by Olivia Miles
Right. He opened his menu and started scanning the appetizer list, but Chip wasn’t done talking yet.
“In town for the Flower Fest?”
Ah, yes. The Flower Fest. It was all anyone could talk about, it seemed. Did people in small towns really like this sort of thing? He made a mental note to research this when he got back to the inn.
“No, just a change of scenery,” he said.
“Bridget’s probably booked full. I know the hotel is,” Chip remarked as he refilled a water glass for the woman to Jack’s left. “But then, I can’t complain. She always refers her customers to me.”
Jack scanned the menu, deciding on the chowder to start, and a burger for his main course. “I’ll have to thank her then. It all looks delicious.”
“Thank her in person, if you’d like. She’s right over there.” Chip jutted his chin and Jack turned to see Bridget sitting at a corner table with her two sisters and an elderly woman who must have been her grandmother.
Stiffening, he turned around. He’d taken her up on the suggestion, and maybe, maybe he had hoped to run into her. But he wasn’t about to go over to her table. “I don’t want to interrupt their family time.”
“Nonsense! They’d be happy to see you. Besides, every day is family time around here,” Chip pointed out with a grin.
Jack’s own smile felt thin. He couldn’t imagine that way of life, running into people he knew, stopping to chat at someone’s table in a restaurant. In New York, he was free. Free to walk where he wanted and dine when wanted and go about his daily routine without risk of running into a single person he knew.
Sure, there were his neighbors. His walk-up was small, with six units in total. He recognized the lady across the hall. A woman in her sixties whom he knew liked to order Chinese takeout on Fridays and pizza on Sundays and who always left for work at eight and returned at seven. What she did for work, he didn’t know. They exchanged pleasantries the few times they were stuck on the landing together, each eagerly fishing for their keys, but other than that, her world was her own and his was his own. He probably couldn’t recognize the rest of the people in the building in a police lineup.
But here, in this small town, you couldn’t go anywhere without knowing someone.
He wasn’t so sure how he felt about that, either.
“Top you off?” Chip asked, eyeing Jack’s half-finished beer.
Jack shrugged. He could say no, that he had to get back to the inn and work. And maybe that’s what he should do. But tonight, he wasn’t in a rush. Tonight he wanted to sit here, in this cozy pub with the ocean at his back, in a room where everyone knew everyone’s name and probably their life story too.
Tonight, he wanted to lose himself in a fantasy, and not worry about reality or everything that had brought him to this point.
***
Bridget had barely started her main course when her phone rang. She looked at the screen, knowing who it was without having to check, and not at all surprised to see that it was Ryan.
Margo caught her eye, looking displeased. “Do you have to go?”
Bridget felt her shoulders sink. The girls had finally lifted Mimi’s spirits and she was having fun herself. Margo was making plans for the wedding, and this wasn’t a conversation that Bridget wanted to prolong.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, pushing back her chair. She walked toward the front of the restaurant, waiting until she was away from the tables before connecting the call. “Ryan?”
“Hey, I hate to do this, but can you come get Emma a little early tonight?”
Bridget bit back a wave of impatience, and not because she didn’t want to see her daughter. She had made plans, and now they would have to be altered, because, as usual, Ryan couldn’t stick to his.
“I’m having dinner with my sisters and Mimi at The Lantern,” she informed him. Dunley’s was just down the street. From the noise in the background, this was where he currently was, even if he had promised to take Emma to see the new animated movie tonight. “If you can bring her by, I can place an order for her while I wait.”
“Cool,” Ryan said, and Bridget couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the casual way he treated this situation. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. Meaning more like five. She wondered what it was this time—bartender got sick and he had to stand in, or the cook’s car broke down and Ryan had to roll up his sleeves. Or maybe Ryan just wanted to have fun. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Bridget disconnected the call and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans, her heart sinking when she thought of how disappointed Emma would be to miss the movie. She’d been chattering about it all afternoon, and now she’d have nothing to share with her friends at school on Monday.
