Chapter 17 Sarah #2
They’d been rotated. Shifted. Grouped in neat little clusters that I definitely had not approved. The open flow I’d planned was gone, replaced by something that looked suspiciously like a bridal shower seating chart.
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.
Helen didn’t even look up. She was in full command mode, gesturing sharply at Jason from inside a shapeless teal dress that looked like it had given up on joy. Jason held a chair like it might explode.
“Fixing this,” she said briskly. “You had it set up all wrong.”
I stared at her. “Wrong how?”
“For a cocktail party,” she said, as if explaining gravity to a child. “You don’t line tables like a cafeteria. People need to circulate. Mingle. Be seen.”
“They could circulate,” I said tightly. “That was the point. Open space. Flow.”
Helen waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. This is how it’s done.”
“This is my inn,” I said, my jaw clenching.
She finally turned, arching one brow. “And this is a fundraiser. Different rules.”
“I didn’t ask you to…”
“And trust me,” she continued, already turning back to the tables, “if you want this weekend to be taken seriously, you don’t reinvent hosting. You follow the formula.”
Irritation rushed through me. I opened my mouth, fully prepared to remind her that I lived here, worked here, and inherited this place.
“Good evening.”
The voice floated down from the staircase like a warning bell.
I froze.
Helen straightened instantly, smoothing her dress like she hadn’t just bulldozed my authority.
Guests were coming down, dressed-up guests—laughing, chatting, and scanning the room with curious eyes and polite smiles.
“Well,” said Helen under her breath, suddenly all sunshine and rainbows, “showtime.”
I swallowed hard and pasted on my best hostess smile, even as my insides boiled.
I stepped forward, drawing in a breath. “Welcome…”
Helen surged past me. Her hip knocked into mine, sharp and deliberate, sending me stumbling back half a step as she slid seamlessly into my place.
“Welcome, ladies,” said Helen brightly, as if she hadn’t just body-checked the owner of the inn. “Pearls & Pints Bachelor Weekend is just getting started. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
They did. Immediately. Compliments followed. Oohs and ahhs. Someone admired the flowers. Someone else praised the lighting.
I stood there, momentarily displaced, smiling like a professional while mentally screaming, I am going to murder that tall bitch.
The guests clustered around Helen, who adjusted her red glasses and basked like she’d planned this moment all along.
I caught her eye.
She smiled back, sweet and triumphant.
I imagined smacking those red glasses right off her face.
We were absolutely having this conversation later.
But for now, the room was filling, glasses were clinking, and the inn was officially alive.
And whether I liked the table placement or not, Pearls & Pints had begun.
That’s when the kitchen doors swung open.
Dottie emerged like a woman unveiling a miracle. She held a massive platter at chest height, her chin lifted and shoulders back, absolutely glowing with pride. Her apron today was pale yellow with bold black letters that read: STIR UNTIL YOU FEEL BETTER.
The platter itself was… busy. Little golden rounds topped with something green and glossy. Mushrooms, obviously. But also something else. Something extra. Something I didn’t recognize.
“Ladies,” Dottie announced, projecting like she’d trained for this moment, “may I introduce the first course.”
The women leaned in as one, their pearls bobbing and bracelets chiming.
“What is it?” asked an overly tanned woman whose skin around her face looked like it would crack open if she smiled.
“My stuffed mushrooms,” answered Dottie, and I saw Helen stiffen. “And a little something I invented this afternoon.” She smiled. “I call it Phase One.”
Uh-oh. I felt my soul attempt to leave my body. “Dottie.”
She waved me off without looking. “Relax. It’s edible.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s what worries me.”
“They’re infused,” she added brightly.
A hush fell over the room. Helen’s face darkened. One shade. Two shades… make it three, and her head looked ready to explode.
“Infused how?” another woman asked, delighted.
“With flavor,” said Dottie. Then, after a beat, “And possibly… perspective.”
Helen pressed a hand to her forehead. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Helen,” said Dottie. “The effects are very mild.”
