by Olivia Miles
Right. He walked into the bathroom to start the water when he saw the towel at his feet, and another loosely draped over the shower curtain rod. The bathroom was in nearly worse shape than his perpetually unmade bed.
He should just take the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the door. Let the maid come in and straighten things up a bit. But he couldn’t risk that happening when he was finally getting into the zone, tapping into that place that used to come so easily.
And so, it had come to this. He was out of towels. His room was in a worse state than his apartment. The surface of the desk was covered in papers and notes, and his suitcase was still open on the floor, his clothes spilling out. His bed showed signs of fitful sleep. And now he’d be forced to clean up before he even allowed anyone on staff here to change the sheets.
The noise in the hall had died down, and the few sounds he could make out told him that everyone was settled downstairs. Slowly, he opened the knob, keeping his body as a shield to any potential view of his room, hoping to make a quick dash to the linen cabinet at the end of the hall, when he saw her.
Bridget was standing all but two feet away, her smile guilty, if he didn’t know better.
“Hello there,” he said, wondering just how long she’d been standing there. And why. Weren’t most of the guests downstairs, needing breakfast? Surely it was her busiest time of the day. And yet here she was. Standing in the hall. Looking so uncomfortable he could only assume there was a reason for her being here.
“Oh. Hello. I was just…” Bridget’s eyes darted. “Do you need any soap?”
Jack studied her in amusement. “Soap?” So that was the excuse she was going with, huh? He’d had women invite him over for all sorts of reasons in his time: to kill a spider, to help assemble a piece of IKEA furniture. The intention was always the same.
His smile faded when he considered that Bridget’s intention was far from offering him soap.
Bridget was sweet. And kind. And a single mother.
And he was…all wrong for her. All wrong for anyone.
“Or towels?” she tried. “Fresh towels. They’re in the linen cabinet now. I was just restocking them…” Now her brow pinched as she seemed to catch sight of something over his shoulder.
Flinching, Jack shifted the weight on his feet until he could only hope that more of his torso was covering the view. He pulled the doorknob as close as he could without fully stepping out into the hall. Stepping out meant getting closer to her. And he couldn’t do that. Shouldn’t.
But strangely, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to.
“I’d love a set of fresh towels,” he said, deciding to let her stop squirming and hoping that would send her off, away, where she couldn’t see what a mess he’d made of her nice guest room or linger any longer, filling him with thoughts and urges he had no business to have.
She visibly exhaled as she smiled. “I’ll bring those right over.”
“No bother. I’ll get them myself. Seems you have enough on your plate.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the staircase, where from outside his room he could hear the clear buzz of the crowd in the dining room.
He already missed how quiet the inn was just a matter of twenty-four hours ago. And not only because it allowed him to think straight. Then it had just been him and Bridget. And Emma, of course. And now…he was one of the crowd.
“It’s a full house, yes.” Bridget blew a strand of hair from her forehead, but it remained firmly in place.
Without thinking, Jack reached out and brushed it away for her, his hand freezing when her eyes caught his. His heart hammered in his chest when he realized how natural it had felt to do that, how familiar this house, and she, were becoming to him.
He dropped his arm quickly, then, just to be sure, shoved both of his hands firmly into his pockets.
“It smells delicious. Maybe once the crowd subsides I’ll head down.”
Bridget’s gaze flickered. “Would you prefer me to bring you up a tray?”
He knew that room service—or family dinners, for that matter—were not part of the daily package he’d agreed to pay for. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“Nonsense,” she said with a grin that was so friendly, he felt instantly at ease. “Abby’s making frittata today. I’ll get you a serving and a croissant for the side, if my daughter hasn’t eaten the last of them.”
He laughed. “She’s welcome to it. She’s a sweetheart.”
“An excited sweetheart,” Bridget said. “Flower Fest is today.”
He rolled back on his heels. “Ah, yes. Of course. Seems that’s all anyone can talk about.”
“Why not come then? I don’t know about you, but the fresh air always helps me to think.”
“Maybe.” He had to admit that the idea was becoming more attractive, and it would be interesting to see what the hype was all about. “First I’d like to try to get some work in.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Your tray will be outside your door in a few minutes.”
“Thank you,” he said, hoping she caught the sincerity in his voice, because he had a lot more to thank her for than just a meal or two.
***
Bridget had barely finished cleaning the kitchen—with Abby’s help, which did make things run a little quicker—when Emma appeared in her favorite flower dress, pink sneakers, and a handbag whose strap she’d hooked crosswise over her body.
Her hair was brushed and her smile was nearly as bright as her eyes.
In moments like this, Bridget struggled to fight the heartache. Her little girl was eight years old. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the weight of her in her arms as a baby, a toddler. She could still remember the way Emma wrapped her hand around Bridget’s two fingers on her way into her first ballet class. And the way she giggled, straight from the belly, whenever Bridget read her favorite picture book aloud.
Now Emma read her own books. And she waved good-bye to Bridget on her way into school or dance class. How much time was left before that didn’t even happen at all?
She walked over to her daughter, and without a word, gave her a long, hard hug.
“I’m going to miss you today,” she admitted, even though she knew that Emma would be back by noon tomorrow, as designated by the courts.
