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Alec said he’d ask Hal about a chainsaw so that he might start cutting up the tree. Of course, she should have insisted he’d done enough—which he had—but, she wasn’t embarrassed to admit to herself, she was pleased to be relieved of his company.
Oh, my gosh!
Had he been about to kiss her?
Good heavens, but had she wanted him to—had she hoped he would?—before she’d gained control of herself and thwarted whatever his intention might have been? Surely, a staring contest hadn’t been his goal. But wow, talk about a smoldering gaze. Maren was sure her insides were still toasty, an hour and a half after that most scintillating moment.
It had taken them over an hour to clear a path, climb over the fallen tree, which was basically her and Alec crawling up and over a squishy pile of fir limbs, and then load up with necessities from the garage and return to the house. Though having only just fallen, already the downed tree had been covered with a two-inch blanket of snow.
Currently, she stood in the kitchen, watching over two pans on the vintage stove. In one she turned over sausage links that she was frying and in another, she was occasionally stirring the sausage gravy to go with the biscuits she’d made two days ago, and which were in the warming drawer beneath the oven. Inside the oven itself was a long casserole dish filled with bakedscrambled eggs. In the second oven of the antique appliance, the bacon was cooking. She much preferred to cook those two things in the oven, freeing up time and her hands to get ready other components of breakfast.
Bethany had texted that she was sorry, but there was no way she could make it to the inn today as planned. Maren wasn’t so worried right now, but expected she would have her hands full later today, getting everything ready by herself for the rehearsal dinner tonight.
The Adamczyks, the Thompsons, and Dan Harris had trickled downstairs over the last half hour, apparently early risers all save for Rachel, who had yet to show herself. Maren had put out a carafe of coffee and one of tea to hold them over until breakfast was ready in another ten to fifteen minutes.
On the other side of the kitchen there was a small desk and chair, which sat between two banks of cupboards and counters and under a window that overlooked the middle of the driveway. There sat Aiden Abelstad, the twenty-two year old morning opener of the Coffee Loft. He was very comfortable with Maren and the Inn, usually being happy to deliver her infrequent weekend orders of pastries and other breakfast sweets. He’d arrived ten minutes ago and was currently paging through the Morning Glory Inn’s trifold brochure, plucked from the stack kept at her desk there. Turning around, he threw his arm over the back of the chair and flipped the long swag of bangs off his forehead. The thick brown hair fell immediately back down, nearly covering his eyes.
“Mar,” he called her attention. “What is this? A secret garden retreat?” He asked and then read from the printed brochure. “A hidden outdoor space with lush greenery, perfect for quiet relaxation? Where is this enchanted garden? Are you marketing lies?”
Maren grinned but did not turn around, busy giving the sausages another quarter turn. “It’s behind the garage, or rather on the south side.” she told him. “Or, it is in the summer. Haven’t you ever seen it? It’s quite pretty, with hydrangeas and peonies and well, there will one day be a profusion of roses if I don’t keep killing them.”
“Huh,” Aiden said with a bit of wonder. “Never noticed it.”
“Aiden, I’m not trying to get rid of you,” she said next, turning down the gas and putting a lid on the pan with the sausages, “but shouldn’t you be actually at the Coffee Loft while on the clock? I can’t believe you opened the café today. I can’t believe anyone would be upset or surprised if the Coffee Loft was closed all day.”
“Mom said we should open in case any essential workers or road crews need a little pick me up, their morning joe.” He plucked his cell phone out of his pocket and waved it at Maren. “I hooked up my phone to the front door camera,” Aiden explained. “I’ll get a notification if anyone comes in.”
Which might be unlikely as Maren hadn’t noticed any vehicle but a plow the entire time she’d been outside.
Maren positioned herself at the island counter, going through the three café boxes Aiden had delivered.
“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?” She asked cheekily, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah, my mom,” he groaned. “Or rather she didn’t have a date so didn’t want me to have one either so we can hang out all night. Lucky me.”
“You be nice to your mother,” Maren chided lightly as she arranged the pastries, muffins, and tarts in two different linen lined baskets.
Aiden was raised as an only child by a single mom. They were, despite Aiden’s attempt to pretend otherwise, as close as a mother and son could be without being weird. Shannon Abelstadwas strict but kind, generous and loving, and Maren thought Aiden one of the luckiest people in the world, to have such a nurturing, involved parent. “She is always so proud to arrive anywhere on your arm and spend time with you.”
“I know,” Aiden admitted, dropping his façade of annoyance. “She’s pretty excited, but Mar, I had to draw the line when she said she wanted us to wear coordinating outfits. I was like,Mom, it’s not the prom.”
“Gosh, I hope Jasmine is actually able to have her wedding,” Maren remarked.
“What would she do?” Aiden wondered. He stood and arrived at the end of the island counter, tapping his fingers on the edge. “I mean, can you just say, hey, let’s try it again next weekend? What if the venue, or the photographer, or whatever other things are involved, aren’t available?”
“What a nightmare,” Maren said. “I have no idea how that would work, but I will keep it in mind. If ever I do decide to get married, I will schedule it in the summer.”
Aiden sighed, with a theatrical flair. “I’ve offered, haven’t I? Many times. But no, you think I’m too young.”
“Because you are.”
“You’re only five years older than me.”
Only because she knew he wasn’t serious—this was a longstanding joke between them, going back years—shetskedwith mock sternness. “I don’t know why you’d want to chance ruining such a great friendship. And what would Jennifer Kearns have to say about that, you suddenly becoming unavailable to her fawning admiration?”
Aiden grimaced and pretended to shiver and then stole one of the mini muffins from the basket, tossing it up in to the air and catching it. “Never mind that, and don’t try to change the subject,” he said, just as a whoosh of wind and a creaking hinge were heard, as the back door was opened. “We’re not talkingabout me,” Aiden continued, taking a bite out of the muffin. “We’re talking about you.” He chewed and swallowed and then adopted another voice, one that wasn’t his own and that might possibly be from one of those adult cartoon shows he regularly watched. “You know, Missy, you’ll need a boyfriend first if you expect to have any chance of a wedding.”
“That does seem to be the prevailing wisdom.”
