Chapter 7
Having grown up at a bed-and-breakfast, I’d been helping my dad with the morning meal since I was a kid.
Not to brag, but I could prepare eggs any style, home fries, and your choice of breakfast meat blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back.
I could also do a mean omelet and a very tasty eggs Benedict.
Over the last couple of years, I’d even started experimenting with some other egg dishes, like breakfast tacos and shakshuka.
More than once, photos of my creations had been posted by guests on social media, earning lots of likes.
And while eggs were my specialty, I was also better than average at waffles and French toast, and I never had to throw away my first pancake.
But when it came to the meals that weren’t included with an overnight stay at the Sunny Side, my kitchen skills took a sharp dive.
I just wasn’t in the habit of cooking all that much after noon.
Once the breakfast rush was over, my folks and I generally ordered sandwiches or pizza for lunch from Matzo-Rella.
And we stuck to easy things for dinner, like boxed pasta with a jarred sauce or a rotisserie chicken from the market with a quickly assembled salad.
Now that I was alone here, I’d gotten into the routine of simply popping a frozen dinner into the microwave and calling it a day.
But since this was Xander’s first night, I wanted to actually cook something.
I could have leaned into my strength and done breakfast for dinner—never a bad thing—but I didn’t want to give my new handyman the impression that breakfast was all he was ever going to get.
Besides, I’d already defrosted the chicken thighs.
I’d been thinking about making a pot roast in the slow cooker for Rita, who was clearly too busy with Mavis to cook much for herself.
If I used the chicken to whip up something for Xander and me, I figured I could still set aside a portion for my friend.
As soon as I got the chicken browning in the skillet, I heard the predictable click-click of Casey’s claws on the kitchen floor. As a rule, we didn’t give him table food, but that never stopped him from begging.
I glanced away from the stove to see the dog trotting over. He sat down and peered up at me with an expression so full of hope I had to laugh.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “This isn’t for you. But I’ll get you your dinner in a minute.”
Once I had a good sear on the chicken, I added a jar of cacciatore sauce I found in the pantry, doctoring it up with some capers, red pepper flakes, and a splash of red wine.
Then, after mixing everything together and covering the skillet, I lowered the heat and left it all to simmer while I fed Casey.
As I scooped up some kibble for my four-legged friend, I had to admit: I really was looking forward to having a two-legged dinner companion again.
* * *
Less than an hour later, with the seagulls circling overhead, I was peering through the glass door of Shelf Love.
The bookstore was closed, but Rita was still in there, tallying up the day’s receipts.
Mavis was by her side, snoozing in a bouncy chair.
I rapped lightly on the glass to get my friend’s attention, hoping I wouldn’t disturb the baby.
Seeing me, Rita came over, unlocked the door, and opened it a few inches.
“Here,” I said softly, thrusting a plastic container through the opening. It was best to get any food out of seagull range ASAP, even if it was tightly sealed. “I made dinner, and you need to eat. Chicken cacciatore with rice.”
Rita looked at me, then down at the food. She sighed with pleasure. “You are a goddess among women,” she said gratefully, taking the container. “Wow,” she added, weighing it in her hand. “This is a lot. Do you want to join me?”
“I can’t.” I hesitated. Then, with a nod back across the street at the Sunny Side, I confessed, “I’m having dinner with someone.”
Rita’s eyes went large, and her mouth curved into a grin. “Xander?”
After another hesitation, I decided I couldn’t keep lying—or not-exactly-lying—to my friend. Quickly and quietly, I gave her the lowdown on how Xander and I had actually met, and I explained our new agreement. “So, I need to get back.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rita. She kept her voice low so she wouldn’t wake her daughter. “Come in a sec,” she said, pulling the door all the way open.
I stayed where I was. Now that I’d confessed the truth, I really didn’t want another lecture. I’d already gotten an earful from Drew, thank you very much.
“I have something for you too,” she added.
Still, I didn’t move. Dinner was ready, and I’d told Xander I would just be a few minutes.
“Come on,” said Rita impatiently, gesturing me inside. “You’re letting all the cold air in.”