“I’ll get a flower wreath for you,” Emma promised.
Bridget grinned, feeling better already. Emma may have grown, but she was still her sweet little girl. Bridget just hated to miss a moment.
“Did you pack your overnight bag for Daddy’s?”
Emma nodded. “He’s going to let me sleep in the tent.”
“Inside the house, I hope!” Bridget hated this part of it. Not having any say in how Ryan chose to parent when she wasn’t around.
“Of course, silly! There are bugs outside!” Emma wrinkled her nose, and Bridget laughed.
Really, she shouldn’t worry so much. Ryan might be a bit casual when it came to his parenting standards, but Emma had a mind of her own, and one which Bridget happened to think was practically perfect.
“And what’s in the bag?” She tapped the handbag that was stuffed so full, the purple zipper looked like it might pop.
“Oh, a coloring book. Some books. A few dollars from my piggy bank. An activity sheet…”
“Activity sheet?” Bridget didn’t remember ever buying her one of those.
Emma was all too happy to retrieve it. “See?” She unfolded it, happy to present a used kids menu from Dagastino’s Pizza Parlor on Main.
Bridget chuckled. “You’re certainly resourceful.” And, like herself, never one who stayed idle for long.
“Well, run and get your duffle bag and we’ll head out soon,” Bridget said, standing to grab her own bag. Her phone was wedged in the front pocket. A blue light was blinking in the corner.
Bridget felt her heart sink. She didn’t need to look at the screen to know that Ryan had reached out to her. It was what she’d expected. What she’d known all along he woul
d do.
What she hadn’t wanted to believe. Just like she hadn’t wanted to believe the dozens of other things that had led to them eventually splitting up—like the time he’d promised to take her out to dinner for their wedding anniversary, and hadn’t even remembered to give her a card.
Her jaw tight, she pulled out the phone, tapped the screen, and stared at the message on the screen. “I can’t believe this,” Bridget muttered to herself.
“Everything okay?”
Bridget turned to see Jack frowning down at her, the warmth in his eyes almost undoing her. Bridget didn’t do kindness. She hadn’t been able to rely on it. She’d had to fight, every day, for the past eight years since her parents died and she left Ryan, to stay strong, to keep going, to not give in to the long days and setbacks and endless guilt and worry.
“Fine, fine.” But she struggled to hold eye contact and her voice was thick.
“You don’t sound fine,” Jack observed as he set his empty tray down on the counter.
No, she supposed she didn’t. For the second time in two days, her little girl would be let down, and there was nothing she could do to change that.
“It’s nothing,” she said, only then realizing that she was fighting back tears that burned warm. She hated herself for giving in. For letting Ryan hurt her. For crying over something that she had no power to stop. For wanting something that could never happen. That hadn’t been for her.
A traditional family. A childhood for Emma much like the one she’d had. She was halfway there, bringing Emma home to this house, but the rest of it…It wasn’t what she’d planned. It wasn’t what she’d wanted.
“Hey.” Jack’s hand was warm and steady on her shoulder, his grip reassuring and showing no sign of moving.
Bridget wiped her eyes, but the tears fell faster than she could stop them. “It’s…it’s Emma’s father. He was supposed to take her to a movie last night and instead, he dropped her off early. She was so disappointed.” She sniffled hard, her eyes darting to the hallway that led to her living quarters. She couldn’t let Emma see her like this. “He promised to make it up to her today. At the Festival. But he just texted he’s going to be late, and…I won’t be surprised if he cancels altogether.”
Jack swore under his breath. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I wish there was something I could do.”
Bridget shook her head. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Not even me. I try so hard to give her the life I always dreamed for her, and…”
“I’m ready!”
Bridget turned to see Emma standing in the kitchen entry, her duffle bag at her feet, her stuffed unicorn (a gift from Ryan for her eighth birthday) in her arms.
Oh, God. As usual, it would be Bridget left to deliver the bad news. Bridget left to deal with the heartbroken confusion that always filled Emma’s eyes, and the tears that inevitably followed.
“Honey, there’s been a change of plans—”
“There has,” Jack said, his voice loud and firm. Startled, Bridget looked up at him. “Your mother here has been talking about this Flower Festival all week. I didn’t think it was possible, but I’m almost thinking it might be fun. That is, if you wouldn’t mind showing me around a bit. Maybe be my tour guide?”
Emma’s eyes widened in delight. “I can do that! But…” She looked at Bridget for approval. “Will Daddy be waiting?”
Bridget waved a hand through the air. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll understand this once. Maybe we can meet up with him later.” If he keeps to his latest promise.
“Then it’s a plan?” Jack asked, glancing at her sideways.
Bridget had to swallow the lump in her throat before she spoke. “Yes,” she said, sighing gratefully. “It’s a plan.”
The best plan she’d had in a long, long time.
Chapter Twelve
Margo and Eddie had already found Abby and Mimi when Bridget spotted them near the May Pole at their designated meeting time. Bridget wasn’t sure who her sisters looked more surprised to see: Emma or Jack.
Jack, she decided, noticing the way Abby had to bite her lip as she stared at him and then back at Bridget.
