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Because the inn is no longer running, there is no room service to call for food and drink. I decided to do something I’d never done before - use a food delivery service. I suspect it is because I have a personal chef who makes me whatever I want, whenever I want. Oh, and I don’t like strangers coming to my home.
It took a minute to set up an account, but I ordered a delivery of sparkling water, limes, gouda cheese, whole wheat crackers, dark chocolate-covered almonds, and some fresh fruit. I deliberated the evils of sugar before throwing in a couple of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for Brynne.Leave it on the porch,I noted in the delivery instructions.
I follow the sound of the running water and join Brynne in an incredible claw foot tub. I set my phone on the commode. She has opted for a bath instead of a shower.
“Are you expecting a call?” she asks, eyeing the phone.
“I am expecting some noshes I ordered,” I say, settling behind her.
She leans back on me. She reaches for the phone.
“Set it to camera mode, please,” she says, handing it to me.
I do, though I am not sure I want to. Brynne holds it at face level and takes a snap. We look at the picture. There we are, looking like a long-time couple, totally in love.
Chapter 8
Brynne
Ithrow a towel on the tile floor to stand on while we dry each other off with oversized fluffy towels. There’s just enough room, but it’s close.
“Food’s here,” Jack announces.
We hurry down the stairs in our robes like it is Christmas morning. Jack retrieves the delivery from the porch. It’s just food, yet I follow behind him, eager to see.
“Where am I going?” he asks.
“Hang a left,” I say and pass in front of him. I push open two mahogany sliding doors to reveal a dining hall with an extraordinarily long dining hall table. A Baldwin grand piano is at the far end of the room.
“I used to keep this set for two when Uncle John was alive,” I say. “I usually made one of his favorite meals for dinner every night – but now that it’s just me, I typically eat out or bring something home. After having cooked for him so long, it saddens me to cook for just me.
Like most of the common areas of the inn, this room ends in what appear to be large, stacked picture windows but are reallyFrench doors that watch out over the sea. I can tell that Jack is staggered by what he sees.
“I guess you didn’t expect this place to be so grand, did you?” I ask.
“No, I guess I didn’t,” he says.
I hover beside him, staring down into the bag. My stomach grumbles loudly.
“Oh!” I say, snapping my fingers. “My salad.”
I quickly retrieved the Greek salad I had brought home earlier before shoving it into the fridge. I carry it back to the table.
“I wasn’t very hungry when I came home. I had somehow lost my appetite,” I say primly.
“So, Nick was that mean to you?” he asks. “I guess Nick can be a tough guy. I didn’t ask him to.”
I changed the subject. Why spoil the mood now? Jack had already assured me that Nick had gone rogue and had acted on his own accord.
“You should always make sure the plastic containers are bio-degradable,” I can’t help lecturing as I examine the containers. “What have we got going here?”
“We have a little smoky cheese with crackers, which I am going to feed to you. And Asian pears.”
“I like those,” I say.
His posture suddenly sinks.
“Are you vegan? Dairy-free?” he asks, eyeing me nervously.
