Chapter 13
Erin
I rolled out of bed as the last wisps of dreams about Ashton still clung to my mind, and I tiptoed downstairs.
The early morning light filtered through the kitchen window, promising a fresh start and, if I was lucky, first dibs on breakfast. Sure, he said he would do it, but he didn't have to.
However, Ashton already stood at the stove with his back to me, a plate piled high with pancakes that looked like a child's hands had shaped them into perfectly imperfect dragons, each one a whimsical, slightly lopsided nod to mythical beasts.
"What in the world..." I said, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I approached the counter.
"Open your mouth and close your eyes," Ashton said without turning, a mischievous lilt in his tone.
Hesitation brushed me for a second, but curiosity—and frankly, an undeniable trust in Ashton—won. I did what he said.
The moment the flavors hit my tongue, I was in heaven. Pancake, bacon, and real maple syrup melded into one divine bite. "Oh my God," I said once I swallowed, "this is fabulous."
"I hoped you'd like it," Ashton said with a chuckle, sliding a generous helping onto a plate for me.
"Like it? It's amazing," I said, already reaching for a fork. He just smiled, knowing he had nailed it.
I attacked the pancakes like they were my first meal in days, layer after layer of bacon-studded sweetness disappearing into my mouth.
An audible hum of satisfaction escaped my lips with each bite, and I didn't care who heard it.
People always had something to say about my weight, but unless they were signing my checks, their opinions didn't matter.
"Damn." I pushed the empty plate away, feeling both victorious and as stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey. "That was incredible."
"Looks like you enjoyed it," Ashton said with a grin, his eyes sparkling with what looked suspiciously like pride.
"Enjoyed it? I demolished it." I patted my belly, not one bit ashamed of indulging. I stood up, ready to tackle the aftermath of our little breakfast feast.
The kitchen was warm, with the morning sun streaming through the window and the lingering scent of sweet syrup in the air. Ashton washed. I dried.
"Thanks for doing this," he said, passing me a rinsed plate.
"Least I can do after you cooked." I took the plate but kept my body angled away from him. It was ridiculous how just standing next to him sent my heart into overdrive as if proximity alone could ignite something between us.
"You okay?" Ashton's voice stopped my thoughts, concern lacing his tone.
"Yep, all good," I lied smoothly, a smile plastered on my face. "Just thinking about what I need to get done today."
"Ah, gotcha." He nodded, turning to the suds.
If only he knew that getting things done included keeping my cool around him, which was proving harder by the second. But I wasn't about to let myself combust, not over some guy, no matter how heavenly his pancake-bacon-maple concoctions were.
"Thanks for breakfast, again. It was amazing." I hung the dish towel on the rack and turned to face him. "But I've got to run some errands this morning. We're running low on a few things."
"Anything exciting?" he asked with a serene smile as he wiped his hands on another towel.
"Thrilling," I deadpanned. "Toilet paper is at the top of my list. Can't risk running out of that."
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the cozy kitchen. "Yeah, better not."
I chuckled, shaking my head at our riveting conversation about bathroom necessities, and grabbed my purse from the counter.
"See you later," I said over my shoulder as I headed for the door.
"Good luck with the toilet paper hunt." Ashton's voice followed me out.
I stepped onto the porch, where the air was crisp and smelled faintly of flowers.
The older couple from room four emerged with their bags in hand just as I was shutting the front door behind me.
They were all smiles, his hand rested gently on the small of her back, feather-light, as she stepped forward, and the knowing glances, filled with unspoken tenderness, settled between them like a quiet hush.
I opened the door wide to let them exit.
"Good morning. How was your stay?" I asked, hoping their experience had been as pleasant as their expressions suggested.
"Absolutely wonderful," the woman said, her husband nodding in agreement. "This place is a gem. We'll definitely recommend it to our friends."
"That's exactly what I've been working towards." I replied, a genuine smile touching my lips. "I want the Montgomery Inn to be more than just a place to sleep. I want it to be a real haven, a quiet retreat where people can genuinely unwind and feel completely at ease."
"Well, you've certainly achieved that," the husband chimed in, adjusting his grip on his bag. "We both slept like babes. And that rainfall shower... simply divine."
