She’d done that.
Without even knowing I was watching.
Fifi.
Flustered, fast-talking, sunshine-wrapped-in-flannel Fifi.
She’d made me laugh. Honest to Godlaugh.And now I was standing in a guest room with goosebumps because of it.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I ran a hand down my face. Shook it off. Sat back at the desk and opened the laptop again.
Emails.
I stared at the things that made sense, my responsibilities.
But even as the screen glared back at me, even as I clicked open a message titledUpdated Timeline for Site Migration,all I could see in my head was a woman yelling at a chicken like it had violated curfew.
And I didn’t want to stop seeing it.
Not yet.
I sat back in the chair and stared at the blinking cursor, feeling a pull in my chest I didn’t want to admit washope.
Not for her.
But maybe for… whatever the hell was waking up in me again.
Something that felt suspiciously likejoy.
I exhaled, shook my head, and whispered to no one in particular, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I don’t have time for this.”
Chapter Five
Fifi
The last guest of the day was twenty minutes late, which in lodge time is roughly equivalent to a month and a half.
My feet were protesting. My back had filed for divorce. And my hair, which had started the morning in a tidy ponytail, had now…exploded.
I slumped slightly against the front desk, mentally calculating how many steps it would take to get from here to the nearest chocolate stash. It was either six steps and a sharp left into the supply closet, or five if I was willing to vault the counter.
Tempting.
Behind me, the kitchen sounded like a symphony of culinary chaos with my sisters and my mom.
“No, Sienna, not that spoon!” my mom shouted, her voice rising over the simmering of something aromatic. “That’s thedisplayspoon!”
“Why do we have adisplayspoon?” Sienna called back.
“Because we are women of standards!” Violet answered. “Now move, I need to drain this pasta before it turns into wallpaper glue!”
I heard a clang, a shriek, and then the sound of a pot lid bouncing off something ceramic.
Yep. Business as usual.
“Display spoon,” I muttered under my breath. “Honestly.”