She sighed and turned to the bar, hoping for a glance of Chip. He always cheered her up, sometimes just by listening, sometimes just by taking her mind off her troubles.
But tonight the person she saw wasn’t Chip. It was Jack. He was wedged in the middle of the bar, a burger in front of him, and a half-finished beer in his hand. He was watching the TV screen. The Sox were up at bat. She idly wondered if he was Yankees fan, being from New York. If so, he’d be wise not to mention that to her uncle.
She glanced across the room, to where her sisters were eagerly talking, leaning across the table. No doubt Abby was menu planning.
She glanced at the door. No sign of Ryan yet.
She had a few minutes.
“So you decided to take me up on the recommendation after all,” she said, coming up behind Jack.
Any worry she had that he might be annoyed at her interruption was put to rest when she saw the way his eyes shot up and his mouth curved into a big grin.
Her stomach flipped and fluttered all at once. Oh, Lordy. She had it bad.
“What can I say?” he grinned. “You convinced me.”
“See, this town isn’t so bad if you give it a chance.”
“So I’m noticing,” Jack replied, his gaze lingering just a touch longer than usual.
Bridget swallowed hard and licked her bottom lip, trying to think of something to say next and coming up completely blank.
“I’m waiting for Emma,” she explained, realizing that she was hovering, and the man probably wanted to take another bite out of that burger in his hand before it went cold.
He gestured to his plate. “Fry while you wait?”
It was tempting. After all, Chip made the best steel-cut fries in town. She shook her head. “Our orders will probably be up by the time I’m back, but you just reminded me to place something for Emma.” She craned her neck until she spotted Chip; he winked when he caught her eye. “Can I get Emma’s usual?”
He nodded, without having to be told anything more. “I’ll make sure it comes out with your order.” Frowning, he said, “I thought Emma was with Ryan tonight.”
Bridget’s mouth thinned. “Something came up.” Something always came up.
Chip gave her a knowing look. “I’ll pass the word along to your waiter.”
“Thanks, Chip. I can always count on you.”
“Yes,” he said. “You can.”
Bridget felt instantly better, just as she always did when she was around Chip. Margo had that kind of effect on her too, and more than once a week she was thanking the heavens that her sister had returned to Oyster Bay, just when she needed her the most.
“And here’s my favorite girl!” Chip announced as a breeze of salty air blew Bridget’s back. She turned to see Emma and Ryan standing in the doorway. Emma looking tearful, Ryan looking sheepish.
She bit back a wave of exasperation. Once again, she would be left to clear up Ryan’s mess.
“Hi, sweetie!” She beamed as she reached in to squeeze her daughter, even though she had only just seen her a couple hours ago. She couldn’t help it; she missed Emma terribly on the nights Ryan had her. The hours dragged on and the house felt empty. It had always been this way, even before she opened the business and before
she moved back into the big family home. Then she’d fill her nights visiting Trish and Jeffrey, admiring their cozy Colonial, wishing that life had taken a different path for her.
And now it had.
And it would all be okay. In a matter of minutes, Ryan would leave and Emma and she would rejoin her sisters and Mimi and soon all these lingering feelings that always came with seeing Ryan and splitting Emma would subside.
“Sorry about this,” Ryan said, giving her a little smile.
Bridget maintained a stony expression. There were only so many apologies she could hear before she knew they didn’t count. Still…Ryan wasn’t all bad. There were times where he redeemed himself.
No, Ryan wasn’t bad. But he wasn’t an adult either. Ryan was like Abby. He lived by his dreams and changed plans on a whim. Maybe this was why she was so hard on her sister sometimes.
She softened a little, shrugging her shoulders. “Things come up. I understand.” And she did, to a degree. After all, she had to miss Emma’s first-grade class holiday party because she had a real estate closing that ran long. She’d never forgiven herself. Lay in bed that night heavy with guilt, and to this day felt on edge when any mention of a class party was released. Emma had forgotten about it. It was years ago! But not Bridget.
