Page 23 of The Worst Possible Plan

Sarah had said breakfast was included in my “family package deal.” And I intended to get my money’s worth.

The dining room buzzed with the quiet sounds of breakfast. Guests chatted over newspapers while sunlight poured through the tall windows overlooking the ocean, turning everything soft and peaceful. A couple by the windows shared a basket of muffins while an older man in a golf shirt studied the crossword like the fate of civilization depended on seventeen across. Someone laughed softly near the fireplace. Coffee cups clinked against saucers.

I followed the smell into the kitchen, my stomach taking over navigation duties because my brain clearly wasn’t functioning yet. If someone had blindfolded me, I probably still would’ve found the coffee by instinct. Survival had kicked in.

Dottie stood at the enormous stove with three frying pans going at once, humming to herself while flipping pancakes with a confidence that said she’d probably done it every morning for the last thirty years without ever burning a single one. Bacon sizzled in another pan while biscuits cooled on a wire rack beside the counter. Her faded yellow apron had flour on one side and read: LIFE HAPPENS. BUTTER HELPS. Judging by the smell filling the kitchen, butter wasn’t just helping. Butter was performing miracles.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Morning, sleepyhead. You look tired. Didn’t sleep well?”

“Wine.”

Her eyes rounded. “Wine?”

“The wine bottle you guys left me. Well, we made friends last night.”

“Oh.” Dottie laughed. “Please tell me you only had a glass.”

I gave a shrug. “Do I look like someone who only drank one glass?”

Dottie narrowed her eyes at me. “Well, no you don’t. But did you at least enjoy it?”

I woke up on the floor. Of course I did. “It was a very nice bottle. Thank you.”

Dottie beamed. “Glad to hear it.”

My gaze darted over to the stove. “Please tell me that smell belongs to breakfast.” I was practically drooling. Yep. Drooling. Attractive. Very ladylike. Exactly the sort of image one wanted to project first thing in the morning. Good thing Captain Competent wasn’t here to witness my transformation into a caffeine-starved Labrador.

Dottie pointed the spatula at me. “It belongs to you if you go sit down in the dining room.”

I didn’t argue, mostly because arguing required energy. And my head was throbbing so much that I felt like my brain was trying to squeeze out my eyes through their sockets.

I stepped out of the kitchen and pulled a chair over to one of the empty dining tables. My butt had barely made contact with the seat when Dottie set a mug of coffee in front of me. The woman moved with speed and efficiency, as though she believed caffeine should reach suffering people before they had time to ask for it—a philosophy I deeply respected.

I wrapped both hands around it. “I think I love you.” The mug was warm against my fingers.

Dottie laughed. “I know,” she said with complete confidence, like this wasn’t the first declaration of love she’d received over breakfast and certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I took one sip. “Yum…” My eyes fluttered shut. That wasn’t coffee. That was emotional support in a mug. If someone bottled this stuff, I’d happily invest my life savings.

Dottie smiled without turning around. “That’s the good stuff.” I heard the unmistakable pride in her voice, as if she’d roasted every bean herself somewhere high in the mountains before sunrise.

I swallowed my dose of liquid brown heaven. “I was about thirty seconds away from licking coffee beans off the floor if necessary.” Honestly, I’d probably have checked under the tables too. Yesterday had lowered my standards considerably. Once you’d spent an afternoon negotiating with livestock, dignity became surprisingly flexible.

Dottie propped her hands on her hips. “I would’ve let you get halfway before stopping you.” She gave me the sort of look that suggested she wasn’t entirely joking, merely curious enough to see how committed I was to the idea.

“I appreciate your restraint.” It was nice knowing someone around here believed in letting me preserve at least a tiny shred of self-respect. Or at least delay its destruction until after breakfast.

She snorted. “You look exhausted. And I’m not talking about the wine.”

I let out a long sigh. “I chased a goat, a donkey, and two alpacas for three hours yesterday.” I took another sip of coffee. “In the wrong shoes.”

Dottie’s eyes lit up instead of filling with sympathy, which probably should’ve warned me where this conversation was headed. “You had a goat? A real goat?”

I frowned. “Yes… why do you sound excited?”

“Is it the little fainting kind? Or one of the long-eared ones? Does it have babies?” She clapped her hands together, completely invested now. “Oh! Please tell me somebody brought chickens.”

I stared at her. “No chickens.” Thank god. “The goat was a normal one, I think. But the donkey was miniature.”