by Olivia Miles
Since Bridget had bought it from Mimi and turned it into an inn, more had changed than just Abby’s childhood bedroom.
“Thirteen days, actually,” Abby said. She eyed her sister carefully. Bridget didn’t even flinch. “I was thinking of wearing my chartreuse halter dress.”
“Hmm.” Bridget sipped her coffee, staring randomly at the stainless-steel fridge behind Abby.
“Maybe I’ll get a tattoo, too. And bleach my hair.”
Still nothing.
Exasperated, Abby set down her whisk, loudly. “Okay, what’s up?”
Bridget blinked and had the nerve to play dumb. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, that I just said I planned to bleach my hair and wear chartreuse to our sister’s wedding and you didn’t even notice.”
Bridget blanched. “You’re not serious, are you?”
Abby’s lips thinned. Yep, good ol’ uptight Bridge was back. “Obviously not. But it’s nice to know I don’t have your approval if I was serious.” Not that I need it, she said to herself. She was nearly thirty, after all. When was Bridget going to open her eyes and notice that?
Bridget shook her head. “I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Well, that was interesting! “A long night with…Room Four?”
Bridget laughed, but the blush in her cheeks gave her away. Abby felt her heart soar and sink all at once. She’d hoped for years that Bridget would move on, find a good guy, someone who would treat her a lot better than that jerk Ryan Dunley ever had. But even if something was happening, even if Bridget had feelings, they weren’t to be shared.
Abby wasn’t in the sharing circle. She wasn’t a confidante. Nope. Bridget had Margo for that.
“I suppose I should start some coffee in case any guests rise early,” Bridget sighed, dragging herself from the bar stool. She was wearing a lower cut sweater than usual, in a shade of blue that Abby had always told her brought out the color of her eyes, and her best jeans.
Yes, interesting. Quite interesting indeed.
“What?” Bridget asked, turning to look at Abby with narrowed eyes.
Abby blinked innocently, and began whisking the cream faster than needed. She stopped, before she curdled it. “Nothing. Just…making my dish. Don’t you have some coffee to make? For the guests?”
Bridget hesitated, but said nothing more as she went about making the coffee.
“I was thinking I might visit Mimi later on,” Abby said. “You can join me if you’d like.”
She half hoped that Bridget would say no, that this would force her hand, prompt her to reveal other plans she might have for the day…and why she was dressed nicer than usual.
Instead Bridget pressed a few buttons on the coffee machine and said, “Sure. I’ll bring Emma. She’d like that.”
Abby sighed. So much for getting any information out of her sister.
Maybe she’d try the other one…
***
Thirteen days until Margo’s wedding. Thirteen days until all their friends and family in Oyster Bay gathered in the house, where, no matter what Margo insisted, Bridget would be hostess on duty.
She should be making lists, scratching things off, collaborating a bit more with Margo, nailing down a hard schedule from Abby. Thirteen days! What was she thinking?
But she wasn’t thinking. Not about the wedding, at least. She was thinking about Jack. And how he’d almost kissed her. Again.
She closed her eyes after she turned the ignition off in front of Margo’s cottage. When Margo had moved back to Oyster Bay, she’d rented this small, seaside cottage by the week, but once she decided to stay in town, Eddie had vacated his apartment and they decided to make the two-bedroom house a temporary residence.
It was a sweet little house, made all that much prettier thanks to Margo’s astute eye. With the permission of the owner—an older couple who lived year-round in Florida now and had no interest in moving back—Margo had painted the walls a soft but warm grey and added curtains to the windows for a touch of color. She’d replaced some of the furniture that came with the house with her own pieces. The result was a tiny jewel box, and a reminder that a beautiful home could be made of even the smallest of spaces.
Bridget made a mental note to ask Margo to give her thoughts on Bridget’s living quarters. Although she still used the majority of the downstairs as her own home, the living room and two bedrooms that she and Emma shared could use some sprucing up.
Yes, she’d work on that. It would keep her busy. Her mind from wandering.
And the wedding! Good grief. Of course she had to think about the wedding.
With that, she opened her car door, then retrieved the wedding gown from the backseat, where she’d laid it carefully.
Margo had promised her that Eddie would not be home today. He was on duty, having taken yesterday off. Still, Bridget felt anxious openly displaying the wedding gown. Margo and Eddie had already had their share of bad luck, which had broken them apart when they were far too young. Now, when they had finally reunited, she didn’t dare let anything stand in the way of their happy ending. Even a bit of superstition.
Margo opened the door before Bridget had a chance to knock, which was fortunate, because her arms were full and the dress was so long, even if she were to hold the hanger over her head, she feared the train would skim the ground.
“Oh, look at it!” Margo’s hands flew to her mouth.
“It is pretty,” Bridget agreed. She felt a twinge of regret, and not for the first time, that her own wedding dress had been a white sundress she’d bought off the sale rack two days before she and Ryan had eloped. No veil. No train. Her bouquet had been pink carnations. Pretty, but not exactly traditional.
“It’s more than pretty!” Margo carefully took the dress from Bridget’s arms and they both walked into the house.