Something told her that Ryan wouldn’t be losing any sleep tonight, though. That was the difference between them. And that, perhaps, was why it never could have worked out for them.
Ryan’s shoulders seemed to relax at her change in demeanor and his grin broadened. Bridget looked away, focused on her daughter instead. It was still hard to look Ryan in the eye, even after all these years, and know that she’d tried, tried so hard, and that it hadn’t been enough.
“I wanted to go to the movie!” Emma’s lower lip began to quiver.
Now Bridget’s smile had officially slipped. She gave Ryan a warning look. A look that said, “You had better make this up to her.”
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow at the Flower Fest,” Ryan told Emma, who looked only partially assuaged. “I’ll get you an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert!”
Bridget rolled her eyes. If they weren’t in a public place, specifically her uncle’s restaurant, she’d have words with Ryan. This was his MO—he let Emma down and then tried to win her affection with sugar. Donuts, ice cream. Even candy.
“She doesn’t need a stomach ache,” she said with as much calm as she could muster.
Ryan’s gaze was hard. “An extra scoop of ice cream never hurt anyone.”
“Yes, but there’s no need for—” She shook her head. She made a promise to herself a long time ago not to argue with Ryan in front of Emma, and she was breaking her own rule. “Forget it. We’ll see you tomorrow at the Flower Fest. Eleven o’clock?”
Something in his eyes flitted. “Eleven. Sure.”
Bridget felt a familiar twist of anxiety on behalf of her daughter. He couldn’t let her down again. He wouldn’t.
“Eleven,” she said again, holding his gaze. “See you then.”
She turned around to say good night to Jack before they headed back to their table, but the pleasant, easygoing expression on his face seemed to have been replaced with something a little more rigid.
If she didn’t know better, she might just call it jealousy.
Chapter Eleven
The inn was full for the second weekend in a row, and Bridget had to admit, it was nice having Abby there to help out in the morning.
“How are we doing with coffee?” she asked, poking her head into the dining room to answer the question for herself. Every seat at the table was taken by a guest—mostly couples in town for a romantic getaway—but Jack had not yet come downstairs.
She contemplated bringing him up a tray as she lifted the empty carafe and carried it back into the kitchen, but then decided otherwise. The man was in town to work, and he knew what time breakfast was served. It wasn’t her place to impose upon him.
It was her place, however, to make sure that another pot of coffee was brewed before guests got cranky.
Emma sat at the kitchen table, eating a blueberry muffin from Angie’s, though Bridget noticed a croissant was on her plate, too. She smiled. The girl knew how to look out for herself, and heaven forbid the croissants all got eaten before she had a chance to snatch one.
Abby noticed her eyeing Emma’s plate. “You know, you don’t need to keep placing orders from Angie’s,” she said.
Bridget didn’t want to point out that she hated to sever the relationship with the café lest Abby lose interest in this job one day soon. She had a good thing going with Angie’s. They delivered right to the inn, and before seven thirty each morning, too.
“I don’t think it hurts to have some pastries as an option,” she said mildly.
“Why spend the money?” Abby pointed out. “Besides, I can make muffins, if that’s what you want.”
Oh, dear. Bridget started a new pot of coffee and gave her sister a sheepish smile. “I’m already committed to Angie’s, so…I hate to take away the business.”
“The business!” Abby scoffed as she began whisking eggs in a large bowl for another frittata. “Angie’s is hardly struggling. It’s always packed!” She muttered something about “despite their dry scones” under her breath.
“Well…I’ll think about it,” Bridget said, falling back on the excuse she always gave Emma when she was put on the spot and didn’t want to make a decision one way or another, or really, didn’t want to say “No” and have to deal with the fall out.
Abby just raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed.
“What time is Daddy picking me up?” Emma asked, clutching her muffin with two hands.