Before either of them could comment, she said, “Emma isn’t meeting up with Ryan until later, after all, so she decided to show our guest what all the fuss is about.”
Abby looked about as unconvinced as Margo did pleased. “Nice to see you again, Room Four,” Margo joked. She linked her arm through Eddie’s. “This is my fiancé, Eddie Boyd.”
“They just got engaged this week, and I get to be their flower girl!” Emma said excitedly.
To his credit, Jack gave a thin smile. “Congratulations. When’s the big day?”
“Two weeks from today,” Margo laughed, and Bridget felt that familiar flutter return. Two weeks and so much to think about! They had to discuss linens…of course…and tables! She still had to rent tables and chairs! “We’re having it at the inn.”
Jack raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Another wedding at the inn?”
She felt her face heat at the mere mention of that night they’d…Well, no use thinking about that. Much as she wanted to.
“Have you seen much of the town?” Margo asked Jack.
He shrugged in return. “Not enough of it, probably.”
“Maybe Bridget can show you around!” Abby volunteered with a toothy smile, and Bridget had to shoot her a warning look. She glanced at Jack, to see if he was as horrified as she was, but he seemed to be fighting back a smile, and determined not to look her in the eye.
Sensing her embarrassment, and ever the peacemaker, Margo kept the conversation going as if Abby had never interrupted.
“Well, be sure to stop by the Clam Shack before you head out of town. It’s down at North Beach, and don’t let its appearance turn you off.” She laughed.
“I’ll make a point of it,” Jack said, and something in the way he grinned made Bridget think he would follow through.
This town was growing on him, she thought. Or maybe…the people in it?
Nonsense. She was the innkeeper. And…the woman he had kissed.
They did a lap of the festival, letting Emma run ahead at times and stop to play a carnival game at other times. At Emma’s insistence, they dropped off her hat, which would be used in the hat decorating contest Emma would enter later in the day. Eventually they circled back, in search of shade and a cool drink, but not before bumping in to Trish and Jeffrey.
“My old work wife,” Jeffrey joked, when Bridget hugged both her friends.
“Jeffrey and I used to work together before I opened the inn,” she explained to Jack. She glanced at Trish, whose eyes were dancing.
“I remember you from the bookstore,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Nice little shop you have.”
“Thank you! And how long are you in town for?” Trish was clearly eager for information that Bridget had purposefully not shared, but Bridget couldn’t help but love her for it. This was her oldest friend, and she just wanted what was best for her. Even if Trish did think that was finding Bridget a man.
The right man…that wouldn’t be so bad.
“Another week,” Jack replied, looking down at Bridget briefly.
One more week, she thought. Then…
“In town for vacation?” Trish pressed.
“A change of scenery,” Jack replied. Bridget waited to see if he would elaborate, but he seemed to have nothing more to say about his reasons for being in Oyster Bay.
“Well, you’re staying at the best inn, with the best innkeeper,” Trish said, and this time, Bridget did have to roll her eyes at her friend’s obvious tactic.
But to her pleasant surprise, Jack just said, “I’ve come to realize that.”
Well, now Trish was simply beaming. Noticing that Bridget had had just about enough of this, Jeffrey decided to spare her, and, giving her a little wink, he took his wife by the elbow and led her toward the food trucks.
“I wonder if Trish carries any o
f your books in her store,” Bridget wondered aloud.
Jack’s jaw seemed to tighten. “Maybe.”
“I think that man is winking at you, Mimi,” Abby said, interrupting Bridget’s thought process and causing Margo’s eyebrows to shoot up.
Mimi frowned. “What man?”
Margo exchanged a glance with Bridget, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, which man, Abby?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Well, you don’t need to all be so obvious about it.” She swiveled Mimi’s wheelchair around and darted her gaze to the left. “Blue shirt, khaki pants. Bow tie.”
“Wouldn’t a bow tie have been enough?” Margo pointed out, as the entire group less than subtly turned to stare.
“Oh, he’s cute!” Bridget exclaimed, when she saw the elderly man sitting on the bench, wiggling his eyebrows in Mimi’s direction.
“Pfft!” Mimi exclaimed, but she looked secretly pleased if the pinched smile she was doing a poor job of fighting said anything.
“Do you know who he is, Mimi?” Oh, dear, Bridget thought. Now he was really grinning. And yep, there was a wink.
“No!” Mimi looked away, but after a moment, glanced back in the man’s direction. “Well, maybe he’s new. His relatives probably dumped him the way you dumped me!”
And here it came. Bridget felt the familiar tug of guilt, but Margo was there to step in, thankfully.
“Now, Mimi, if I didn’t know better, I might say you had an admirer.”
Mimi’s eyes seemed to widen on that thought.
“We can go over to him if you’d like,” Abby added, already pushing the chair across the grass.
Mimi slapped at the armrest, forcing Abby to stop walking. “No, no. I’m here with my family. Free from that jail for a day. I’ll see him later. Back at home.”
Home? All three sisters’ eyes burst open on that word. Mimi had never called Serenity Hills home before, and they quickly recovered, desperate to act natural and downplay the wording lest she correct herself.