6
Courtland
"Oh my god, Lola. This is so good."
I groan obscenely loudly around a mouthful of perfectly poached eggs.
Lola beams down at me, patting the front of her flour-covered apron. She's been the head chef at the inn my whole life. I took my first steps in her kitchen and spent countless hours propped on the countertop, often with Buzz beside me, watching with fascination as she whizzed around making the most delicious food I've ever had in my life.
Her hard work and dedication has paid off. Clovelly House is no stranger to local and regional food awards, including the Best Breakfast in Somerset County award that it's won every year since it started…in 19-freaking-98.
"Glad you like it. It's so good to have you back. Even if it is just for a short while."
"I'll visit again for longer before the holidays," I say.
"Please do. Enjoy breakfast and make sure you pop in and spend at least a few minutes with me in the kitchen before you take off, okay?"
"Actually, Buzz and I will be having lunch here today."
Her face lights up, and she taps her fingers together excitedly.
"Ooh, excellent. I'm making clam chowder. I can't remember, he's not allergic to seafood, is he?"
"Nope"
"Great. Because we just got some local oysters from the Damariscotta this morning."
She shoots me an exaggerated wink.
"And you know what they say about oysters."
"I do."
I put down my knife and fork and smile up at her.
"That they're the leading source of the approximately eighty thousand vibrio infections in the United States each year."
"Oh, pish posh,"
she says, waving her hands theatrically.
"The other thing. The sexy thing."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
I pick up my knife and fork and pretend the sixty-year-old lady who's like a second mother to me isn't insinuating what we both know she is. It's not the first time I've heard this from her… Or from Manuel, the grumpy executive manager who gives me shit like his bonus depends on it… Or from Scooter… Or Cyrus. Even Old Man Hatfield quirks a brow whenever he sees me and Buzz together in town.
It's like they're all picking up on what I've been too afraid to admit to myself, that there is something tangible between me and Buzz.
Well, that ends today. I'm doing what I should have done at prom all those years ago and telling him I have feelings for him. Over clam chowder and oysters, apparently, which hopefully won't give us diarrhea, abdominal cramps, or a fever.
"What are your plans for the morning?"
Lola asks.
"I was going to see Mom."
The faintest flicker of tension crosses her face.
"I'm sure she'd like that."
"Yeah, but I got a call before from Grandpa's lawyer asking to meet with me."
"Any idea what about?"
"I'm guessing it's something to do with his estate. I don't know. I haven't spoken to Mom about it because I assumed she was handling that side of things."
"Well, good luck with it. Let me know how you go."
Lola looks down at my almost empty plate and smiles. Food is the woman's love language, no question about it.
"Another serving?"
I smile and nod like I'm six and she's asking if I want to lick the leftover chocolate from the bowl.
"Yes please."
"You can't be serious,"
I sputter.
Perry Stevens, the bald, stony-faced lawyer I met not less than ten minutes ago stares at me from the other side of his credenza with a neutral expression.
"I am,"
he says after a short pause, his voice wavering momentarily, like he isn't sure which part of his bombshell news I'm reacting to.
"Let me see if I've got this straight. Grandpa Arnie is leaving the inn to me and not his one and only daughter, but only on the condition that I'm…married?"
Perry gives a sharp, businesslike nod.
"Correct. And that you remain in Clovelly for at least six months,"
he says, reiterating the second clause.
"Yeah. That part. That sounds like house arrest to me."
"No, no."
He does that gross thing of licking his fingers as he flips through the pages to find whatever section of the will he's looking for.
"It just stipulates that you have to permanently reside here. You are free to leave for the occasional trip…but not so often or so far that the town stops feeling like home,"
he reads aloud.
I shake my head, unable to make sense of this. Why didn't anyone tell me Grandpa Arnie had taken up smoking pot in his old age.
"Is any of this legal?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can my grandfather seriously force me to marry someone and live here for six months?"
"He's not forcing you to do anything,"
Perry replies matter-of-factly.
"These are simply conditions he's laid out, which you are free to either accept or reject."
I sink back into the seat and run a hand through my hair.
"This has all the hallmarks of the beginning of a horrible JLO romcom,"
I mutter, still reeling from the news.
Perry's lips quiver, and I think he might be…trying to smile.
"As long as you don't marry your best friend and fall in love with them, I'm sure it won't be that bad."
I glare at him, unimpressed.
He clears his throat.
"Right, well."
He collects the scattered papers and squares them up against the edge of his desk.
"It looks like you have a big decision to make. Good thing your grandfather left a provision in the will giving you some time to do just that."
"How much time?"
"You have one week."
"One week to find someone to marry me and plan a wedding is not a lot of time."
He serves me a look that falls somewhere between smugness and self-pity.
"That's what it states. Otherwise the inn will be sold, and proceeds will be distributed between yourself and several charities your grandfather was involved with."
"The inn can't be sold. It's been in our family for generations. I practically grew up there."
"Like I told you, Dr. Matthews, the inn is yours…provided you meet the terms your grandfather laid out in his will."
Well, fuck.