Chapter 19
MAE
The B&B was much smaller than Heritage Hill, probably a third of the size.
But Parker knew the owner and had arranged it for us, which we appreciated since the first few places we called were sold out for the weekend.
Technically, we could have headed back to Cedar Falls for the night, but having to replenish a few ingredients in the morning before setup was going to make for an early wake-up call as it was.
“Cute place,” I said as we waited to check in.
“Can I help you?”
Beck stepped up to the counter as I wandered around the front room that served as the lobby.
The house was on the same lake as our festival, heading south.
Reading an article on the wall, I learned it was owned by a husband and wife, the latter of which was helping Beck now.
The article, from over twenty years ago, mentioned she was a chef.
I wandered over to the counter.
“And these are your keys,” the older woman said. “Up those stairs, the last two rooms on the right.”
“The article over there,” I said, pointing to the wall, “said you were a chef before you and your husband converted this into a bed and breakfast.”
“I was,” she said with a friendly smile, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes a testament to how many times she’d greeted someone like me in her lifetime.
“Met my husband at CIA. We ran a little place in New York City, where he’s from, until trading the chaos for calm.
Bought this place, fixed it up and never looked back. ”
“I’m a CIA grad too.”
Her smile widened as Beck listened, not saying anything.
“Best decision I ever made. Cooking for people. It’s still the heart of this place.”
I didn’t say anything right away, but my chest warmed the way it did when I felt a pull toward something meaningful. Maybe it was this place. Or maybe it was hearing someone speak with certainty about a life she chose and built with someone she loved.
I’d thought I was on that path too.
“How about you?” she asked.
The dreaded question.
“We just came from the Flavor Fest,” Beck jumped in. Grateful, I let him talk. “Got in on a last-minute entry.”
“The others here tonight are festivalgoers too. But sounds like you had a booth?”
“Sure did. O’Malley’s Pub and Eatery, in Cedar Falls.”
“You cook there?” she asked me.
“My father owns the pub. I just got back from France where I was training to be a pastry chef. As you can imagine, job opportunities are few and far between around here.”
“You’d be surprised,” the woman said, settling back into her chair with her tea. “People don’t just come to small towns for the views anymore. They come for the experience. The story. A warm croissant from someone who learned in France? That’s not just food—it’s memory-making.”
I smiled. Thinking.
The woman continued. “I had a guest once… a pastry chef from Boston. Burned out. She came here for a weekend, ended up staying six months. Taught a baking class at the community center and said it was the happiest she’d been in years.”
“That so?” Beck said, stealing a glance at me.
The woman just shrugged. “Sometimes the dream changes. Or maybe you just find it in a place you didn’t expect.”
“Cedar Falls would definitely qualify.”
“Mae’s tarte tatin were a huge hit,” Beck boasted. “Even served with burgers and stuffed jalapenos. As a matter of fact, by midday tomorrow we’ll most likely be sold out.”
The innkeeper looked impressed.
“Is that so?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “Would you be interested in making some for us? Pastry isn’t exactly my husband’s or my specialty.”
That was an easy one. “Absolutely. I love making them. That sounds great.”
“Do you have a card?”
Shit. A card.
“Here’s mine.” Beck pulled one from his wallet. “I can connect you.”
“Claymont. As in—”
“Bottling. Yep.” If Beck tried to keep the bitterness from his tone, he failed.
Helping him let go of the resentment for his parents had been a years-long quest. Beck thought it equated to forgiving them, but I just wanted him not to hold hate in his heart.
He’d never have a perfect relationship with them, and that was fine.
He could have no relationship, if he wanted.
“You two must be exhausted. I don’t mean to keep you from your rooms. They’re just up there.” She addressed me. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“I am as well.”
And I really was. At least I’d have a purpose again, even if it was just for one job.
We headed upstairs, Beck grinning the whole way. He was clearly proud of himself for hyping me, and I had to admit to being extremely grateful.
“Still coming in for a nightcap or too pooped?” he asked as we arrived at our rooms.
“I’m tired,” I admitted. “But doubt I can go right to sleep. Leave your door open,” I teased as Beck saluted.
Somehow, as I entered the room, small but lovely and quaint, that quip had felt different.
Beck and I had a years-long history of him “hitting” on me, and me turning him down or teasing back.
But ever since Kitchi Falls… and then my kitchen…
things had been off. It was suddenly hard not to notice him.
So what had changed?
Beck was still the playboy he’d been since girls started to notice him. I saw the way he’d talked to the women at the bar that first night in town. Every time I asked what he’d been up to or who he was dating these past few years, it was never the same name.
Unpacking, I pulled out my yoga pants and tee and headed to the shower just as the adjoining door unlocked. I held my breath, but nothing happened. I told him to unlock it, so why was I standing, frozen, as if some portal to another world had just been opened?
Making my way to the shower, pleasantly surprised by the scented body wash, having forgotten my own, my mind wandered to the next room.
Beck was likely showering right now too.
I could picture him slicking his hair back with both hands like he did, exposing every inch of his face.
What made him so good-looking, anyway? His jaw line?
Lips? Or was it Beck’s eyes? He’d never been shy at holding eye contact, something I’d noticed way back in high school.
Unbidden, a thought of the rest of Beck popped into my head.
He, Cole and Mason had been trying to one-up each other in the physique department for as long as I could remember, and the friendly competition had benefited all three of them.
Swallowing, trying to push the thought of naked Beck from my mind, I turned off the shower and dried myself.
It was his smile.
That plus Beck’s confidence was what made him so attractive.
It also didn’t hurt that, unlike most of the world, I knew the guy inside who carried wounds he rarely let anyone see.
Everyone else knew him as the slick bartender, as smooth with a tossed bottle as he was picking up women.
But I knew him as the one who plugged me on the news…
who may have gotten me a connection here by singing my praises.
Leaving my hair wet and loose so it could air dry, I made my way back to the room, grabbed the two glasses and bottle of wine and stood in front of the adjoining door, pausing.
This is silly. It’s just Beck.
Knocking first, I pushed the door open and called in.
“Are you decent?”
“No, but come in anyway.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to be true or not, but as I stepped inside, zero percent of me was surprised to see him fully dressed in sweats and a white tee.
“You’re ridiculous. Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I forgot a wine opener. I swear I was so focused on the festival I left half my stuff at home. No body wash, no toothpaste and now no wine opener.”
“No body wash? Eww.”
I rolled my eyes. “I used the inn’s, you ass.”
“I suppose you can borrow my toothpaste,” he said, reaching for the wine bottle. “Gimme that.”
What the hell was he going to do with it without an opener?
“I can ask—”
“I got it,” he said, picking up his sneaker.
“What in the ever-living hell are you doing?” I asked as Beck made his way into the bathroom. I followed.
“Don’t want to put a hole in the wall. Or get wine all over the carpet.”
Jumping into the bathtub—still wet from his shower—Beck placed the bottom of the wine bottle in his sneaker, lifted it, and began pounding the sneaker against the fiberglass wall.
“Beck,” I started, but he wasn’t listening.
He pounded again, checked the cork, then did it once more. I was about to stop him when the cork popped out. Beck jumped back from the dribble of wine that escaped and held the bottle upright, completely uncorked. I stared at him, amazed.
“What other hidden talents do you have?”
Beck’s suggestive grin told me immediately I shouldn’t have asked.
“I’d be happy to show you.”