“Define effects,” I asked.
Dottie considered that. “Colors might seem friendlier. Music might feel personal. You may briefly believe you’re the hottest woman in the room.”
Several women gasped.
“I’ll take three,” one said immediately.
Jason appeared beside me, his eyes wide. “Should I… stop them?”
I glanced around the room—at the laughter, the excitement, the way the women were already reaching for napkins and plates.
“No,” I said. “Let’s… see what happens.” And pray to the gods I don’t get sued.
Dottie shot me a triumphant grin and moved through the crowd, serving with the confidence of a woman who had never once questioned her own judgment.
“Chew slowly,” she advised one guest. “Fast chewing makes it emotional.”
Another woman popped one into her mouth and froze. “Oh.”
Dottie leaned in. “Good oh or oh oh?”
The woman’s eyes widened. “I think I can hear the ocean.”
“Perfect,” said Dottie. “Working as intended.”
Helen grabbed Dottie by the elbow. “If tonight goes to hell,” she hissed, “you know who I’ll blame.”
Dottie stuck out her tongue and continued on her merry way, offering stuffed mushrooms to anyone who wanted one.
I watched as the room buzzed, laughter growing louder, smiles getting softer, pearls catching the light like tiny moons. Whatever Dottie had done, it wasn’t causing panic.
Just… enthusiasm.
I exhaled, lifting my glass of red wine. Okay. The guests were happy. The food hadn’t killed anyone. And if anyone started confessing secrets to the wallpaper, I’d deal with that later.
“Ladies, I have arrived bearing gifts!”
I turned toward the voice.
Lola stood in the doorway like she’d wandered into a photoshoot by accident and decided to stay, one hip cocked and her chin lifted.
A low—very low—cut gold shimmer dress clung to her like it had signed a consent form.
It hit just above the knee, because of course it did.
Her hair was swept up, exposing her neck, and an extra-long pearl necklace draped down her chest, swaying dangerously close to temptation.
Matching pearl earrings caught the light every time she moved.
In her hands were cards—not cute little index cards but large ones, glossy and substantial.
She sashayed into the room, holding them out like sacred texts. “These,” she said, smiling slowly, “are your bachelors.”
The reaction was immediate.
The women surged forward like someone had yelled free handbags.
“Oh my god!”
“Let me see.”
“No, I had that one first.”
“Move, Linda.”
“That’s the one I want!”
Cards were snatched. Hands collided. One woman actually hissed. I caught a glimpse of a card as it flashed past. Photo, name, age, and what looked suspiciously like a short bio. Lola had gone all out.
“You know what they say about big hands,” someone said reverently.
“That one has shoulders.”
“Oh, this one looks emotionally unavailable. I love him.”
Lola laughed, delighted. “Now, now. There’s enough man to go around. Probably.”
Two women reached for the same card.
“I saw him first!” yelled a blonde with caked-on makeup.
“You absolutely did not!” cried a brunette with a short bob.
“I felt him first.”
Lola clucked her tongue. “Ladies, please. This isn’t a cage match.” She plucked the disputed card from their hands and, without breaking eye contact, slid it straight down the front of her dress, tucking it neatly where a bra would’ve gone if she had been wearing one.
Gasps rippled through the room.
“This one’s mine,” said Lola cheerfully. “For safekeeping.”
Someone fanned herself.
Another woman whispered, “She’s incredible.”
“I am,” agreed Lola. She continued distributing cards, commentary included. “Oh, careful with that one. He knows his worth. And this one?” She tapped a card. “Has the stamina of a bull.”
I choked on my drink.
Lola moved over and offered a card to Helen. “Look. His shoulders are nearly as wide as yours. Perfect match.”
Ouch.
Helen made a face. “I won’t get involved in your sex games. I have principles.”
Lola smiled. “I don’t.”
Within minutes, clusters formed. Women huddled, comparing notes like they were prepping for finals.
