Chapter Seven A Situation
Jane
The heater made a strange noise right before I opened my eyes.
It was somewhere between a cough and a sigh, the kind of sound a person would make when they were about to give up but had not quite committed to it yet.
I lay very still and listened. After a few seconds, it rattled once and settled into its usual uneven hum.
“Five more minutes,” Lucy groaned, pulling the covers over her head.
“You said that five minutes ago,” I mentioned, pulling back the covers and sitting up. “And the five minutes before that.”
The air in the pool house still carried a slight bite above the warmth. The floor was cold when I swung my feet down, and I hurried into my socks and boots. Frost feathered across the window, pretty and completely unhelpful. The bed behind me creaked as Lucy finally sat up.
“This better be the best wedding anyone has ever seen,” she grumbled. “Otherwise I am invoicing them for my frostbite.”
“You don’t have frostbite,” I dryly told her.
“My soul does,” Lucy insisted.
I smiled despite myself and reached for my sweater. We gathered our toiletries and stepped out into the courtyard. The morning air hit my face like a handful of ice. Our breaths puffed out in little clouds as we crossed the space between the pool house and the inn.
From this angle, the Snowdrop Inn looked like a postcard. Warm light glowed through the dining room windows. Evergreen boughs framed the front door. Somewhere inside, I knew there was coffee. I fixed my focus on that.
Lucy crisply knocked on Dex’s door. A moment later the door opened, Dex standing there with the wary expression of a man expecting a crisis. His hair stuck up in all directions. He relaxed when he saw it was only us.
“Oh,” he said. “Morning.”
“Bathroom,” Lucy said, lifting her bag.
“Right,” he said, stepping aside. “Use whatever towels you like. Just not mine.”
“Which are yours,” she asked.
“The used ones,” he said.
From inside the room, Braxton said, “We got extra yesterday so there are plenty.”
“Good.” Lucy slipped past them into the bathroom. I lingered in the doorway, suddenly aware that I was about to walk into a shared room with two men who had not fully finished waking up yet.
Braxton was already dressed, with his sleeves neatly rolled and his hair slightly rumpled in a way that looked unintentional and entirely unfair. He gave me a small, real smile.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” I said back.
He studied my face for a second. “Did you sleep well?”
“Somewhat. The heater kept making noises,” I said. “How did you sleep?”
“Dex kicks.”
“I do not,” Dex frowned at his friend.
I tried to hide a smile.
Braxton’s smile deepened as he ignored Dex. He grabbed a carafe, pouring a steaming cup of coffee and handing it to me. “The kitchen looked quiet when I walked past to get coffee. No cameras yet.”
I gratefully held the mug. Braxton also had sugar and cream, easily making my coffee just how I liked it. “Thank you for checking.”
“Thought you might want a head start,” he said.
Dex leaned against the doorframe with a yawn. “You two are very considerate for people living in a freezer.”
“We are also very grateful you let us steal your bathroom,” Lucy called from behind the door. “We promise not to use all your hot water.”
“Don’t listen to her,” I said. “She is absolutely going to use all the hot water.”
Lucy laughed.. It felt good to joke, even with the weight of the day ahead.
After my turn in the shower, I walked toward the kitchen with my hair still damp and my stomach already tightening with anticipation.
The door swung open on the familiar smell of warm, yeasty scent of bread that had risen properly.
To my relief there were no bright camera lights, no cables, no audience, and no James.
Meri was standing at the counter with a bowl, whisking eggs as if she had been part of this kitchen since it was built.
“You beat them,” she said quietly.
“The eggs or the crew?,” I asked.
“The crew,” she mildly said. “The eggs never stood a chance.”
A small laugh escaped me. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has said to me all week.”
She nodded toward the stove. “Pans are ready. Coffee is hot.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mom came in then, balancing a stack of menus. “Good morning, dears. Breakfast is going to be busy today. The bride’s mother mentioned she likes gluten-free options, so I told her we would see what we could do. No rush. But also some rush.”
“We can do that. I saw some almond flour in the pantry,” Meri said before I had to answer.
Mom beamed. “You are both lifesavers. The dining room is filling nicely. Everyone is very taken with the garlands. One of the bridesmaids asked if we will keep them up all year.”
“We are not,” I said.
“We are not,” Mom agreed quickly. “But it is nice to be asked.”
She passed back into the lobby with an energy that made me want to straighten my posture.
I turned my focus to breakfast. For the next hour, I moved in a rhythm that was almost soothing.
Pour batter, flip pancakes, plate eggs, and send out toast. Guests wandered into the dining room sleepy and left content, which was how mornings were supposed to work.
The illusion of normalcy lasted until James arrived.
He stepped into the kitchen like a director walking onto a set that had been built just for him. The crew followed, filming as they went.
“Breakfast is the soul of hospitality,” James announced, inhaling deeply. He turned toward the nearest camera. “We are capturing the heart of the inn today.”
I focused on not burning the toast, trying to tune out James’ pontificating as he explained breakfast to the cameramen as though they had never had the meal before.
Braxton slipped in a few seconds later. He nodded a greeting to me and moved straight toward the worst tangle of cables, lifting one gently and looping it closer to the wall. “If anyone needs to rush plates out, this path needs to stay clear.”
