Well! That had been reckless. Imagine if one of the guests had seen her. Imagine if the father of the bride had seen her! Wouldn’t that have made all her efforts pointless?
She’d slipped. Behaved unprofessionally at best. Let her guard down. And she never let her guard down. She couldn’t. As a single mother she had to be ready at all times, armed with schedules, and plans, and backup plans, with a bag of snacks in her handbag and an extra set of play clothes in the car. She had to be organized and diligent, and now, as a business owner, all that was doubled.
So what had she been thinking, letting that man kiss her, when she should have been overseeing the caterers and the clean-up, and maintaining a professional image?
She hadn’t even caught his name. He’d simply kissed her, left her breathless, and then, with one slow grin, walked away, into the night, leaving her with a slack jaw and goofy smile on her mouth.
Right. First things first. No more goofy smile. She pinched her lips. Tight.
Bridget stood at the kitchen sink, staring out the window onto the stretch of lawn that met the sea. A few guests she recognized as brother and sister-in-law of the bride were sitting in the white-painted rocking chairs that she’d set along the porch, sipping their coffee and talking in low voices. The house was otherwise quiet, meaning most people had chosen to sleep in, no doubt feeling the effects of one too many glasses of wine.
Bridget decided to take advantage of these fleeting minutes of peace by making herself a second cup of coffee. She was just settling in at the old farmhouse table, one of the few pieces she’d kept from the original home, when Margo poked her head around the kitchen door.
Unlike herself, her sister was fresh-faced and perky looking, whereas Bridget felt like a wet blanket, despite her earlier shower. She could attribute it to the stress of the event, but she knew all too well that it was because she’d lain awake all night thinking about the mystery man who had kissed her, replaying it over and over in her mind until it actually felt more like a dream than a memory.
“You heading out soon?” Bridget asked. Margo had selflessly offered to stay the night on Emma’s bottom bunk, even though she probably would have preferred to go home to Eddie, her boyfriend and the main reason she had chosen to stay in Oyster Bay after her divorce last year.
Yep, that’s how it went. Some people got divorced and then found love again. Whereas others…
Others waited eight years to be kissed again.
“I’ll stick around until the guests check out,” Margo said. “Besides, don’t shoot the messenger, but Room Four called down again.” She gave Bridget a knowing look.
“Already?” Bridget stifled a sigh. “What is it this time, because he can’t possibly say the house is too loud right now.”
“Now he is wondering if there is room service.”
“Did you tell him that breakfast is served daily in the dining room?”
“I did. He didn’t seem pleased. He also said he hoped the inn would be a bit quieter today.”
“It should be. They’re all checking out today or tomorrow,” Bridget said as she pushed back her chair.
“Wrong. Everyone is checking out by tomorrow, except Room Four. He’s here for two weeks.” Margo’s eyebrows shot up.
“Two weeks!” Bridget hadn’t noticed that reservation come through. She supposed she’d been too wrapped up with the first big event her inn had ever hosted. “He wasn’t a guest at the wedding, then?”
Margo shook her head. “I guess not. I must have checked him in, but there was so much commotion, I don’t even remember him.”
“Probably an old curmudgeon with too much time on his hands,” Bridget said, and then immediately regretted it. He was a paying guest, after all. A complaining paying guest, but still a guest.
“Probably,” Margo agreed.
Bridget started a fresh pot of coffee. “You didn’t talk to him when he checked in?”
“There was so much going on yesterday that I must have, but I don’t remember. Between the vendors coming in and the wedding party calling down, and the check-ins, I barely gave anyone a solid ten seconds of my undivided attention.”
Bridget frowned. A two-week stay in Oyster Bay? Who was this guy?
***
Jack Riley stared at the blinking cursor on his computer screen, trying to summon up some spark of inspiration. Something that would trigger a scene to play out in his mind, a domino-effect of ideas that would fall in line, one building on the next.
As usual, he came up blank.
He reached up and closed the laptop, almost as angry at himself for giving up as he was for wasting another two hours staring at a white page.
What he needed was a shower and a strong cup of coffee. The woman at the front desk had vaguely mentioned something about pastries and fruit in the dining room, that was when she wasn’t interrupted by a florist and then a wedding cake delivery.
The festivities were over, at least. Thank God for small miracles. Now he could finally get some peace and maybe a little work done.
Or maybe, if his recent track record said anything, not.
After all, he was supposed to write ten pages last night, at the very least, and instead he’d kissed a random woman. The wedding planner, it would seem, from the way she was walking around the event, surveying everything with a creased brow and a worried look to her eye. He’d watched her, intrigued, deciding that the heroine in his story needed to be a bit more anxious than he’d originally planned.
Yes, that was it. An anxious heroine. He opened his laptop, determined. Stared at the cursor. Then closed the computer shut. Firmly. He had no location, no setting. No inspiration. Definitely no plot. In the past that would come to him, bit by bit, as naturally as scenery unfolded on a long drive. Now it seemed impossible to think that there had been a time when he actually had a story to tell, let alone one he believed in.
He stood. No use sitting here when he was like this. He’d go downstairs, get some breakfast, and then…then he’d write a chapter. Chapter one.
No more distraction today. And no more kissing strangers either.
