“Excuse me?” I frowned at Braxton. We weren’t here to help. We were here to get Lucy to abandon this lunacy.
Helen beamed, undeterred by bureaucracy, soot, or common sense. “First let’s have dinner. We can divide up what needs to be done afterward.”
I watched Lucy for her reaction. She tipped her chin and met my gaze. Pride and mortification and something like gratitude flickered there, quick and complicated. “Thank you for putting out the fire.”
“You’re welcome,” I answered automatically.
Her eyes dipped, once, to my sleeves. I realized I had rolled them higher without noticing and that my forearms were still dusted faintly from the fire extinguisher. A flush came and went in her cheeks. She looked away quickly, as if the sight had startled her.
Helen looped an arm through mine and through Braxton’s with the confidence of a cruise director who had decided on everyone’s evening plans. “Come along, gentlemen. We eat, we plan, and then we string some Christmas lights.”
Lucy brushed past, close enough that I could smell the apricot of her shampoo.
“Lights,” I echoed in slight disbelief.
Chapter Five: Candlelight Supper
Lucy
Dinner was supposed to be calm. A reward for surviving the inspection, the fire, and my uninvited ex-boss. Instead, the table looked like it was preparing for a food-based reenactment of the apocalypse. There were mismatched plates, three different sets of silverware, and at least five separate conversations happening at once. The faint scent of smoke still clung to the curtains, blending unpleasantly with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, cinnamon-glazed carrots, and Jane’s biscuits. It was cozy, chaotic, and so perfectly Bennet that I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
Mom stood at the head of the table, beaming like she was hosting a cooking show. “Everyone sit down, please! William, carve the chicken. Lucy, stop adjusting the candles. Braxton, you’ll sit beside Jane. Dex, you can sit next to Lucy. She bites sometimes, but only if provoked."
“Mom!” I whispered in embarrassment.
Braxton laughed, sliding into his seat with the casual confidence of someone who fit anywhere. He leaned towards Jane with a conspiratorial grin. “I think Dex can handle that.”
Jane turned bright pink, which made her even prettier, and reached for the rolls like they might save her from embarrassment. “Would anyone like some bread?”
“Yes, please. These rolls smell incredible,” Braxton said warmly.
“They’re just rolls,” she mumbled.
“They’re perfect,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made her blink.
Mom sighed dreamily. “Isn’t it wonderful when people appreciate good cooking?”
Jane almost dropped the bowl of peas that she was passing to Dad. “Mom, please.”
Dex reached for his glass, perfectly composed as always. “Dinner looks wonderful, Helen.”
“Thank you, Dex. You can call me Mom if you like,” she replied without missing a beat.
He froze.
I kicked her under the table. “Helen is fine.”
She ignored me, keeping her smile fixed on her face. “I just want everyone to feel at home. That’s what this inn is for. A place of welcome for all who enter.”
I took a sip of water before I could say something regrettable. Dex caught my eye, one brow arched ever so slightly, the faintest smirk playing at his mouth. Of course he found this amusing. He thrived under pressure. I, on the other hand, was drowning in gravy and secondhand mortification.
Dinner began in earnest. Plates clinked, laughter rose, and the conversation bounced like a pinball machine. Dad told a story about accidentally wiring the garage door to the Christmas lights, and Mom laughed so hard she snorted. Jane blushed every time Braxton spoke, which seemed to encourage him. And Dex observed everything in that quiet, analytical way that made me feel like I was being studied under a microscope. He hadn’t said much, but his eyes missed nothing.
“So, Dex, just how long have you and Lucy worked together? Two years, was it?” Mom began the inquisition, her eyes alight with curiosity and mischief.
“Five,” Dex corrected her.
I sighed. When Mom got like this, there was no telling what she might say.
