Unforgettable
Page 27

“No, thank you. I prefer to look around in my own time.”
“Then you just let me know if you need anything.” I smile even wider. “I have maps and guides to the town, and I’m happy to direct you if there’s anything you feel like seeing.”
“That will be fine.” Bunny actually makes a shooing gesture with her hand, dismissing me.
I quickly retreat—carrying the offending flowers downstairs, and far away from her disapproving stare and delicate nasal passages.
I can already tell, this is going to be a long day.
I hide out in the kitchen for the rest of the morning, stress-baking. Juliet calls to check on me, and I answer up to my elbows in flour.
“Well, how’s it going?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I whisper, peering out of the window. Bunny is nosing around the garden, writing Lord knows what in a little notebook.
“Why are you whispering? Is she right there?”
“No, but I feel like she can hear me. She has that look about her.”
Juliet laughs. “Good luck. You’ll do great.”
“I hope so. I don’t even want to think about what a bad review from her would do for my big plans for the B&B.” As I watch, Bunny picks her way across to my studio, and peers through the window.
“So don’t. Think about it, I mean,” Juliet insists. “Focus on stuffing her face full of delicious cakes, she’ll soon forget the snooty attitude. Carbs make people happy.”
“And Bunny looks like she hasn’t eaten bread since 1962,” I mutter, turning back to my mixing bowl.
Juliet laughs again. Then she pauses, awkward. “Listen, about last night…”
“What about last night?” I reply brightly.
“You know, with Ash.”
“Oh, that!” I fake a careless laugh. “Tegan was just winding him up. I didn’t take anything from it.”
“Are you sure? Because I know he can be prickly, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to, you know…” Juliet trails off.
Insult me? Reject me? Make it clear he has zero interest in ever kissing me again?
“Of course not,” I insist instead. “I don’t mind, I promise.”
“OK, good.” Juliet seems satisfied. “Let me know when the evil Bunny leaves.”
“Will do.” I hang up.
“Are you quite finished?” Bunny’s imperious voice comes from right behind me.
I yelp in surprise, spinning around. “Hi,” I gasp, frantically trying to think if she’s overheard me say anything. “What’s up?”
“What’s up, is that I’m going in to town.” Bunny looks resigned. “You said there were local attractions…?”
“Sure, let me get you the info.”
I head out to the main lounge, to where I set up the old oak table set with tourist leaflets, flyers and maps. I take a few and pass them to Bunny. “The town is great to explore. You can check out the harbor, and there’s a historic lighthouse along the shore. If you want a great lunch spot, the diner is always a fun choice, or the seafood shack.”
“Shack?” Bunny echoes, curling her lip.
“It’s the real rustic flavor of the shore,” I explain, sounding like a tourist guide myself.
She tucks the leaflets in her handbag. “When is happy hour?”
I stare back blankly.
“Here, at the inn,” she explains. “Most establishments offer wine and cheese, an afternoon refreshment.”
“And we do too!” I lie. “Afternoon tea is served at four. Fresh cake and cookies.”
“You do like your cake.” Bunny looks me up and down, and I realize I’m still covered in flour.
I smile so widely, my cheeks hurt. “It’s all part of the Rose Cottage charm.”
“Very well, I suppose I’ll see you then.” Bunny turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh, I almost forgot. The faucet in my room is dripping. You’ll have it seen to before I return?”
“Absolutely,” I vow.
She sails out. I exhale in a whoosh, sinking back against the desk.
Just think of the business, I remind myself. A good review would go a long way to reassuring my family that I’m not having a minor meltdown out here. I’m already ducking their calls, but I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them off. If I can keep Bunny happy, then I’ll get the good review, and a flood of happy, paying guests will soon follow.
But first, the dripping faucet. I head upstairs to her room and check the bathroom sink. It looks fine to me, but I wait, counting down. When I reach twenty seconds, there’s a tiny, almost-imperceptible drip. I tighten the faucet all the way, but it doesn’t change: after a long silence, another tiny drip comes. Anyone else would ignore it, or not even notice at all, but clearly Bunny has a radar for the slightest imperfections.
OK then.
I go down to the shed and find a wrench sitting on the shelf by the door. Ash must have left it here yesterday after helping out.
Ash.
I sigh, memories flooding back. I can’t figure him out. One minute he’s being helpful and funny, the next, his shutters come down and he’s totally off-limits. Discovering what happened to his parents only makes me more intrigued—it takes such strength and determination to achieve what he has done.
Perhaps if I’d only ever known the ice-cold version, I would be able to just take his word for it that he’s not interested and put him out of my mind. But the Ash I met first was charming and spontaneous, he swept me off my feet.