Lola drifted back toward me, glowing. “See, darlin?” she said. “Preparation is everything.”
I looked around at the madness. The cards. The plotting. The pearls. The woman who was now bargaining for a card like it was beachfront property.
“This is insane,” I said.
Lola smiled, sipping her drink. “Oh, honey. This is strategy.”
“This is absolutely the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.
“Wait till tomorrow,” said a voice next to me.
I turned to find Becca in an immaculate light gray skirt suit next to me, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Hey. Glad you could come.”
Becca grinned. “I never miss it. Wait till they have more booze in them. Last year, a few ended up topless.”
“Jesus.” I laughed. “And they come back every year?” I watched as Lola continued her rounds with her cards.
“Yup,” said Becca. “And they spend lots of money. Money the town needs.”
“Right.” I had to keep remembering that.
“So,” Becca said as she took a sip of wine. “I hear Alex has been here quite a lot lately.”
The thought of Dust-guy brought a smile to my traitorous lips, and of course, my face flamed.
“Ah,” said my cousin once removed. “So, things are… what between you two?”
I took a slow sip of my drink, mostly to buy time. Also to keep my face from spontaneously combusting. “Define… what.”
Becca’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. You don’t blush like that over plumbing.”
“It’s not plumbing,” I said defensively. “It’s chronic blushing. Very real. Google it.”
She hummed. “Uh-huh.”
I exhaled. “Fine. I might’ve kissed him.” Shit. The secret was out.
Becca froze mid-sip. Her eyes slid to mine. “You might’ve kissed him?”
“I kissed him,” I corrected. “Briefly. Accidentally. With enthusiasm.”
Her glass lowered slowly. “Did he kiss you back?”
I hesitated. “Yes.”
Becca’s mouth fell open. “Oh,” she breathed. “Ohhh.”
“Don’t do that,” I warned. “That sound implies expectations.”
“That sound implies hope,” she said. “Big, manly, inconvenient hope.”
I leaned against the bar, suddenly very aware of the buzz around us—the laughter, the plotting. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “It just… happened. But it didn’t feel like nothing.” No, it didn’t. I’d felt something. And by the way Dust-guy kissed me back, he felt it too.
Becca studied me over the rim of her glass. “You’re smiling.”
I immediately wiped my face. “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” she said. “That’s your ‘maybe something good is happening but I refuse to trust it’ smile.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Well,” she added, lowering her voice, “I know for a fact that every woman in this room would gouge out your eyes if they knew you kissed him. Alex has always been… separate.”
I looked at her. “Separate how?”
“He doesn’t get involved,” she said. “Not with anyone in town. Polite. Friendly. Keeps his distance. Shows up, does the job, leaves.”
That shouldn’t have made my chest tighten. Yet…
“He showed up for you,” Becca continued. “A lot.”
“Maybe.”
“So,” she said lightly, lifting her glass again, “either you’re imagining things—which I doubt—or you’ve managed to crack the one man in Maplewood Falls who doesn’t crack.”
I laughed softly. “You’re crazy.”
She clinked her glass against mine. “Just… crazy enough.”
“Here we go, ladies,” said Lola as she swept back into the room, a plate of hors d’oeuvres balanced effortlessly in one hand.
I caught a glimpse as she passed me. Tiny skewered sausages, glossy and pink, each one carefully shaped with a disturbingly anatomical enthusiasm. A rounded, mushroom-like tip. Two olives positioned with unmistakable intent.
My brain stalled. Was that…
Oh. Hell. No.
Lola stopped, turned, and beamed like she’d just cured loneliness. “I call them Dicks on a Stick,” she added with wide eyes.
The room exploded in oohs and ahhs as women lined up for a bit of “dicks on a stick.”
I was in hell.
I watched them for a moment before glancing down at my glass.
Maybe this weekend was about money. And guests. And saving the inn.
But somewhere between pearls and pints and one very inconvenient kiss, I’d started to hope there was something more.
And that scared me just a little more than it should have.