Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
ADDISON
The door to Brenden’s office is open, so I peek in and find him sitting at his desk. There’s a tall stack of paperwork beside him that’s alarmingly askew, but his eyes are glued to his computer screen.
“Hey,” I say.
He jumps in his seat, knocking into the edge of the desk and sending the top few papers in the stack sliding off and floating to the floor. “Shit!”
“Sorry.” I step inside the office and bend down beside his desk to pick everything up.
“Thanks,” he says, taking the papers I hand him and carelessly tossing them right back on top of the mountain. “Everything good?”
“Yeah, I was just hoping to get Connor Shaw’s number at the farm from you. I already sent in my produce order online, but I want to see if he’d be able to rush deliver me some peaches tomorrow.”
“Ooh, what are you making?” Brenden asks as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through it.
“Peach cobbler.”
He hums in a way that sounds like approval. He doesn’t need to know that I’m planning to make it because of a conversation I overheard between Riley and her brother in the dining room this morning.
Accidentally, of course. It’s not like I was hanging out in the dining room because she was there. I was helping clean some tables, because I don’t leave all the dirty jobs for my staff members. I’m a good boss, that’s all.
Riley asked her brother about a restaurant they used to go to in a nearby town that has, according to her, the best peach cobbler in the world. She was saying how much she’s missed it, and when her brother told her the restaurant closed down last year, she looked devastated.
So now I’m planning to bake a peach cobbler for dessert that will be even better. But I’m only doing this because Brenden has stressed how important it is to keep our celebrity guest happy. Obviously.
“Call his cell,” Brenden says, holding out his phone so I can copy the number into mine. “If you call the number for the farm, you’ll only get his mom at the store.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to...” I gesture to the precarious pile of paperwork. “All that fun stuff.”
He lets out a pained groan. “Oh, please, no. I don’t want to. Can you do it for me?”
I huff a laugh. “Absolutely not. One of the perks of giving up my own restaurant has been not needing to deal with all the business bullshit. I get to just enjoy cooking.”
It’s not really that simple. Since I’m in charge of the inn’s kitchen, I still do the menu planning, ordering, and handle staffing. But it’s better than it was before. Not clashing on decisions with my ex-wife has certainly been a perk.
“Speaking of enjoying.” Brenden is suddenly all smiles, which worries me a little. “I’m going to arrange schedules so that you won’t have to work at all during the summer festival. You didn’t get to truly experience the spring one since you were stuck in our booth the entire time.”
“No, I experienced enough, believe me,” I tell him. I saw plenty of the craziness from where I sat.
“You know you can stop acting like you’re not one of us now.”
I cross my arms as I lean against the wall. “I’m clearly not. I don’t even live in this ridiculous town.”
“Oh, please,” he scoffs. “You could throw a rock off your front porch and it would land in Mayweather. Everyone in town loves your food. Just accept that you’re one of us.”
“Never.”
He sighs, laughing at the same time. “Fine. But we’re going to wear you down eventually.”
I’m afraid that threat might prove true. He did manage to wear me down on the friendship front already.
As I move to leave the office, he asks me to hold on.
So I foolishly turn back to face him instead of making my escape.
“Listen,” he says, and right away, I know I’m not going to like whatever nonsense comes out of his mouth next.
“I know you told me not to set you up with anyone, and I swear I wasn’t trying to.
But Mrs. Michaelson’s daughter recently moved back here, and she’s single, and Mrs. Michaelson thought—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “Don’t you dare. No more dates. No dating. No women. Nope.”
“But you don’t even know anything about her,” he argues.
“I don’t need to.”
There’s a cunning glint in his eyes when he asks. “Is it maybe because you’re already busy getting to know someone else?”
“What?” I snap, fearing where this is going.
Before Brenden can say anything else, though, Travis walks into the office, nearly bumping into me where I’m standing right beside the doorway.
“Shit, sorry,” he says, only sparing me a quick glance, and then heading right for his pain-in-the-ass, meddling boyfriend.
