This was manageable.
The food arrived quickly, and I ate in silence.
And as I did, that knot in my chest loosened just enough to remind me it was there.
I still had work to do. Not the kind that came with deadlines or inboxes.
The kind that whispered in the quiet.
But for now, cheese curds, lettuce, and solitude would do.
And maybe was enough to make it through tonight.
Chapter Nine
Fifi
I knew the moment the basket of warm dinner rolls hit the table that he wasn’t coming.
I’d made peace with it somewhere between folding napkins and checking the water pitchers, but still, I kept glancing at the door like I expected him to burst in last minute, flannel-clad and brooding, muttering something about how the garlic chicken smelled “fine, I guess.”
But no Ben Jensen.
Room four’s chair remained empty.
And I’d even gone and put out thegoodbutter, too, with garlic and rosemary.
Tragic.
Sienna nudged me as she passed by with a tray full of salad bowls.
“Let me guess,” she whispered, eyes twinkling, “your mysterious guest of rugged charm and emotional constipation didn’t show.”
I gave her a look. “That’s not his official lodge profile.”
“Did you scare him off yet?”
“Probably,” I said with a little shrug. “I like to get that out of the way first thing. Saves time and headaches.”
Sienna snorted. “Yeah, that tracks.”
We moved through the dining room with practiced ease, topping off drinks, answering questions, and complimenting haircuts that were maybe not great but definitelyintentional.It was a full house tonight, and the chatter bounced cheerfully off the walls. I laughed, smiled, and played the part of warm and sparkling innkeeper.
But in the quiet spaces between the motion, when I reached for an empty plate or folded a napkin, I noticed the empty chair.
And I hated that I noticed.
Dinner wound down by seven-thirty. Dessert was a maple bread pudding my mom had whipped up on a whim to give Violet a break, and it had been devoured in minutes. Guests slowly wandered off to their rooms or the porch for stargazing and herbal tea.
I started to gather plates from the last table when Sienna reappeared, hair pulled into a messy bun, cheeks flushed from the kitchen heat.
“Hey,” she said, reaching for the tray in my hands. “I’ve got this.”
I blinked. “It’s okay. I’m almost…”
“Nope. Not arguing. You’ve covered for me nonstop this year while I’ve been off gallivanting on hiking trails and pretending to be at one with nature. It’s your turn to go.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
