. Fun? She didn’t do fun. Fun was sometimes shopping with Emma, or curling up together on the couch in her bedroom, where they’d watch a movie. She sometimes met her sisters for coffee, but that was a bit rare. She used to go to dinner at Trish and Jeffrey’s house, once a month, but lately, she’d struggled to break away from the inn, even to visit her oldest and dearest friends…
“If you must know, I had every intention of taking my latest J.R. Anderson book down to the beach today and reading for an hour before Ryan dropped Emma off.” She jutted her chin. There.
Margo sputtered into laughter. “Sitting by yourself and reading is relaxing, not fun. You’re still young, Bridget. And successful. And clearly Room Four finds you attractive.”
Oh, Bridget wished that thought didn’t fill her with such excitement.
“I’m just saying, there are a lot worse things in life than a handsome man under your roof for the next two weeks,” Margo pointed out.
Bridget considered this thought for a moment as she slid the oatmeal back onto its place on the shelf. Two weeks with a handsome man under her roof. She gave a little smile. No harm in that at all.
Chapter Four
For the first time in possibly her entire existence, Abby woke without the assistance of an alarm, the phone ringing, or a less than happy parent flickering the lights and pulling the curtains open, like her mom used to do when it was time for school.
She showered and dressed, even before she’d had her morning cup of coffee—also a first—and, opting for instant brew to save time, sat down at her small dining table with the mug.
The notebook she’d been writing in on Saturday was still open to her pathetic list of job prospects, and with a satisfied grin, she ripped off the page and wadded it into a ball. She wouldn’t be needing that anymore!
With any luck, she wouldn’t ever have to job search again. Sure, it was just breakfast duties for now, but if things worked out, Bridget might increase her responsibilities—offer up dinner once in a while, or afternoon tea!
Yes, high tea! She wrote that down at the top of her list and underlined it three times so she would remember to bring it up with Bridget next time they met. Abby made delicious scones, not the dry variety that Angie’s carried. Oh, sure, Angie excelled at muffins an
d the occasional Bundt cake, but soon the Harper House guests would be treated to better fare. All the grandpas at Serenity Hills raved about her blueberry scones. She’d make plain ones, too, and serve them with clotted cream and lemon curd and…
She was getting ahead of herself. What she needed to do now was come up with a weekly menu, and then a shopping list. Bridget hadn’t given her an official start date, but those were trivial details that could be discussed later. Clearly, she had her hands full with a packed house at the moment. She’d check in on her later today, or tomorrow. Nail down the plan.
With a racing heart, Abby stood and crossed the room to her bookcase, which was stacked high with dog-eared cooking magazines and a few recipe books she splurged on when she couldn’t resist. There were so many recipes she’d been eager to try!
But that was no matter now. She’d hand the receipt over to Bridget, who would reimburse her.
And as for not having anyone to cook or bake for, well, she had always brought treats for the folks at Serenity Hills when she visited Mimi, which was sometimes two or three times a week. Deb at the front desk just adored her chocolate chip cookies, and Ron in the cafeteria had offered her a job more than once (but the whole hairnet thing really didn’t appeal to her anymore than the dentures some of the residents left sitting on the table, next to their pudding). Mimi couldn’t get enough of her baked mac and cheese, and requested it at least once a month, to which Abby was of course happy to oblige.
Mimi always encouraged her culinary efforts. It was a pastime they’d shared together, after all, in the big bright kitchen at what was now the inn, right up until a year ago when she’d moved into the home. Sometimes Mimi encouraged her to apply for a job at her Uncle Chip’s restaurant, but The Lantern was a tried and true establishment; their menu hadn’t budged since she was a toddler. That was hardly inspiring.
The only people Abby hadn’t shared her hobby with were her sisters. Until this weekend, that was, when Bridget had forced her hand.
