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Maren missed her, and more than once had supposed that Ellie B would have been able to talk some sense into Jasmine had she still been living here.
Maren was sometimes successful convincing herself that any reservations about so hasty a wedding should belong only to the bride and groom, and that despite her own personal, more non-existent than treacherous dating history, true love, even love at first sight, likely did exist.
In the midst of the meal preparations, Maren heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps striding across the creaking wood floors of the long hall at the back door's entrance.
"Knock, knock," called a voice.
"Hi, Hal," Maren returned, recognizing the voice as that of Harold Miller, who lived directly across the street in a house his grandfather had built almost a hundred years ago.
A tall, gray haired man who had celebrated his 70thbirthday just before Christmas appeared in one of the three entrances to the Inn’s kitchen, his knit hat covered in snow.
Maren’s shoulders sank. “Has it started already?” She asked unnecessarily, glancing out the closest window. “I was really hoping the snow would hold off at least until all the guests arrived safely.”
“No holding it back, I’m afraid,” said Hal, removing his hat and politely remaining on the rug near the door. “Might better be hoping you can get them out and not snowed in. Full house this weekend, right?”
Maren smiled. “Yes, and only for the second time since I took over, so despite Mother Nature’s foul mood, I’m pretty excited about it.”
“As you should be,” Hal allowed. “Bethany was just dropped off, by the way. Not sure she’ll be able to leave anytime soon, but at least you’ve got your help for tonight.”
“Oh, thank God. I’m a little nervous about a full table at dinner and managing cook and hostess duties all at once.”
“You’ll be fine,” Hal said, and then turned sideways in the doorway. “Here she is.”
Bethany Winters was a super sweet woman in her sixties with short gray hair and glasses too big for her face. She rather came with the Morning Glory Inn, having been employed by Ellie B for almost thirty years. She worked infrequently for Maren, called up whenever three or more of the five rooms were let.
Bethany was very petite, coming up to only Hal’s chest. She stepped carefully over the rug on which he stood, having left her boots in the hall, placing her hand on Hal’s coat to steady herself, her other arms weighted down with bags.
“Ugh, you can have the snow,” she grumbled. “I’m moving down south.”
“You keep promising...” teased Hal.
Indeed, Bethany had been saying just that for as long as Maren had known her.
Bethany stuck out her tongue at Hal and plopped a quilted overnight bag on the back counter and set down two canvas grocery bags on the floor.
“I’m going one day,” Bethany vowed, “and you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
A playful glint entered Hals’ bright eyes. “I don’t think we’ll ever know, but I’d like to test it out.”
Maren shot Hal a reprimanding glare, but she was also grinning. Hal and Bethany had known each other for decades and their friendship language was simply to constantly goad each other.
“All right, out I go,” Hal said, “before she has me wearing an apron and chopping something. I’ll make sure the walkways and porch steps are cleared now and throughout the day. Probably won’t need to bring the snowplow over for another few hours.”
Maren knew there was no talking him out of it. Even before she became the proud but anxious owner of the bed and breakfast, Harold Miller had rather made himself her guardian/friend/father figure. He’d celebrated each semester achieved in college, all her small milestones at the Coffee Loft over the years and had been one of the few people she’d consulted about purchasing the Inn, valuing his judgment and opinion more than almost anyone else’s. She trusted Hal enough that she’d shared all the particulars of the deal and her plans for it in order to elicit the most practical and well-informed advice. At the time, his quiet but firm, “If anyone can do it well and do it justice, you can,” had instilled Maren with just the vote of confidence she’d needed.
After finding out how much she had paid for snow plow service the previous year, Hal insisted on taking care of all snow clearing for her. He dramatically pleaded with her to accept hisoffer, jokingly threatening to never speak to her again if she refused—at least Maren hoped he’d been joking. Although he was retired and his wife had passed away ten years ago, Maren knew that Hal was a purposeful and driven man. He always had a project going in his garage and loved to engage in long conversations over tea, claiming it was a necessary part of his Irish heritage to have at least three cups a day.
From a distance of ten feet away, Maren pointed her long knife at him. “And don’t forget, I’ll stand in the driveway and block your path—I’ll throw myself under the snow blower if need be—there is to be no snow blowing or any shoveling at all unless you come for dinner tonight.” That was the deal she’d made with him, since he refused to accept any money from her for his work.
Hal made a show of lengthening his long frame, pretending to look over the preparations under way on the counter in front of Maren. He sniffed with mock disdain at the asparagus and mushrooms. “Don’t see myself crossing the street for a bowl of vegetables.”
Maren raised her brows at him. “But I wonder if you would cross the street for the Char Sui that will also make an appearance. Hm?”
Hal scrunched up his face with feigned annoyance. “How do you expect to whet my appetite if I have no idea what you’re trying to sell me on?”
Grinning, Maren informed him, “Think of it as a barbequed pork tenderloin.”
Hal raised one thick white brow. “You have my attention,” he suggested, not even bothering to hide his grin.
