“No problem.” Danny glanced at Paul, who was a very big problem. “Any chance you can bring more baked goods before Sunday?” No reservations, but city folk still have the travel bug, I guess.” Hs smirked at Paul hovering over Danny’s shoulder. “We’re busier for the holiday weekend than expected, though. Lila is so excited to host one of our pre-Covid events again that she’s about to dance a merry jig.” Bill expertly folded over one half of an omelet stuffed with colorful peppers, repeating the maneuver in a side-by-side second skillet moments later.

“Macadamia nut shortbreads and lemon tarts for your event this afternoon are ready too.” “Raspberry scones and peanut butter bars with caramel glaze in the van,” he told his client. Scowling, Danny nodded to Bill who stood over a skillet at the stove while Danny settled the Black Forest layer cake he’d decorated with shaved chocolate curls onto the countertop of the kitchen’s breakfast bar. They scattered to the carpet like falling snow. Paul followed him, unheeding of postcards he knocked off a table. “Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.” He navigated around displays of pottery mugs and whatnots etched with the inn’s logo as well as matte photos of the inn, local landmarks, and landscapes that Lila and Bill had staged around the reception area as impulse-buy mementos. “Different, but still good.”įlimsy bakery box buckling in his grasp, Danny snorted and headed toward the kitchen of the B&B. “You look good.” He arched a quizzical eyebrow at Danny’s N95. Rubbed his eyes, then squinted, certain his fraying nerves must have finally pushed him over the edge he’d been skating since the pandemic, and his breakup with Paul had prompted him to move back to Gran’s days before Covid lockdown.

Lone by Rowan McBride