“We have more.” Ivy ducked into the kitchen where Poppy and Sunny were laughing as they took out another batch from the oven.
Gilda burst through the back door, her pink hair tipped with green and styled in wild spikes. She held Pixie in her arms and wore a lab coat splattered with what looked distressingly like blood but was probably food coloring.
“Mad scientist?” Ivy asked.
“Mad veterinary technician. Inspired by our handsome new vet. Pixie’s costume matches his.” Pixie wore tiny scrubs that she wasn’t terribly happy about.
“The DJ is setting up,” Bennett announced, poking his head into the kitchen. He’d changed into his pirate costume. The eye patch and jaunty tricorn hat were spot on. “Mitch has the popcorn machine going now.”
As darkness fell, the trick-or-treating reached its zenith before gradually subsiding.
Shelly appeared with a tray of glasses shimmering with pink liquid. “I thought some of you might like a Sea Breeze cocktail. Fully loaded on the right, and virgin versions to the left.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Ivy said, taking an icy glass. Tart cranberry and grapefruit combined with vodka hit the spot.
Meanwhile, the ballroom party was in full swing. The DJ had brought an impressive collection of vinyl. He was spinning “Monster Mash,” “Ghostbusters,” and Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” as costumed guests danced.
After a while, Ivy retreated to the patio for a few moments of calm. She admired the fairy lights twinkling overhead. She saw Bennett walking toward her.
As the music shifted to a slower beat, he held out his hand. “Do you dare to dance with this old pirate?”
“Not so old, I think,” she replied, stepping into his embrace.
They swayed beneath the soft lights to the sound of the music and the ocean beyond. Over Bennett’s shoulder, Ivy saw Mitch teaching Vanz a new card trick. Shelly held Daisy’s hands as the little girl toddled around in a bumblebee costume.
“What are you thinking?” Bennett asked, following her gaze.
“That the inn feels so wonderfully full of life.” She rested her head against his firm shoulder. “And that I need Diya’s help in menu planning. The guest list keeps growing.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, his breath warm against her neck. “We always do.”
18
“It’s amazing that we’re completely booked up again with this cooking week,” Ivy said to Poppy, closing the drawer where they kept keys at the front desk. The last-minute Halloween party had turned last week into a success. “You and Diya are a marketing dream team.”
Poppy smiled at the compliment. “She’s a lot of fun to work with. And everyone loves yummy food. Are you and Shelly still visiting the pumpkin patch today?”
“After the cooking school is in session,” Ivy replied. They were adding more for the fall harvest feast, and Shelly wanted to take photos of Daisy in the pumpkin patch.
Having checked in the last guest for the start of their cooking week, Ivy and Poppy sat down at the front desk to catch their breaths. The inn was full of guests hungry for Diya Donnelly’s autumn specialties. The plan was for them to cook during the day, preparing an evening meal. They would dine in the formal dining room or create a casualsetting on the patio under the stars and heat lamps, with an ocean serenade in the background.
At least, that’s how Diya described it. She would also show them how to decorate their tables with ordinary objects elevated with flair, from rustic to elegant. She planned toadorndriftwood with pine branches and arrange multicolored gourds around them.
Their high-spirited high priestess of the kitchen had swept in with her supplies like a whirlwind.
“Should we check on Diya?” Poppy asked.
“I think we should.”
They made their way to the kitchen, where Diya had commandeered the area in her chef’s whites, her long, dark auburn hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. As she barked orders, an assistant scurried around to fulfill Diya’s vision.
“Darlings,” Diya said, opening her arms to them. “How about a hot cup of cranberry tea and my chai sugar cookies?”
Ivy smiled at the other woman’s enthusiasm. “How can we resist?”
They perched on the stools at the long center island, which was ideal for cooking instruction, giving students space to work in the industrial-sized kitchen built for large-scale entertaining and catering teams. Even though this house had been the Ericksons’ summer home, they lived a life nearly as grand here as in San Francisco.
That thought reminded Ivy that she should call Viola, the current owner of the Ericksons’ main residence, who helped raise funds for the inn’s renovation with a grand gala last year. Viola and her niece Meredith would be intrigued at their most recent discovery.