The dopey smile that takes over Brenden’s face as he stands and comes around his desk is somewhat nauseating. Then Travis gives him a kiss that’s brief, yet still manages to convey all sorts of mushy, romantic sentiments I don’t want to be privy to. It’s definitely time for me to go.
“What are you doing here?” Brenden asks.
Travis shrugs. “The diner was dead, so I thought I’d come say hi.”
Gross. As if they don’t see enough of each other every day.
“Yeah, so I’m gonna get back to the ki—” I start to say, but Brenden flails his arms at me menacingly to shut me up.
“I don’t think so, missy.”
The threatening eyebrow raise I give him at calling me missy doesn’t seem to scare him like it normally would. He probably thinks his big, muscular boyfriend can protect him from my wrath.
“As I was going to say, you might think you’re sneaky, but I heard that you and a certain singer were hanging out together at Roddy’s.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What is up with this damn town?” I didn’t expect the bartender, who was so friendly with Riley, to gossip about her. And the four old men who were there didn’t seem to be paying two shits of attention to us.
Leaning into Travis, who wraps an arm around his skinny waist, Brenden smirks at me.
“Marvin O’Shea told his wife you two came in while he and his retiree buddies were having their weekly wives-free afternoon outing.
And she told her friend Sue, who told Mrs. Pike, who told her niece Alison, who was talking about it at the diner over coffee with a couple of her friends, and Travis heard them and told me. ”
I turn my dirty look on Travis, and to his credit, he looks at least somewhat remorseful. I’m used to Brenden being a gossip, but I thought Travis was better at minding his own business.
“Really? You had to spread it further?” I ask him. “You should stop letting Brenden rub off on you.”
“Sorry,” Brenden interjects, not sounding sorry at all, “but he loves it when I rub off on him.”
Travis flushes but stays silent.
Brenden continues like he didn’t just make an inappropriate comment in front of an employee. “So anyway, since you two seem to be awfully friendly lately, maybe you can go to the summer festival with her. Because you won’t be working, remember. Because I’m the best boss ever.”
“You’re... something.”
At my lame retort, Travis snorts, and Brenden beams at me.
He obviously thinks he’s devised some sort of brilliant plan to make me fall in love with Riley Rowland.
But that’s never going to happen. I’m not a masochist. I have no business falling for a sexually confused, very famous celebrity. That would only end in a disaster.
“For what it’s worth,” Travis says to me, “I knew Riley growing up, and back then, she was one of the most down-to-earth teenagers. I don’t imagine she would have let her fame change her too much.”
I throw up my hands in defeat. I’m clearly outnumbered here. “Ugh, I hate you both.”
“Impossible!” Brenden calls out as I turn and walk swiftly out of his office like I should have done the first time. “Everybody loves me!”
I wonder if the next person who buys the inn after I murder him will be normal.
I was going to call Connor about those peaches right away, but now as I get back to the kitchen, I’m feeling hesitant. Baking a dessert for the inn just to make one person happy would be silly. And I don’t need to add any fuel to Brenden’s matchmaking fire.
The next day, as I’m almost finished cleaning up after the dinner service, there’s a knock on the kitchen doors that’s so quiet I’m not sure I didn’t imagine it. Why would anyone be knocking?
It’s only me and Sam left in here. He pauses as he’s putting away some prepped ingredients for tomorrow’s menu, the confusion on his face matching mine. So he obviously heard it too.
“Uh, yeah?” I call out.
Very slowly, one door starts to swing open. The red hair is the first thing I see before Riley pokes her head through, looking nervous.
“Hi, um, sorry, hi,” she stammers. “Brenden told me you were still here. I wanted to tell you how much I loved the peach cobbler today.” Laughing awkwardly, she adds, “I ordered some at lunch and dinner.”
She hasn’t stepped inside the kitchen, which I appreciate, because guests really shouldn’t be in here. Surely, it’s against health code and the insurance policy.
