going to be for Abby and her three employees, it was their opportunity to make the Flutterby Inn shine in all its aging glory. And hopefully make a profit for their bedridden boss. “Nothing like going from a drought to a flood when it comes to guests.” Abby inclined her head toward where their new guest sipped his coffee.
“We’re in good shape. Besides, he paid for his reservation up front, so we can’t exactly kick him out. I gave him the tower room, if that’s okay? Kind of suits his knight-on-a-white-horse persona, don’t you think?” Lori leaned her chin on her hand.
“The tower’s fine.” Abby ignored the question from the ever-romantic Lori along with the implication. Knight or not, she did not have the time or energy to invest in romance, no matter what her struggling online dating persona or her well-intentioned employee thought. Not that Jay Corwin was remotely her type. She liked her potential romantic partners to have fewer sharp edges to them. This guy was more prickly than a spiny jellyfish. “That leaves us with, what? Four guest rooms occupied through this weekend?” Lori nodded. Good. Not too much upkeep then, and at least two rooms would be vacated by the following week. “I’m going to drop Gran off at Eloise’s for the day and then head over to see Mr. Vartebetium. I’ll stop at the diner and pick up lunch. What do you want?”
“One of Holly’s strawberry shakes would be heaven.” Lori sighed, then looked down at her significant waistline hidden behind a full flowing skirt and oversize sweater. “But better make it a turkey on whole wheat. No fries.”
What Abby wanted to do was remind the younger woman that depriving herself wouldn’t help, but she didn’t want to force Lori off the healthier bandwagon. Her friend’s confidence had begun to climb and she’d even treated herself to a cut and color at the Bee Hive to tame her once brown, now nutmeg-highlighted brown curls. “You’re doing great, Lori. Losing thirty pounds is nothing to sneeze at.”
“It’s the next thirty that has me worried. I’ll hold down the fort, don’t worry.”
“Paige said to keep her on speed dial if we need extra help.” But with her friend doing extra shifts at the diner, Abby didn’t think it right to ask her to man the kitchen at the Flutterby as well. Not that Abby could afford to anyway, not with the way the business’s finances were stretched these days. Not having an in-house cook was proving to be more of an issue than she’d anticipated. And it was only going to get worse with the influx of guests they were expecting.
She’d find a solution. She always did. She’d do anything to keep the Flutterby Inn running. It was the only home Gran had ever really known, and Abby wasn’t about to have Alice spend her twilight years anywhere else. Especially now.
Abby rifled through one of her drawers for the stack of meal vouchers for the Butterfly Diner. “I’m going to make sure our resident fireman is all set before I go.”
“I’d say I saw him first,” Lori said, “but you one-upped me with that fire of yours.”
“It wasn’t a full-blown fire.” But it could have been. Gran was right. When was she going to learn her lesson? She and kitchens did not mix. Abby took a steeling breath and carried the vouchers over to their new guest, who was flipping through one of the anemic local tour books. “Mr. Cor—er, Jay?”
“Should I stay on alert for the duration of my stay, Five-Alarm Manning?” He didn’t bother to look up from the booklet.
My, what big ears you have. She would not let him bait her. She couldn’t afford to alienate paying—and from what she could tell, incredibly flush—guests. Some people, like this man, exuded money. “I’m afraid you’ve discovered my one weakness.”
“Kitchens are dangerous for those not properly trained.” The superiority in his voice obliterated the last of Abby’s goodwill.
“Yes, I heard you the first time.” Why did he make her sound as if she was a rambunctious five-year-old who’d dumped a container of flour all over her head? She bit her cheek. She could tell her guest she’d been trying to save some money, that scones couldn’t possibly be that difficult, that she hadn’t wanted her guests to have to trudge to the diner. Or she could do as she’d done for the last seven years and keep her tongue in check to make sure her customers—even Mr. Jay Corwin—were happy.
“Since the kitchen is closed for the next couple of weeks—” she offered up a silent prayer that Matilda would return sooner than planned “—and your rate includes breakfast and either lunch or dinner, we’re offering free meals to our customers down at the Butterfly Diner. I think you’ll agree that’s best while my cook is on vacation.”
“You don’t have a backup cook?” He frowned at her over the top of his coffee cup.
“We did. Matilda walked him through the paces before she left, but then his brother passed away. He had to fly back to Michigan.”
“There’s no one else available?”
“It took us weeks to find him. Besides, Matilda would throw a fit if someone she didn’t know came in to work her kitchen.” It was a joke. Kind of.
“You allow her to take time off and leave you high and dry during what could be a busy couple of months for you? Doesn’t seem very responsible to me.”
He couldn’t have sounded any more judgmental if he’d banged a gavel on the sink. Life happened. And sometimes it had a cruel sense of timing. “Tell you what. If you’re here when Matilda returns, feel free to let her know her annual long-distance breast cancer awareness fund-raising walk isn’t smart business sense.” So much for holding her tongue. “In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your stay. The diner opens every morning at six and what stores there are on Monarch Lane will open between nine and ten. If you have any questions or need assistance, let Lori know. She’s more than up to the task, I’m sure.”
Either he missed her sarcasm or he didn’t care.
“Are the grounds around the inn open to guests?”
“Yes. There’s a path down to the beach off the front parking lot. And if you give the Butterfly Diner a call ahead of time, Holly can make a nice lunch for you to pick up. Thank you again,” she added before she pushed open the door. “I’m sorry your first few minutes at the Flutterby were distressing.”
“Interesting, though.” Jay gave her what could have been interpreted as a smile. Such a shift from his earlier manner confounded Abby. “Have a good day, Miss Manning.”
“Abby,” she responded automatically, then, before she started to think better of him, headed off to collect Gran.
“WELL?” GARY CUNNINGHAM’S aged New York voice echoed through the Bluetooth as Jason hefted his suitcase and garment bag out of the trunk of the rented sports car. “Do I know how to find you the perfect hideaway or what?”
“It’s definitely something.” He’d spend some time later appreciating the lush landscaping that included thick, healthy red geraniums interspersed with critter-repelling oleander. He could hear the surf crashing against the shore and cliff line on the far edge of the property and smell that telltale Pacific Ocean combination of brine and open air. Nothing like an old three-story Victorian with beacon-bright yellow paint and peeling white trim to cut through the intricate groves of redwoods, cypress and eucalyptus trees. If the rest of the world ran out of oxygen, he knew where they could find some. “Hang on a second?”
The porch stairs creaked in welcome as he pushed through the etched glass front doors and gave Lori a quick wave of acknowledgment. He walked across hardwood floors in need of a polish, passing crisp white batten-board walls that displayed photographs of the inn throughout its extensive history. They provided a welcome distraction from the faded, out-of-date wallpaper.
At least he hadn’t been inundated with the town’s fluttering namesake. Not that he had anything against butterflies, but they did lend themselves toward a feminine