Though it had been a nice kiss, as far as those things went. He grinned. Still, it was just a kiss. A lapse in judgment. A whim. He was fired up, maybe even a little emotional. That wedding, on the beach, with the white tents…it stirred something up in him, and not in the way he had hoped. He’d gone down there because the noise was so bad; he saw no other choice but to join the fuss, even from a bit of a distance. He thought he might get inspired, find one small thing that gave him a spark. Instead, it made him nostalgic. It made him angry. It made him want to banish every memory of a time and place from his mind, when he was young, and dumb, and another person.
And then he had to see that woman. The pretty one with the blond hair. And she was something to watch, a character study at first, but then, a person of interest. And then…a mistake.
Weddings got under his skin about as much as wrapping up this six-book contract he was tied to did. But this was it, the last book. And then…Well, the future was wide open, wasn’t it? No ties. No commitments.
It should be a happy thought. Instead, it just depressed the hell out of him.
Right. No more thinking about any of this! He’d go downstairs, get some breakfast, and then…Chapter One. Nineteen to go. Let the countdown begin.
***
The phone started ringing as Bridget started filling a new basket with croissants. In case it was Ryan saying he needed to coordinate a different drop off time for Emma than originally planned, she stopped mid-task and walked to the kitchen island to check the screen. Her heart sank at the words on the screen. It was her grandmother, calling from Serenity Hills. Mimi tended to call in the mornings, eager for company, and when Bridget didn’t answer, she made the rounds, calling Margo and then Abby, and if they didn’t pick up, trying Bridget again.
Bridget poked her head into the dining room. The pastry baskets were still half-full, meaning she could steal a few minutes before seconds were in order. Margo was upstairs, tending to the guest rooms, when really where Bridget could use the help right now was with breakfast.
“Good morning, Mimi!” She always tried to keep her voice chipper with her grandmother, even when Mimi could get rather sour, often blaming Bridget for “dumping her” in Serenity Hills to begin with, even if this house had become far too much work for her and she sometimes mixed up the names of her three granddaughters, and once thought Emma was Bridget, still only eight years old.
“Not much of a good morning for me,” Mimi sniffed. “But it sounds like everything is peaches for you.”
Ah, one of those days. Best not to feed into it, even if the guilt would gnaw at her for the rest of the day.
“Busy as usual. It’s the breakfast hour, and soon it will be check out.” Bridget walked to the coffee machine to start a new pot. “What do you have going on today?”
“Oh, Pudgie and I might go down to the cafeteria soon. See what slop they’re offering today.”
Bridget managed not to laugh. The food at Serenity Hills was actually quite good, but try telling Mimi that. “I didn’t realize they allowed cats in the dining room,” she said.
Mimi paused. “Oh, they don’t. But…I have my ways.”
Bridget could only imagine what they were. She smiled as she dropped a fresh filter into the machine and began measuring the coffee grounds. The smell was so inviting, she decided to treat herself to another cup. She deserved it, after all; a little reward for yesterday.
Well, not all of yesterday, she thought with a frown.
“Why are you frowning?” a voice across the room whispered, and Bridget jumped at the sight of Abby standing in the doorway.
Blinking in confusion, she checked the clock. It wasn’t even nine yet and Abby was not only dressed but out and about? It was a running joke, after all, that Abby not only liked part-time work, but the afternoon shift.
“Mimi, I’ll call you back this afternoon. Be sure to get outside and have some fresh air. Pudgie loves it,” she added, for encouragement. Mimi might not be very willing to take care of herself these days, but she’d do anything for that ornery cat, so he couldn’t be all bad, even if he was known to hiss and occasionally scratch, especially Margo, whom he had taken an almost instant disliking to.
She hung up the phone and looked at her sister. “This is a surprise! What brings you by? Did you need something?”
Abby’s grin seemed to falter, but only for a moment. She shrugged. “Oh, just seeing if you needed any more help with the clean up!”
Bridget stared at her sister, wondering if she was still dreaming. Abby didn’t get out of bed before nine, and she certainly didn’t offer to help clean up.
She looked around the sparkling kitchen, which she’d scrubbed last night after coming back inside, her knees still shaking from the impact of that kiss, unable to sleep, so she’d put herself to good use instead.
“I think I’m good,” she said. “But thanks!”
“Or…did you need any help with the pastries?” Abby looked at the island, where white bakery boxes from Angie’s that were delivered each morning sat open.
“Well, you can finish adding some croissants to that basket if you want.” Bridget turned back to the coffee machine. Something was up. Something was definitely up.
She set the coffee to brew and walked over to the island, to start another basket of muffins—the guests loved Angie’s blueberry muffins, and they were a staple on her menu at the inn, where she was always happy to point out that Maine blueberries were the best of the best.
She worked quickly and picked up the basket to carry it out to the dining room, but Abby chose that time to say whatever it was she had actually come to say. Because she certainly hadn’t come to help clean the kitchen or load croissants into a basket.
“So everyone seemed to like the food last night?”
Bridget turned to properly face her sister. She owed her a hug, but her hands were full. Really, she owed her more than that. She owed her coffee. Or dinner. Or…a gift card. “They loved the food, Abby. I didn’t realize you knew quite so much about cooking!”
“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.