But Sam is standing a few feet away, swiveling his head back and forth between me and Riley with wide eyes like he’s trying to put together the clues to solve a mystery, and I don’t like that.
So, wiping my hands on a dish towel, I tell her, “You can come in. Just don’t touch anything.” Then I turn to Sam to let him know that he can head out and I’ll finish up myself.
See? I’m a good boss.
Sam still looks bewildered, but he nods, sticking the pan he’s holding in the reach-in before leaving. Hopefully, he doesn’t mention this to Brenden. Not that I think he’d try to get me in trouble. But he might feel the urge to gossip. And lord knows Brenden would love that.
Once we’re alone, Riley comes over to me, slowly and cautiously, like she understands this space is supposed to be employees-only.
“It’s funny,” she says, resting one hand on the edge of the prep table, opposite where I’m standing, “because I was actually having a conversation yesterday with my brother about this restaurant we used to go to all the time that had the best peach cobbler. It’s been my favorite dessert since I was a kid, and I was excited to go get some from there.
But he told me the place wasn’t open anymore, so I was pretty upset. ”
“Yeah?” I say, feigning disinterest, but feeling like I have to say something when she pauses to stare me down.
“Mmhmm.” She taps her manicured baby pink nails on the counter. They match the color of her sundress. “And then today my server tells me that peach cobbler is the special dessert of the day. He had to tell me, because it wasn’t even on the printed menus. Can you imagine how happy that made me?”
“It was a nice coincidence, I guess.”
The look she gives me tells me I’m not fooling her, but I’m not about to confess to my eavesdropping or going out of my way to make her the dessert she wanted.
“It was very nice,” she agrees after a moment. “Will you have any left to serve tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s plenty.” I made an embarrassing amount of the stupid stuff to make sure it wouldn’t sell out, or in case she didn’t eat at the inn today. But she doesn’t need to know that. “Would you like some more now?”
Her eyes go wide at my offer, but then she smiles in a way that takes over her whole face. In a way that makes doing this ridiculous thing I did entirely worth it. “Really?”
“Sure, I’ll warm up a piece for you. You can take it up to your room. Or you could, uh, hang around here. If you want. I’m only finishing up a bit of cleaning.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at myself. I never sound this awkward and needy.
“I wouldn’t be in the way?” she asks.
Shaking my head, I tell her, “No. Not at all. I mean, you’re pretty tiny, you know? I don’t think you can get up to too much trouble in here.”
There’s a playful sparkle in her eyes now as she gazes at me for a beat. And then she says, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Suddenly, my skin feels hot. Brenden finally got the AC fixed, but maybe it’s already fritzing again.
I clear my throat and spin toward the industrial-sized refrigerator to take out one of the leftover pans of cobbler.
Avoiding the eyes I feel watching me, I cut out an absurdly large piece and slide it onto a plate.
Then I pop the plate into the microwave before turning back to face Riley.
“You can drag one of those stools over here,” I tell her, jerking my head over to the two stools in front of the other prep table.
She does as I instruct, then sits down, crossing one leg over the other and inadvertently causing the hem of her dress to inch up her thighs.
I only realize that I might have been staring for an inappropriate amount of time when the microwave dings, making me jump. I remove the plate and push it in front of her. She thanks me before digging in, letting out a tiny moan around her first bite.
Okay. That’s enough of me being nice. I have work to do.
She stays quiet, not trying to make any conversation as she eats the dessert and I finish getting everything put away and wiped down. It’s not until we’re both finished, and I’ve tossed her empty plate in the sink to soak, that she thanks me again.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, smiling brightly.
“Uh, sure.”
“Your cobbler is even better than that other one I missed.”
The way she’s looking at me now—with something that could be mistaken for adoration in her eyes if I was foolish enough—gets me tongue-tied. So all I do is nod dumbly as I usher her out of the kitchen.
Since I don’t have any excuse to stick around the inn, I say goodbye to her in the lobby and head home, feeling pleasantly energized despite my long day.