“The article over there,” I said, pointing to the wall, “said you were a chef before you and your husband converted this into a bed and breakfast.”
“I was,” she said with a friendly smile, the wrinkles at the corner of her eyes a testament to how many times she’d greeted someone like me in her lifetime. “Met my husband at CIA. We ran a little place in New York City, where he’s from, until trading the chaos for calm. Bought this place, fixed it up and never looked back.”
“I’m a CIA grad too.”
Her smile widened as Beck listened, not saying anything.
“Best decision I ever made. Cooking for people. It’s still the heart of this place.”
I didn’t say anything right away, but my chest warmed the way it did when I felt a pull toward something meaningful. Maybe it was this place. Or maybe it was hearing someone speak with certainty about a life she chose and built with someone she loved.
I’d thought I was on that path too.
“How about you?” she asked.
The dreaded question.
“We just came from the Flavor Fest,” Beck jumped in. Grateful, I let him talk. “Got in on a last-minute entry.”
“The others here tonight are festivalgoers too. But sounds like you had a booth?”
“Sure did. O’Malley’s Pub and Eatery, in Cedar Falls.”
“You cook there?” she asked me.
“My father owns the pub. I just got back from France where I was training to be a pastry chef. As you can imagine, job opportunities are few and far between around here.”
“You’d be surprised,” the woman said, settling back into her chair with her tea. “People don’t just come to small towns for the views anymore. They come for the experience. The story. A warm croissant from someone who learned in France? That’s not just food—it’s memory-making.”
I smiled. Thinking.
The woman continued. “I had a guest once… a pastry chef from Boston. Burned out. She came here for a weekend, ended up staying six months. Taught a baking class at the community center and said it was the happiest she’d been in years.”
“That so?” Beck said, stealing a glance at me.
The woman just shrugged. “Sometimes the dream changes. Or maybe you just find it in a place you didn’t expect.”
“Cedar Falls would definitely qualify.”
“Mae’s tarte tatin were a huge hit,” Beck boasted. “Even served with burgers and stuffed jalapenos. As a matter of fact, by midday tomorrow we’ll most likely be sold out.”
The innkeeper looked impressed.
“Is that so?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me. “Would you be interested in making some for us? Pastry isn’t exactly my husband’s or my specialty.”
That was an easy one. “Absolutely. I love making them. That sounds great.”
“Do you have a card?”
Shit. A card.
“Here’s mine.” Beck pulled one from his wallet. “I can connect you.”
“Claymont. As in?—”
“Bottling. Yep.” If Beck tried to keep the bitterness from his tone, he failed. Helping him let go of the resentment for his parents had been a years-long quest. Beck thought it equated to forgiving them, but I just wanted him not to hold hate in his heart. He’d never have a perfect relationship with them, and that was fine. He could have no relationship, if he wanted.
“You two must be exhausted. I don’t mean to keep you from your rooms. They’re just up there.” She addressed me. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
