6. Sophie
SOPHIE
Iwoke the next morning with a migraine from hell.
I peeled my eyes open and stared at the ceiling. Something hard and cold pressed against my back. After a few seconds, I managed to roll my head to one side and spotted the legs of the bed. Legs?
I rolled my head the other way and found an empty bottle of wine lying on the floor beside me.
Oh yeah. I’d fallen asleep on the floor.
Every muscle in my body protested as I turned onto my side. My calves, shoulders, and even my fingers hurt.
I groaned and squinted at the digital clock on my phone next to me.
Seven thirty.
Far too early to be awake. Far too late to become an event planner.
For one glorious moment, I considered pulling the blankets back over my head and pretending none of this had happened. The festival could surely organize itself. Vendors loved organizing themselves. Permits practically signed themselves.
Then my stomach growled so loudly I was pretty sure the kitchen staff could hear it through the wall.
“Fine,” I breathed. “Breakfast wins.”
I dragged myself into the shower, letting the hot water pound against muscles I hadn’t known existed until yesterday. Somewhere around shampoo number two, I finally stopped smelling like damp hay, wet goat, and whatever scent alpacas left behind. Progress.
By the time I pulled on jeans, a soft green T-shirt, and my trustworthy sneakers—which would have been my heroes yesterday—I almost looked like someone capable of running a festival.
Almost.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror still had dark circles under her eyes, a ponytail that refused to cooperate, and the slightly haunted expression of someone who’d spent an afternoon arguing with livestock.
“You’ve got this,” I told my reflection.
She looked unconvinced.
Next, I grabbed my phone, tapped the diary app and wrote:
Day 2:
Chased a goat.
Was stalked by an alpaca.
Sheriff still thinks I’m incompetent.
Mixed results.
Satisfied, I picked up Helen’s binder from my bed and headed out. The smell reached me halfway down the hallway. Coffee. Then came bacon. Then something buttery. Then fresh bread.
My stomach practically shoved me the remaining steps.
Sarah had said breakfast was included in my “family package deal.” And I intended to get my money’s worth.
The dining room buzzed with the quiet sounds of breakfast. Guests chatted over newspapers while sunlight poured through the tall windows overlooking the ocean, turning everything soft and peaceful.
A couple by the windows shared a basket of muffins while an older man in a golf shirt studied the crossword like the fate of civilization depended on seventeen across.
Someone laughed softly near the fireplace. Coffee cups clinked against saucers.
I followed the smell into the kitchen, my stomach taking over navigation duties because my brain clearly wasn’t functioning yet. If someone had blindfolded me, I probably still would’ve found the coffee by instinct. Survival had kicked in.
Dottie stood at the enormous stove with three frying pans going at once, humming to herself while flipping pancakes with a confidence that said she’d probably done it every morning for the last thirty years without ever burning a single one.
Bacon sizzled in another pan while biscuits cooled on a wire rack beside the counter.
Her faded yellow apron had flour on one side and read: LIFE HAPPENS.
BUTTER HELPS. Judging by the smell filling the kitchen, butter wasn’t just helping. Butter was performing miracles.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Morning, sleepyhead. You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”
“Wine.”
Her eyes rounded. “Wine?”
“The wine bottle you guys left me. Well, we made friends last night.”
“Oh.” Dottie laughed. “Please tell me you only had a glass.”
I gave a shrug. “Do I look like someone who only drank one glass?”
Dottie narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, no you don’t. But did you at least enjoy it?”
I woke up on the floor. Of course I did. “It was a very nice bottle. Thank you.”
Dottie beamed. “Glad to hear it.”
My gaze darted over to the stove. “Please tell me that smell belongs to breakfast.” I was practically drooling.
Yep. Drooling. Attractive. Very ladylike.
Exactly the sort of image one wanted to project first thing in the morning.
Good thing Captain Competent wasn’t here to witness my transformation into a caffeine-starved Labrador.
Dottie pointed the spatula at me. “It belongs to you if you go sit down in the dining room.”
I didn’t argue, mostly because arguing required energy. And my head was throbbing so much that I felt like my brain was trying to squeeze out my eyes through their sockets.
I stepped out of the kitchen and pulled a chair over to one of the empty dining tables.
My butt had barely made contact with the seat when Dottie set a mug of coffee in front of me.
