Chapter Three Chaos, Coffee, and Control Issues
Lucy.
“I need ice!” I pushed my way into the kitchen where Jane was standing on the countertop, scrubbing out the inside of the upper cupboards. Going to the fridge, I pulled out a tray of ice cubes. “Where are the towels?”
“Third drawer to your left. What happened? Did Dad pull the ceiling down on top of himself?” Jane let out a sigh. “I told him to wait until the handyman came to start the demolition work. Look at you, you’re all dusty.”
“He pulled the ceiling down right on my boss!” I still couldn’t quite believe it.
Mr. Fitzwilliam was here, at the inn. It was like I had conjured him in my mind from my thoughts this morning.
Mr. Fitzwilliam had looked sharp in his expensive dark suit, white shirt, and overcoat.
As he did in all the photos I had seen of him, he wore a somber expression, then an irritated expression as half a ceiling fell down directly on his head.
“Can we get some coffee for the reception room? Oh, and those jam-filled pastries you made, at least four of those?”
“Slow down, Lucy!” Jane carefully stepped down from the countertop and pulled off her cleaning gloves. “What on earth happened? Did you say your boss was here?”
“He booked a room and so did Mr. Hale, the other partner at the firm. I am going to give him some ice for his head and help Mom with setting up the rooms. Could you please serve them refreshments?” I pleaded, wrapping some ice in the clean towel.
“Give them refreshments? Lucy, the kitchen hasn’t passed a health inspection. I can’t feed anyone except our family. It’s against the rules,” a flustered Jane told me.
“Surely they can have coffee?” I asked in disbelief.
Jane shrugged. “Not even coffee.”
“Well, we are going to have to break the rules just this once,” I decided. I headed out of the kitchen to the reception room, offering the ice to Mr. Fitzwilliam. “Once again, I am so sorry this happened, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
“Dex. You can call me Dex,” he repeated, taking the towel with the ice. With a wince, he put it on his head. A small, stubborn trickle of plaster dust drifted from his hair to his collar.
“And I am simply Braxton,” his friend added in a warm tone.
“Jane will be out with some coffee shortly." I was supposed to go help Mom with the rooms, but I hesitated. The foyer smelled like damp wood and lemon cleaner, with a new chalky note of pulverized ceiling. “Why are you here?”
“Yes, Dex. Why are we here?” Braxton, Dex’s good-natured friend, piped up with a grin, almost like he was teasing Dex.
Which couldn’t be right. Dex was so serious, I didn't imagine he would take well to teasing.
Dex cleared his throat. He was handsome, not in a glossy magazine way, but in lines and symmetry and a quiet intensity that made you forget to breathe for a second. “I would like to discuss your position in person.”
“My position? I quit two weeks ago." I frowned.
“As I have stated multiple times, I would like you to come back. Despite your idiosyncrasies, you have managed to be very proficient at your job, and I haven't been able to find an assistant to match your expertise,” Dex replied.
“My idiosyncrasies?” I echoed.
“You chew your nails. You always put your coffee cup on the left side despite the fact you are right-handed and thus you have gone through twelve keyboards from accidentally spilling your coffee on them.
You chat with the clients excessively before ushering them to my office.
You tend to laugh a lot, which is distracting.
Plus, your family calls a great deal." Dex looked down at me as he recited the list, his mouth a firm frown.
I let out a half-laugh of disbelief. “If I had so many faults, it is a wonder you want me back.”
“As I stated earlier, you are very proficient. You seem to anticipate what I require, and I haven't been able to find an adequate replacement,” Dex replied evenly.
“You need to find someone else. I am busy with my family’s inn,” I answered, trying to keep my voice polite while my blood started to simmer from his insults.
Jane came in balancing an old wooden tray, white knuckles on the wobbly handle. The smell of fresh coffee and warm pastry filled the ruined foyer, cutting through dust and tension.
“Could you take the coffee carafe?” she asked me in a whisper. “The tray is old and the handle is breaking. I am afraid I am going to dump everything all over the floor.”
I slid the carafe out of her hands and stepped aside. Braxton immediately came forward, relieving Jane of the tray.
“Please, allow me,” Braxton offered as he set the tray on a side table. He straightened, looking at Jane and extending a hand. “I’m Braxton.”
“Blackberry and raspberry. The pastries are blackberry and raspberry. I’m Jane." A flustered Jane blushed as she extricated her hand from his. “I’m needed in the kitchen.”
She fled down the hallway and I silently cursed the fact that my sister was the shyest woman on earth.
Braxton watched her go with a soft, surprised smile. “Is she your sister?”
“Yes. Jane is a very good baker. I am sure you will enjoy the pastries,” I answered, trying to focus on the positives of the situation, though they were few at this point.
“Does she work here?” he asked, almost too casually.
“Yes, she does. All of my family currently work here,” I replied, firming my tone on purpose. Hint, hint, Mr. Fitzwilliam.
Dex shifted the towel a little higher on his head and studied me. “You don't have to work at this rundown place. You could come back to the office.”
I felt his words hit me like a gust of cold air. Rundown place . “We both know you don’t enjoy small talk, so I will be brief. No.”
“I am prepared to be persuasive,” he returned , quick and cool.