The camera operator looked at him like he had just explained gravity. “Right. Yes. Good point.”
As they shifted equipment, a bit more space opened near the doorway. I could move without bumping someone every step. I sent Braxton a grateful look. He gave me one back that said he had done it on purpose. As a reward, I gave him a cinnamon bun.
Breakfast went surprisingly smoothly after that.
James narrated the food, describing the coffee as “earthy” and the jam as “playful,” which made Lucy nearly choke as she was emptying a bin of dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
behind the counter. When I went out to the dining room in an attempt to escape James and see how the clients were, the bride and her friends complimented the pastries and asked for more of the cinnamon rolls. I made a note to double the next batch.
By the time the last plate from breakfast was cleaned and put away, my shoulders ached and my mind buzzed with the rest of the day’s schedule.
There was a bachelorette party to feed, a bachelor hangout to provision, and regular guests who expected the inn to function as though none of this were happening.
Kitty swept into the kitchen holding a clipboard and looking like she had been awake for sixteen hours already. “We have a situation.”
“Perhaps you should tell us what the situation is rather than just announcing it,” Meri mused.
The bridesmaids want an activity this afternoon that is fun, photogenic, festive, and not messy. It must involve food. It must not stain clothing. It must look good on camera because James’ crew is filming it,” Kitty read from her clipboard.
“This is your wedding, what do you suggest?” Lucy asked as she wiped down my butcher block.
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here asking for suggestions,” Kitty said.
“We could do simple cookie decorating,” I suggested. “Plain sugar cookies, basic icing, maybe two or three topping options. Nothing that runs or drips. We can make them in fun wedding shapes.”
Kitty’s eyes widened like I had handed her a life raft. “You can do that.”
“Yes. If we start baking right now,” I decided.
“You are a genius,” she breathed. “I knew you would fix this.”
“You might want to ask them if they would like to decorate cookies,” I said, but she had already left the kitchen.
Meri shifted to the mixer without comment. “I will start the dough.”
“Thank you,” I gratefully said.
She gave me a look that said this was nothing compared to things we had handled before.
While we mixed and chilled dough, James attempted to film a segment about “feminine elegance in dessert form,” which mainly involved him rearranging the cookies I had just placed on the tray into a less practical pattern. Each time he turned away, Meri nudged them back into a grid.
The crew pressed closer to capture icing being stirred and cookies laid out. Braxton took that as his cue to redirect them.
“If you set up here,” he said, gesturing to a spot a little farther from my elbow, “you will get a clean shot of the table”
The assistant director frowned at the floor, then nodded.
With the cookies cooled and the icing colored, we moved everything into one of the event rooms. Lydia and Kitty set up the table with cheerful determination.
Meri brought in trays. I followed with piping bags and a quiet hope that the bride and her party wouldn’t think the activity was too childish.
“Remember,” Kitty said, adjusting a centerpiece, “nothing too wild. The bride wants classy fun.”
“I am not sure those words all belong together,” Lydia mused.
“They do this week,” Kitty insisted.
I arranged the cookies on platters and lined up small bowls of sprinkles. The room looked festive and inviting, with soft lights and evergreen accents on the mantle.
From the doorway, I saw Braxton standing with his hands in his pockets, watching us work. He caught my eye and tipped his head toward the hallway where the crew was herding equipment.
“They want to bring in another light,” he said quietly as I joined him.
“Of course they do,” I sighed.
“I convinced them to test it in the corner first,” he added. “And to keep that stand away from the exit.”
I smiled. “You are very good at this.”
“Keeping people from falling?” he said. “I have practice.”
“From the office,” I asked.
“From life,” he said. His expression shifted for a second, like there was a story there he wasn't ready to share. Then he straightened. “Also, I think they listen to me because I pretend to know more about lighting than I actually do.”
“You do come across as very knowledgeable when you want to” I mentioned.
“Really?” he asked, tilting his head in surprise.
Voices drifted from the lobby. High, excited, slightly shrill laughter. The sound of many heels on hardwood. Kitty gasped. “They’re here! Positions, everyone.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “We aren’t in a play.”
“Tell that to the cameras,” Kitty whispered back, then plastered on a bright smile and hurried toward the entrance to greet them.
I stepped back to my side of the table and smoothed my apron.
Meri took up a post near the beverage station, ready to refill cups with silent efficiency.
Mom hovered just outside the room, straightening a framed picture that had not needed straightening in an attempt to keep apprised of what was going on.
The first bridesmaid walked in with wide eyes and a delighted gasp. “Oh, this is so cute. Look at the cookies.”
The rest of the group followed, filling the room with the rustle of dresses and the scent of too many perfumes layered together.
They crowded around the table, pointing at the different shapes and colors.
One of them clapped her hands and declared she was going to make the most artistic snowflake anyone had ever seen.
The cameraman lifted his lens. The assistant director leaned in to whisper something to James, who was already planning how to insert himself into the fun.
Braxton moved a half step closer to the equipment, ready to intervene if necessary. I gripped a piping bag, took a breath, and smiled at the bridesmaids. “Who wants to start?”
The room hummed with anticipation, the kind that comes right before everything either goes exactly right or gloriously sideways.