Chapter 1 #2
She did look vaguely familiar, but I was honestly trying to avoid checking her out, so I didn’t look too closely.
“Jesus, these are heavy,” Brenden complains, lowering his voice on the top landing.
It takes us two trips to deliver everything to the inn’s most luxurious suite. When we get back down to the empty lobby, Brenden retucks his shirt, then throws himself dramatically into the chair the woman had been sitting in, sinking down very low and looking utterly ridiculous.
I sit in the chair across from him. “Who was that?”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Are you kidding? You don’t know?”
“Should I?”
“I know you’re not a fan of country music,” he says as he manages to sit up like a civilized person, “but there’s no way you haven’t heard of Riley Rowland.”
Oh, damn.
Yeah, I’ve heard of Riley Rowland. Little Miss Country Sweetheart, or whatever the hell they call her.
“What the heck is she doing here?” I ask, wrapping my mind around the fact that the woman who just went upstairs is famous famous. My guess was a social media influencer or something in that range.
“I already briefed the rest of the staff,” Brenden tells me. “Apparently, she needed to get out of Nashville as soon as possible. There’s been somewhat of a scandal surrounding her. She grew up in Mayweather, so she’s staying here indefinitely. Probably the whole summer.”
Frowning, I say, “No offense to this place, but couldn’t she afford to stay somewhere a whole lot fancier?”
He gives me a stink eye. “I think she feels like she’ll be able to lay low and avoid attention here.
And she’s got family still in town. I don’t know if you’ve met Andrew Rowland, but that’s her brother.
He lives over the yoga studio in a one-bedroom, though, so I’m sure staying with him isn’t an option. ”
I cast my eyes upward, as if I can see through the ceiling, and wonder what kind of scandal that woman could’ve been involved in. Then I remind myself that I don’t care.
I also don’t care that she’s famous. That doesn’t make her and her long legs and her cowboy boots and all her luggage that I had to carry any less annoying.
She’s probably going to expect special treatment at all hours of the day and night.
And I don’t have time for that. Brenden’s good at bending over backward for the guests, but I plan out my menus and stick to them.
I’ll make accommodations for a person with allergies, of course, but if Little Miss Sweetheart thinks she can ask for kale smoothies or some other bullshit, she’s got another thing coming.
“Well, I hope her idea of laying low means staying in her room,” I say.
Brenden’s eyes widen and he looks around in a panic, like he’s worried she heard me.
“You heard her say she won’t be any trouble.
We can treat her like all the other guests.
Except just, you know, try to remember that she has millions of fans who might potentially want to come stay here too, if she tells them she had a great experience. ”
Shaking his head, he adds, “I mean, I’m sure she won’t be letting people know she’s here right now, but maybe she’ll talk about the inn after she’s gone back to Nashville.”
“And when will that be?”
“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, tilting his head curiously. “You’re crankier than usual.”
I huff, though he’s not wrong. “If I’m cranky, it’s because you were hounding me about how I should start dating again, so I spent my afternoon with a woman who had the personality of a casserole.”
“Mmm.” He rubs a hand over his stomach. “You make really good casseroles.”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Yes. You had one bad date. And we’ll hope the next one is better.”
“We will hope no such thing,” I inform him, standing up. “Because there won’t be a next one. I’m done.”
He follows right on my heels like an annoying puppy as I head for the kitchen. “You can’t give up after one date! The love of your life could be out there waiting for you right now!”
I push through the swinging doors, thinking it’s more likely that the woman I thought was the love of my life is out there right now sleeping her way through half of the queer women in Chicago—the half that she didn’t get to while we were married.
The change in temperature hits me in the face as soon as I step into the kitchen. “Fuck, it’s like an inferno in here.” It’s only the end of June. Why the hell does it have to be this hot already?
Dismissing my complaint with a wave of his hand, Brenden leans against one of the prep tables and says, “I totally understand if you hate using the dating apps. They all suck. Do you want me to ask around town if anyone knows any gay single women?”
“I most certainly do not,” I tell him sternly before he can take off running with that terrible idea.
Sam, one of the new members of my kitchen staff, is standing behind the other prep table, and it looks like he’s already gotten started working on some of my dinner instructions. I make my way over to check that he’s chopping the vegetables the way I want them.
“Looks good,” I comment.
He smiles gratefully and gives me a rundown of what he’s done so far. A throat clears after I thank him, but I purposefully keep my gaze focused on the perfect half-moons of zucchini.
“You might think if you ignore me, I’ll go away, but you’d be wrong,” Brenden says loudly.
I reluctantly glance up at him. “Oh, believe me, I don’t think that. I know you too well now. But I’m going to ignore you anyway. I’ve got work to do. And I’m already behind, because you had me doing other people’s jobs.”
Brenden sighs. “Okay, fine. You did me a favor, so I’ll drop the dating subject. For now.”
“How generous of you,” I deadpan.
“I know,” he says earnestly. Then he makes as if he’s going to leave, but he pauses at the doors and spins back around, staring at me sort of pitifully.
“What?” I ask.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and runs a hand through the back of his hair. “So I know I said I wouldn’t ask you to make me food, but... if you have time after your dinner prep, would you pretty please feed me something? I’m stressed and starving.”
I glare at him, then remind myself that this man is my boss, and also my friend, I guess. Although I didn’t really get much of a say in that second one. He was persistent. “I’ll heat up some of yesterday’s chicken pot pie in the oven for you.”
“You are the absolute best,” he says, holding a hand to his heart. “Have I mentioned that you’re my hero?”
Rolling my eyes, I tell him, “Save the weird sweet-talk for your boyfriend.”
His face lights up at the mention of Travis before he finally leaves the kitchen, allowing me to get ready for the dinner service in peace with Sam, who is typically fairly quiet.
Unfortunately, my peace only lasts until I remember that I’ll have to worry about keeping a fussy celebrity happy all summer.
I slam the oven closed a little too hard after sliding Brenden’s meal inside, wishing I could get a restart on this entire day.