“Why would you be?” I asked, and it came out sharper than I intended. “I’m sure you can find another assistant.”
He considered me for one long, steady beat. “Work ran better with you.”
“Coffee?” I interrupted, pouring automatically because muscle memory was stronger than sense. I handed Braxton a cup then one to Dex. “I really don’t think we need to talk about this anymore. I’m not coming back.”
I took a step backward, ready to help Mom with preparing the rooms.
Dex reached out and caught my wrist. His grip wasn’t hard, just enough to stop me. It felt like being tagged by electricity. My breath stuttered. His eyes flicked to mine, and he released me quickly.
“I’m prepared to offer you five times your previous rate,” he stated quietly.
Braxton sucked in a breath.
I set the carafe down before I could bean him over the head with it. “You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m practical. I have tried thirteen candidates. None were adequate,” he countered.
Memories of early mornings and late nights filled with boredom and scheduling reminded me that I wanted something different for my life. “I’m not going back.”
From the hall, footsteps approached. Jane again, this time with a plate of the requested pastries and a small pitcher of cream. Braxton moved to help before she could ask, which made Jane lose her color and then find it again in a becoming rose stain on her cheeks.
“Please, sit and enjoy,” Jane murmured, before vanishing like a shy ghost.
I pulled in a breath and turned back to the problem in front of me in a very nice but dusty suit. “Why are you really here, Dex? Because this doesn’t feel like a business trip.”
He didn't look away. “I want to talk to you.”
“About my job,” I said in disbelief.
“About your choice. Choosing to turn your back on a career versus this…” Dex looked around, an expression of frustration flitting across his face.
“Entrepreneurship opportunity?” Braxton inserted.
“Dumpster fire,” Dex finished wryly.
Now I really wished that coffee carafe was in my hand so I could expand the bump on his numbskull head even further.
A door banged at the end of the hall. Mom’s voice swept toward us like a parade marshal. “Linens! Lucy, the blue set or the white for the front guest room? The blue is cheerier but the white looks more expensive.”
“White,” I called back automatically, because decisions were my native language, then instantly second-guessed it. “No, use the blue. It is winter.”
“Blue it is!” she trilled.
I could feel my composure fraying. Between Mom’s cheer, Dad’s ladder addiction, Jane’s blush, and Braxton’s easy charm, there was too much movement, too much sound, and right in the center of it, Dex, calm as bedrock, asking me to undo a choice I had fought hard to make while ridiculing it at the same time.
He watched me. “Do you truly want this?”
The question was simple. Did I? The answer rose up fast and certain, even over the drum of my heart. “Yes.”
His jaw flexed, once. “Then I won't ask you again.”
Something in my chest loosened. Something else tightened. “Good.”
“However,” he continued, and the word slid under my ribs like a wedge, “I am obligated to inform you of risk. I have reviewed local tourism reports, lodging rates, and seasonality. Your current budget and timeline appear optimistic. You will need additional streams of revenue to reach sustainability by the end of the second quarter.”
“Thank you for the spreadsheet poetry,” I muttered.
“It isn't poetry. It is math,” Dex muttered back.
“You know what, Mr. Fitzwilliam? Sometimes math needs to get out of the way and let people try,” I said in annoyance.
“Dex. I’m not your boss anymore so the less formal address is acceptable. Plus, I am not in the way. I am attempting to help you avoid disappointment,” he retorted.
“You think I haven’t run the numbers?” I felt my temper flare hot and fast. “You think I don’t know the margins are tight? I have a family that deserves better than being dismissed as a rounding error because you prefer things all tidy and neat.”
He absorbed it without flinching. “I prefer things that have a chance of success.”
“We can succeed," I snapped.
Braxton shifted, as if wishing himself elsewhere. His gaze ticked to the door, to the ceiling, to the tray of pastries, to the two of us like a spectator at a tennis match that had turned into demolition derby.
“Here is the difference between us,” I continued, unable to stop now that the tide had broken. “You measure by stability. I measure by life. And right now my life is here, dropped ceilings, dust and all.”
We stared at each other. The room seemed to narrow until there was nothing but the space between his eyes and mine and the words we had already said and the ones we wouldn't.
He spoke first, very quietly. “I hear you.”
“Dex, I really think we should just let this go,” Braxton murmured with a wince.
Yet Dex continued, as if he couldn't help himself, “But the risk variables - ”
I laughed once, not kindly. “There it is. There is the man who would put warning labels on joy.”
Color touched his cheekbones. It pleased me that I could do that. It didn't please me that my hands were trembling.
“Lucy.”
“No." I straightened, gathering the shattered edges of my patience and dignity. “We are done. Enjoy the coffee.”
I walked out before I might say something truly unforgivable. Not that Dex didn’t deserve it, but Braxton had been nothing but kind as always. My heart hammered so hard my fingers tingled.
I ended up in the kitchen, probably because I knew Jane would comfort me. I braced my hands on either side of the sink, and dragged in a breath that smelled like Jane’s lemon cleaner.
I was supposed to be helping Mom, I reminded myself. Yet I needed a moment to compose myself before facing her neverending optimism because I feared Dex’s predictions of the inn not succeeding just might be true.