That included dinner, even if it meant a few awkward minutes of small talk and, possibly, the world’s most disarming innkeeper.
Decision made, I walked into the dining room.
The space was warm and welcoming, all amber light and soft laughter. A long wooden table had mismatched ceramic plates and cloth napkins, folded as if someone cared. The air smelled like garlic, fresh thyme, and melted butter.
It smelled like a home should.
I stepped inside and scanned the room instinctively. Several guests dotted the table, but there was no Fifi.
“Where’s Fifi?”
I frowned before I could stop myself.
Maybe she was in the kitchen. Or late. Or—
A woman in her sixties, petite and round with cropped gray hair and a warm smile, stepped up to me with a pitcher of iced tea.
“You must be Mr. Jensen,” she said. “I’m one of the owners here.”
That explained a lot. The warmth. The twinkle. The unmistakable hint ofI know everything that’s going on, and I could ruin you gently if I wanted to.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. “Dinner smells great.”
“It’ll taste even better,” she said, beaming. “Everything’s from scratch. Two of my daughters helped, Violet and Sienna. You’ll meet them in a minute. They’re both in the kitchen arguing over roll-browning time.”
I wanted to ask about Fifi, but bit my tongue.
She gestured to the table. “Sit anywhere you like. We’ve got pasta that’ll make you believe in second chances.”
I smirked. “That’s a bold claim for noodles.”
“You haven’t tried mine yet.”
She started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, and just so you know. Fifi won’t be joining us tonight. She’s eating later with family. Tonight’s dinner is just for guests.”
Wait. How did she know? Did I talk to myself and didn’t know it?
My stomach dropped
But it wasridiculoushow disappointed I felt.
“Didn’t you askwhere Fifi is?”
Had I? Did I?
“Oh, right. I…just remember her from checking in.”
Her brow lifted, and she smiled. “I bet you did.”
I nodded, covering whatever expression was trying to leak out of my face. “Anyway, nice lodge.”
Her gaze lingered for a second, sharp and knowing. Then she smiled, gave a little nod, and moved on.
I found a seat by the window and poured myself a glass of water. A couple sat two tables over, murmuring about their hike earlier. A young woman in yoga pants scrolled her phone while sipping tea. Everyone looked relaxed, like they’d stepped out of real life for a few days and remembered how to breathe.
I should’ve felt content.
I should’ve been relieved.