Immediately Bridget noticed the fresh flowers on the coffee table in the living room, and the new throw pillows too. Light blue this time, rather than the deep red Margo had put out over the holidays.
Why hadn’t she thought of something as simple as this?
Spring had arrived and soon it would be summer. She’d lighten up the lobby. Maybe her bedroom, too.
Not that any of the guests saw that. Especially the guest in Room Four.
Ugh. It was official. She had it bad.
“Try it on,” she said urgently, and not because she had to pick up Emma in half an hour. She was still nervous that at any moment Eddie might come home. If the inn hadn’t been full, she would have insisted that Margo try it on there. “And you promise me you’re going to let me bring it home until the big day?”
Margo rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Don’t tell me you believe in that nonsense!”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Bridget remarked, sinking into the couch and letting her entire body relax.
“You read too many of those romance novels,” Margo tutted as she took the dress upstairs.
Maybe it was true. Maybe Bridget did read too many romance novels. Though, come to think of it, she hadn’t had time to read any—not even her newest J.R. Anderson—since Jack had come to the inn…
Well, something to keep her busy when he was gone, then, she thought, drawing no comfort at all from the thought. All too soon Jack would be gone, and that excitement—and hope—would be gone. It would be her again. Just her. And Emma. And the guests.
Suddenly, even though this was all she could have asked for not so long ago, her life had never felt emptier.
“Okay, here I come!” Margo cried from the top of the stairs.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, Bridget turned so she was facing the stairs. “Don’t trip!” she warned, imagining the thought. The ripped dress. The twisted ankle.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you worry too much?” Margo said, appearing in the gown that, sure enough, fit her perfectly. “Button me up.”
“Oh, Margo.” Bridget couldn’t help it. She felt her eyes well with te
ars. “I wish Mom and Dad could see you.”
Margo squeezed her hand, tightly. “I know. But I like to think that somewhere, up there, they’re watching. And they know. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to get married in that house. It wasn’t just that we talked about it as children. It’s because that house was theirs, ours, full of so many happy memories. It’s the closest thing we have to having them with us.”
Bridget nodded, struggling to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. “It’s one of the reasons I needed to hold onto the house, too,” she said. Suddenly, all her worries about weather and tents and tables disappeared. Margo didn’t care about any of that. Not really. And she shouldn’t either. They had the house. They had each other.
“This is going to be a beautiful wedding,” she promised her sister.
Margo dropped her hand and turned to look at herself in the mirror she’d hung over an accent table. Only Margo would have thought to do this, and it opened the small space, letting in more light from the big windows that looked out onto the ocean.
“I know this sounds weird, but this wedding…it feels different.” Margo looked down at the dress, admiring it.
“That’s because you’re marrying your true love,” Bridget said as she slid the first satin-covered button through its hole. She didn’t care if that came out like a line from of one of the books her sisters were so keen to tease her about. Margo was marrying her true love. She’d fallen in love with Eddie when she was just a girl, and circumstances had torn them apart, and now, after all these years, when hope had felt loss and experiences had been had, they had grown and changed, and found each other again.
If that wasn’t a perfect second chance, she didn’t know what was.
Bridget wondered if she’d ever have the chance to say the same for herself some day. And, in a fit of optimism, realized that she just might…
***
An hour later, with Emma in tow, Bridget arrived at Serenity Hills, where Abby already had the search for Pudgie underway. Or so Bridget thought.
When she arrived at Mimi’s door, she saw Mimi and Abby watching a black and white movie while simultaneously eating a box of chocolate-covered cherries.
“Yummy!” Emma exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. She looked up at Bridget eagerly. “Can I have one, Mommy!”
“Of course you can,” Abby answered for her, and Bridget bit back a wave of irritation. Her sister gave her a suggestive look. “Mimi received these from a secret admirer. They were just sitting on her doormat!”
Bridget frowned. “And you ate them?” She put a hand on Emma’s shoulder to stop her from reaching for the box.
Abby’s laughter was loud. “Of course we ate them,” she said, shaking her head. She plucked another candy from the box and popped it into her mouth. “You really need some spontaneity, Bridget.”
Oh, if only Abby knew just how spontaneous she’d been lately, Bridget thought.
“Fine, go ahead and have one, Emma,” she said, against her better judgment.
Abby let Emma select a chocolate and then proffered the box toward Bridget. Bridget hesitated and then thought, Why not? She grinned as she sat down and took a bite. “That is good,” she admitted.
“I hope they leave another box tomorrow,” Mimi remarked.
“Any idea who it was?” Bridget asked.
Mimi shrugged, but Abby said, “I have a hunch. What about that sweet man with the bow tie from the festival? He was rather handsome.”
“So you like them older, do you now? I thought you had your eye on that male nurse!” Mimi said, and Bridget couldn’t help but be pleased that her grandmother’s memory was so sharp today. Indeed, just last fall, Abby had developed a crush on a nurse that worked at Serenity Hills, prompting daily visits for several weeks.
“Oh.” Abby pouted. “I had my eye on him. But he had his eye on the girl at the front desk.” She took another candy from the box.