Damn! I wasn’t seeing a way out of this. But then, as far as I could tell, Rita didn’t seem to share Drew’s suspicions. “I really can’t stay long,” I said, finally relenting.
I followed Rita into her shop, which was neat and bright and smelled like paper and the jasmine-scented candles she’d been burning since we were teenagers.
Dropping the food container by the register, she led me through the maze of bookshelves.
We passed the sections you might find in any bookshop: Mystery, Romance, Biography.
But Shelf Love also had special sections for Beach Reads and other Jersey Shore–related books.
When we got to the back storeroom, my friend methodically scanned the piles and piles of cardboard cartons, opened one, and pulled out a book.
“That novel you’ve been waiting for came in,” she said, handing me a thick paperback. “I can’t officially sell it until its release date next Tuesday, but I figure you won’t rat me out.”
I peered down at the volume. It was the new release from a romance author I especially liked, the latest in her popular Cumberland Cove series.
This one was called You Can’t Always Do It Yourself.
Its colorfully illustrated cover showed a man and woman perched precariously together on a ladder, embracing each other in a way that looked provocative, if a little dangerous.
Coincidentally, it was about an innkeeper who gets romantically involved with her contractor.
Oh, this was not what I needed right now. I felt a blush coming on. In a big way.
Catching my reaction, Rita raised her eyebrows. “Life imitating art?” she teased.
“Not likely,” I said. My response was brusque. Maybe too brusque.
As a result, Rita tilted her head and looked at me, studying me for a moment. “You know, Hannah,” she said slowly, “romance isn’t supposed to be something that just happens in the pages of books.”
“Noted,” I said, more defensively than I’d intended.
This was rapidly becoming one of those the-lady-doth-protest-too-much situations, and I knew it.
Still, I couldn’t stop the words that came tumbling out of my mouth next.
“But that doesn’t mean I should fuck up a perfectly promising working relationship by going to bed with my new handyman. ”
“Okay,” said my friend in the kind of pacifying tone she might have used on Mavis.
“Okay, fair enough.” Then, her eyes began to dance with amusement.
“But if your plan is to go to bed with that,” she said, pointing at the new romance novel, “the early reviews mention a very sexy scene with a tool belt.”
God, she knew me too well. Now, my cheeks were burning so badly I thought I might self-combust. “I—I have to go,” I stammered.
Rita laughed loudly—too loudly—at that. Immediately, she cupped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and we both listened for Mavis. Luckily, the outburst didn’t seem to have awakened the baby. When the silence continued, Rita lowered her hand with a relieved sigh.
As we headed out of the storeroom, she gestured at my book again. “Also,” she whispered playfully, “I hear they do some interesting things with a tape measure.”
* * *
When I got back to the Sunny Side, Xander was in the lobby playing with Casey. As Casey dropped a chew toy at Xander’s feet, Xander looked down in amazement. “Wow,” he said, as if he’d never seen a dog fetch. “You are extremely talented.”
I mentally filed this moment away, planning to tell Drew about it the next time I saw him. Surely, even he would agree that someone who was instinctively liked by babies and dogs couldn’t be a bad guy.
“Sorry,” I said while I hung up my coat. “That took a little longer than I thought it would.”
“That’s okay,” said Xander. He gave the chew toy another toss, and Casey scrambled after it. “What’s the book?” he asked, indicating the paperback in my hand.
“What?” I said, staring back at him like an unprepared schoolkid who’d just gotten called on by the teacher.
I silently cursed myself for not thinking to ask for a bag.
“Oh, just something I ordered from Rita’s shop.
” I hid the romance novel behind my back, hoping Xander hadn’t already gotten a good look at the cover.
Casey returned with the toy, drawing Xander’s attention away before he could ask any more questions.
Good boy, I thought.
“I’ll have dinner in a minute,” I said, heading out to the kitchen.
But first, I was going to make a pit stop in my bedroom and stash the fixer-upper-themed love story—and all its sexy toolkit-related scenarios—well out of sight in my nightstand.
Out of sight, out of mind, I hoped.