The woman moved with speed and efficiency, as though she believed caffeine should reach suffering people before they had time to ask for it—a philosophy I deeply respected.
I wrapped both hands around it. “I think I love you.” The mug was warm against my fingers.
Dottie laughed. “I know,” she said with complete confidence, like this wasn’t the first declaration of love she’d received over breakfast and certainly wouldn’t be the last.
I took one sip. “Yum…” My eyes fluttered shut. That wasn’t coffee. That was emotional support in a mug. If someone bottled this stuff, I’d happily invest my life savings.
Dottie smiled without turning around. “That’s the good stuff.” I heard the unmistakable pride in her voice, as if she’d roasted every bean herself somewhere high in the mountains before sunrise.
I swallowed my dose of liquid brown heaven.
“I was about thirty seconds away from licking coffee beans off the floor if necessary.” Honestly, I’d probably have checked under the tables too.
Yesterday had lowered my standards considerably.
Once you’d spent an afternoon negotiating with livestock, dignity became surprisingly flexible.
Dottie propped her hands on her hips. “I would’ve let you get halfway before stopping you.” She gave me the sort of look that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking, merely curious enough to see how committed I was to the idea.
“I appreciate your restraint.” It was nice knowing someone around here believed in letting me preserve at least a tiny shred of self-respect. Or at least delay its destruction until after breakfast.
She snorted. “You look exhausted. And I’m not talking about the wine.”
I let out a long sigh. “I chased a goat, a donkey, and two alpacas for three hours yesterday.” I took another sip of coffee. “In the wrong shoes.”
Dottie’s eyes lit up instead of filling with sympathy, which probably should’ve warned me where this conversation was headed. “You had a goat? A real goat?”
I frowned. “Yes… why do you sound excited?”
“Is it the little fainting kind? Or one of the long-eared ones? Does it have babies?” She clapped her hands together, completely invested now. “Oh! Please tell me somebody brought chickens.”
I stared at her. “No chickens.” Thank god. “The goat was a normal one, I think. But the donkey was miniature.”
Dottie’s entire face softened. “Oh…”
It wasn’t an oh of concern. It was an oh people usually reserved for newborn babies.
“And two alpacas?” she said dreamily. “With those sweet little faces?”
I snorted. “One of them followed me around like we’d signed adoption papers.”
Her face lit up. “Well, of course it did.”
“Of course?”
“Animals know good people.”
I stared at her. “You think?”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You can’t fool them. They know who’s kind. And they know the bastards.”
I laughed. “Well, I thought it was stalking me. Maybe it thought I had a cookie in my pocket or something.”
“It liked you.”
“Doubt that. My sister is the one gifted with animals. Animals don’t like me.
They never do. Believe me.” I loved animals.
They just didn’t love me back. I’d be lying if I said that didn’t bother me a little.
Especially when all you want is to pet a beautiful fluffy cat and all it did was try to take out your eyes with its claws. “This one spat on my shirt.”
Dottie was still smiling at me. “It was sharing.”
I laughed so hard I nearly snorted coffee through my nose. “I’m fairly certain that’s not how alpacas express affection.”
She shrugged with complete confidence. “Maybe not to you.”
I opened my mouth to say something else, but someone beat me to it.
“There you are,” said a woman’s voice.
I turned in time to see Lola sashaying her way over to my table in a black dress that was way too tight, way too short, and far too sexy for this early in the morning.
As she crossed the dining room, I watched three husbands glance up almost in perfect synchronization.
Their wives noticed a fraction of a second later and delivered matching elbows.
The husbands suddenly became very interested in their toast.
Lola grabbed the chair next to me and sat. “I had such a great time with Leo last night. My thighs are still numb.” She laughed, wiggling her eyebrows as if the rest of the dining room had somehow missed the announcement.
Eww. This was also way too early. I’d barely finished my first cup of coffee, and already Lola was treating breakfast like an after-hours girls’ night.
There should’ve been rules about this. Preferably municipal ones.
Nothing remotely suggestive before at least nine o’clock and a second cup of coffee.
Dottie tutted, shaking her head with the long-suffering patience of someone who’d heard variations of this conversation approximately five thousand times. She looked at me and said, “I’ll be back with your breakfast.”
Lola raised her arm. “Make that two, darling.”
Dottie gave her an annoyed look before disappearing back into the kitchen, muttering something under her breath about “women with too much energy and not enough shame.”