“There will be someone else,” Bridget assured her, knowing that with Abby, her eye never committed for long.
Abby licked the chocolate from her fingers and gave a casual shrug. “And if there isn’t, that’s okay. After all, I have my new job to keep me busy. And of course, Margo’s wedding to cater!”
Oh, Jesus. Just when Bridget was starting to relax, she felt her stomach knot.
She should have talked to Margo about her concerns when she visited her today. She’d meant to. But it was such a happy time, seeing Margo in the dress, that she didn’t want to take away from it.
She’d talk to her. And soon. At the very least, a backup plan was needed, but how they would find one at this late date, she wasn’t sure.
“Everything okay, Bridget?” Abby was looking at her, as were Emma and Mimi.
“Oh, I’m just tired,” she said, which wasn’t exactly untrue. “It’s been busy with a full house this weekend.”
“Yes, how many should I plan on for breakfast for tomorrow?” Abby asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Just one guest,” Bridget said. “I don’t have any other couples checking in until Saturday.”
When Jack checked out, she thought, with a sinking heart.
Really, there was no reason for Abby to come. Not for one guest. She opened her mouth to say just that when she suddenly thought the better of it. Jack had almost kissed her yesterday. And that wasn’t a good thing, not if he was leaving in less than a week.
A chaperone was needed. And Abby would be good at that.
Yes, Abby wanted to be put to use. And that she would be. With Abby underfoot, Bridget would be forced to stay professional and not let any feelings get in the way of a clear head.
After all, when Abby was around, someone had to be the adult. And that was usually Bridget.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Bridget returned from school drop-off on Monday morning, she had to bite her tongue from telling Abby, “I told you so.”
“There’s no one to serve,” she said, gesturing to the bowl of pancake batter that was sitting in front of Abby.
“Maybe,” said Abby, with a little lilt in her voice, “you should offer your guest a little room service.”
Bridget felt her pulse skip. If Abby had any clue what had already transpired between Bridget and Jack, no doubt her word choice would have a different insinuation. But in this case, her sister had one thing in mind: serving food.
“He’s in town to work,” Bridget informed her. “I don’t want to interrupt him.”
“You wouldn’t be interrupting him,” Abby said pointedly. “You’d be serving him. The man is probably hungry. Thirsty. He’s staying in an inn that doesn’t offer room service when he doesn’t want to leave his room!”
Abby did make a good point. And it was tempting to think about seeing Jack again. But there was a little part of Bridget that wondered if he’d stayed in his room since Saturday night because he was avoiding her. And what almost happened between them.
Nonsense! She was giving herself far too much credit. He had not kissed her. This time. So really, there was nothing to even think about.
“I’m sure he’s left to eat in town,” she said to her sister. She came and went throughout the day, and probably hadn’t noticed when Jack popped in and out.
Even if she’d looked. A few times. As a concerned innkeeper, of course.
“Well, it’s nine thirty and I have these amazing strawberries and cream pancakes I’d love to serve, not to mention that box of pastries that is going to go stale.” Here, Abby pinched her lips and made a stern glance at the white bakery box from Angie’s Café. “You should at least let him know what his options are.”
Bridget hesitated. All her guests knew what time breakfast hours were. It was written on the information card she kept on the bedside table. She assumed that Jack still had his. Not that she could be certain of this. Unlike the other guests, who happily allowed her entrance to make their beds and refresh their sheets, Jack’s door handle permanently boasted the Do Not Di
sturb sign.
“Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’ll do it myself!” Abby announced.
Bridget popped off the counter stool. “No…I’ll go. You’re right,” she said, trying to convince herself of that. “He’s probably hungry and I should at least offer something to his room, considering he’s our only guest.”
If this were a woman, say in her fifties, with the same workload and same need for privacy, would she extend an offer of breakfast being delivered to her room?
Yes.
And that was her answer.
He wasn’t Jack Riley. Jack with the nut-brown tousled hair and warm eyes and oh so kissable lips.
He was a guest. And so help her, he would be treated as one.
She walked through the dining room with growing dread, wishing that he might just appear at any moment instead, and spare her from interrupting him. But when she rounded the corner to the front hall, there was no one there, and so she took each step slowly, moving as quietly as she could up the stairs until she was standing directly in front of the white-painted door with a single oil-rubbed bronze number hanging from it.
The DO NOT DISTURB sign hung firmly from the knob, just as it had last evening, when she’d come home from Serenity Hills and, after settling Emma into her room to have a tea party with her dolls, made the rounds to change the bedding after her weekend guests had checked out.
She strained for any sounds in the room, heat creeping up her cheeks when she considered the possibility that the man could still be sleeping. After all, it was entirely possible that he’d worked all through the night and had only just now fallen asleep and—
He is a fifty-six-year-old woman with a wart on her nose and three grandchildren. He is not a handsome, single man of a respectable age. He is hungry. He is your guest.
She knocked.
Oh, Jesus. Her heart began to pound as she stood and waited, waited for a door in her own house to fling open. The door that had once opened into a purple and pink bedroom complete with celebrity fan posters and a shocking amount of nail polish bottles that Abby arranged by color.