ME:I'm not stalking.I'm conducting market research.
HARPER:On your ex's love life?
ME:On my competition
HARPER:Sage.Honey.A 22 year old woman who sells feet pics is not your competition.She's in a completely different market segment
Before I can defend my totally rational behavior, Mira appears in the doorway, clutching her tablet and wearing the expression of someone about to deliver news that requires alcohol.
"Hey, boss.Got a minute to go over this weekend's bookings?"
"Hit me with it."I minimize Instagram, though not before taking one last look at Luke's uncomfortable face."How bad is it?"
"Well..."Mira adjusts her glasses."The Hendersons cancelled their anniversary weekend."
"Plumbing?"
"Plumbing.The Waterfall Suite is still out of commission, and they specifically requested it."She scrolls through her tablet."But we do have Mr.Patterson arriving tomorrow for his annual leaf-peeping weekend."
"Mr.Patterson."I brighten slightly."The retired English teacher who tips housekeeping in haikus?"
"That's the one.He's already sent his first poem."Mira clears her throat dramatically."October rain falls/The inn awaits like old friend/Gluten-free menu?"
"I'll alert the kitchen."I pause."Wait, what kitchen?I'm the kitchen."
"About that..."Mira shifts uncomfortably."There's been a slight mix-up with the Johnsons' wedding party."
"What kind of mix-up?"
"The kind where they think we're providing a five-course tasting menu for thirty people next Saturday night."
Buttercup chooses this moment to voice her opinion with a bleat that sounds suspiciously like laughter.
"Thirty people."I stare at Mira."They want me to cook a five-course meal for thirty people?With what?My grandmother's 1960s electric range and my vast experience making scrambled eggs?"
"You make excellent scrambled eggs.”
"Mira, I once set water on fire.Literally.The fire department still tells that story at their Christmas party."
"Maybe we could cater?"
"With what money?"I gesture to the foreclosure notice still lurking on my desk like a paper vulture."My budget is held together with duct tape and false optimism."
Before Mira can respond, the bell above the front door chimes.We both freeze, listening to the sounds of someone entering the lobby.
"Were we expecting anyone?"I ask.
"Not until tomorrow."Mira checks her tablet again."Unless Mr.Patterson is early.Which would be weird because his haikus are very specific about arrival times."
I set Buttercup on the floor, where she immediately begins investigating my waste basket."I'll go check.You stay here and figure out how to turn 'we can't cook for thirty people' into something that sounds like 'exclusive intimate dining experience.'"
"That's not how reality works," Mira calls after me.
"Reality is highly overrated," I call back, heading for the lobby.
I round the corner expecting to find Mr.Patterson with his collection of autumn-themed scarves and his leather-bound poetry journal.
Instead, I nearly trip over my own boots.