"It's the little touches, isn't it?" the woman added, squeezing his arm. "That's what makes it feel so special, so utterly restorative. You've created something truly wonderful here."
"Thank you. That means a lot," I said, genuinely touched. "Here, take a card. If you have time, we'd love it if you could leave us a review online."
"Of course, we'll do that today," the man promised as he slipped the card into his wallet.
"Safe travels to the city," I said, and they thanked me before heading to their car.
Once they'd driven off, I scribbled a quick note for Laurie to clean room 4 and left it on the kitchen counter.
With a last glance at the quaint inn that had become my world, I set off for town, the list of supplies playing over in my mind.
Don't forget the toilet paper. Don't forget the toilet paper.
Pushing open the door to the grocery store, a bell chimed above me, a familiar yet indifferent greeting.
I grabbed a basket and made my way down the aisles, but not before catching sight of Jenna, the cashier, laughing as she scanned items for Mr. Henderson, the owner of the only barber shop in town.
She had a way of making small talk seem effortless, her voice bubbling over with enthusiasm each time she greeted a customer.
"Morning, Jenna." I tried to catch her eye as I passed by.
"Morning, Erin," she said, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes like it did when she greeted others. It fell flat, a courtesy extended out of obligation rather than genuine interest.
I shrugged it off and continued into the heart of the store, picking up a box of cereal before turning toward the produce.
As I navigated through the stands of fruits and vegetables, I offered smiles to those I passed.
Mrs. Calloway who taught at the local school, young Tommy who delivered newspapers on his bike, and even grumpy old Mr. Elkins, who always had a scowl ready for anyone in his path.
Their responses were tight-lipped smiles that didn't touch their eyes or outright indifference as they turned their attention elsewhere. Each interaction chipped away at the hope I had held when I first came to Stock Creek. The hope of finding a community, a place where I could belong.
As I placed a bag of apples in my basket, I wondered if coming here was a mistake. The dream of running a cozy inn in a small town seemed more isolated than idyllic now. I shook off the thought, focusing instead on the list in my head. Toilet paper, don't forget the toilet paper.
Fifteen minutes later, I got in line and edged closer to the cashier, a silent observer as she chatted up the customer in front of me in line.
They were laughing over local gossip that seemed to light up their faces.
When it was my turn, her smile froze for a fraction before becoming something practiced and restrained.
"Morning again." I slid my purchases nearer the scanner.
"Morning," she said, her voice losing its earlier warmth. She handled my items deftly but impersonally, as if she was suddenly handling fragile glass instead of groceries.
"Any plans for the day?" I said, trying to break the ice that had inexplicably formed.
"Just work," she said, her attention fixed on the register. "You?"
"Errands," I said, offering nothing more. "Work at the inn." The conversation withered on the vine, and we completed the transaction in silence.
"Have a nice day," she said as she handed me the receipt, her politeness feeling like a wall rather than a bridge.
"Thanks, you too," I said, already turning away, the familiar sting of exclusion fresh in my mind.
Outside, I loaded the bags into my car, the morning air doing little to dispel the chill from inside the store.
With a sigh, I shut the trunk and glanced at the neighboring bookstore.
Hopefully, there would be a distinct energy there, a reprieve from the invisible barriers I kept bumping into around town.
With a small sliver of hope, I walked next door to the bookstore, the bell above the door chiming my entrance like a herald for a new scene.
The bell's cheerful ring was a contrast to the muted farewell I'd received moments before. Inside, towering shelves of books promised escape and solace. The familiar scent of ink and paper filled my lungs as I exhaled the remnants of the grocery store's coldness.
"Erin. Back again?" Mr. Peters, the bookstore owner, greeted me with a genuine smile from behind his cluttered counter. His eyes crinkled at the corners, a truly warm welcome. Mr. Peters had been one of the few who had been genuinely nice to me these last two years.
"Wouldn't miss it." My mood was already lifting. I wandered between the aisles, my fingers tracing the spines of countless adventures waiting to be lived. Picking up a novel whose cover caught my eye, I flipped through the pages, the sound soothing in its consistency.
"Anything particular you're looking for today?" Mr. Peters said, shuffling a stack of books into some semblance of order.