“Peach cobbler.”
He hums in a way that sounds like approval. He doesn’t need to know that I’m planning to make it because of a conversation I overheard between Riley and her brother in the dining room this morning.
Accidentally, of course. It’s not like I was hanging out in the dining room because she was there. I was helping clean some tables, because I don’t leave all the dirty jobs for my staff members. I’m a good boss, that’s all.
Riley asked her brother about a restaurant they used to go to in a nearby town that has, according to her, the best peach cobbler in the world. She was saying how much she’s missed it, and when her brother told her the restaurant closed down last year, she looked devastated.
So now I’m planning to bake a peach cobbler for dessert that will be even better. But I’m only doing this because Brenden has stressed how important it is to keep our celebrity guest happy. Obviously.
“Call his cell,” Brenden says, holding out his phone so I can copy the number into mine. “If you call the number for the farm, you’ll only get his mom at the store.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you get back to...” I gesture to the precarious pile of paperwork. “All that fun stuff.”
He lets out a pained groan. “Oh, please, no. I don’t want to. Can you do it for me?”
I huff a laugh. “Absolutely not. One of the perks of giving up my own restaurant has been not needing to deal with all the business bullshit. I get to just enjoy cooking.”
It’s not really that simple. Since I’m in charge of the inn’s kitchen, I still do the menu planning, ordering, and handle staffing. But it’s better than it was before. Not clashing on decisions with my ex-wife has certainly been a perk.
“Speaking of enjoying.” Brenden is suddenly all smiles, which worries me a little. “I’m going to arrange schedules so that you won’t have to work at all during the summer festival. You didn’t get to truly experience the spring one since you were stuck in our booth the entire time.”
“No, I experienced enough, believe me,” I tell him. I saw plenty of the craziness from where I sat.
“You know you can stop acting like you’re not one of us now.”
I cross my arms as I lean against the wall. “I’m clearly not. I don’t even live in this ridiculous town.”
“Oh, please,” he scoffs. “You could throw a rock off your front porch and it would land in Mayweather. Everyone in town loves your food. Just accept that you’re one of us.”
“Never.”
He sighs, laughing at the same time. “Fine. But we’re going to wear you down eventually.”
I’m afraid that threat might prove true. He did manage to wear me down on the friendship front already.
As I move to leave the office, he asks me to hold on. So I foolishly turn back to face him instead of making my escape. “Listen,” he says, and right away, I know I’m not going to like whatever nonsense comes out of his mouth next. “I know you told me not to set you up with anyone, and I swear I wasn’t trying to. But Mrs. Michaelson’s daughter recently moved back here, and she’s single, and Mrs. Michaelson thought—”
“No,” I interrupt him. “Don’t you dare. No more dates. No dating. No women. Nope.”
“But you don’t even know anything about her,” he argues.
“I don’t need to.”
There’s a cunning glint in his eyes when he asks. “Is it maybe because you’re already busy getting to know someone else?”
“What?” I snap, fearing where this is going.
Before Brenden can say anything else, though, Travis walks into the office, nearly bumping into me where I’m standing right beside the doorway.
“Shit, sorry,” he says, only sparing me a quick glance, and then heading right for his pain-in-the-ass, meddling boyfriend.
The dopey smile that takes over Brenden’s face as he stands and comes around his desk is somewhat nauseating. Then Travis gives him a kissthat’s brief, yet still manages to convey all sorts of mushy, romantic sentiments I don’t want to be privy to. It’s definitely time for me to go.
“What are you doing here?” Brenden asks.
Travis shrugs. “The diner was dead, so I thought I’d come say hi.”
Gross. As if they don’t see enough of each other every day.