Bridget looked at the clock. “In about two hours, honey,” she said.
“Oh good! I’m going to wear my pretty flower dress,” Emma announced, and pushed back her chair to scamper off before Bridget could call after to her to wash the blueberries from her fingers.
Bridget sighed and began clearing up Emma’s plate. Feeling Abby’s stare from across the room, she looked up to see her sister’s cocked eyebrow.
“An entire muffin and scone gone to waste…” Abby clucked her tongue.
Bridget sighed. Honestly! “I’ll save this for her for later.”
The coffee had finished brewing, and Bridget was grateful for an excuse to leave the room. She poured the brew into the carafe and walked it back into the dining room, smoothing her shirt over her hips before she entered, just in case Jack had decided to surface.
But no. It was the same crowd. The two young couples, and the older couple, who held hands when they came down to breakfast that morning. Bridget couldn’t help it; when she saw that, her heart felt almost heavier than it did the time her only guests were newlyweds.
“Ms. Harper,” said the husband, as he stood to meet her at the buffet table. “May I have a word?”
Bridget felt her heart sink. It wasn’t often that a guest complained, but when they did, it always felt like a personal attack. This inn was her home. The place where she’d grown up, the place she’d fought to keep when they all feared it may no longer stay in the family once it was confirmed that Mimi would remain in Serenity Hills. She’d sunk every dollar she’d ever earned into taking over the house and turning it into a business. It wasn’t just a job. It was, well, a dream.
A dream come true, she thought with a smile.
“I’d like to talk about the breakfast.”
And there went her smile.
Bridget felt her back teeth graze. She knew she should have listened to her gut. Abby wasn’t a trained chef. She was a home cook. And all of this…it was another of her passing hobbies. So what, the eggs were raw? A shell had been found in the frittata? Heaven forbid a hair had turned up.
Bridget suddenly felt sick with dread.
“This breakfast is one of the finest meals I have had in quite some time,” Mr. Lawry surprised her by saying.
Bridget’s eyes shot open. �
��Oh. Well…thank you!”
“No, thank you!” Mr. Lawry said, grinning. “My wife and I travel quite a bit, and we always seek out country inns as opposed to stuffy hotels.” He wrinkled his nose and peered at her over the rim of his wire-framed glasses. “I can tell you that your food is the best I’ve had in quite some time.”
“My!” Bridget was momentarily speechless.
“Keep up the good service,” he said, patting her arm, before he went back to the table.
Bridget’s heart was racing as she walked back into the kitchen. It wasn’t often she received a complaint from one of her guests, but in fairness, it wasn’t often that one of them bothered to extend a compliment, either.
Abby caught her smile and looked at her suspiciously. “You’re acting strange,” she said, as she tossed some vegetables into the egg mixture.
“I just received one of the nicest compliments,” Bridget said, walking over to the island. “And it was about your breakfast.”
Abby’s cheeks turned pink. “Really?”
Bridget felt a wave of shame, but only for a moment. Abby could cook, she was beginning to realize that. But could Abby commit?
“Keep up the good work,” Bridget said with a grin, and went off to fold guest towels—a task she’d normally have to put off until after breakfast had finished, but not now that Abby was around.
She’d enjoy the perk while it lasted, she told herself.
***
There was rustling in the halls. Muffled conversations he could hear through the door, even though it was made of solid wood.
Jack pulled his hands from his keyboard and ran them through his hair. He was finally making progress, really getting somewhere, and he couldn’t lose momentum now.
A door slammed in the distance. A woman laughed.
And Jack…lost his thought.
He sat back, cursing under his breath. It was fine, really. He’d been going at this for hours and a break was in order. A shower at the very least. And coffee. He checked his watch.
Of course. Everyone was at breakfast, starting their day. He half laughed when he thought of the way he’d look if he were to join them. Undershirt, jeans, a five o’clock shadow, and no doubt his hair was standing up in every direction. He couldn’t go down like this. Not until he was presentable.
