Noises drifted up the stairs. Women’s voices. Meg, she wondered, come to visit her mother?
Lauren took another look at the notes spread out over the white duvet cover. Her grin broadened. She could tell Meg. She waswriting. She couldn’t wait to tell Meg.
She stumbled to the bathroom and then downstairs. She felt tired and shaky, cramped and... Well, pretty fabulous, actually. But she needed a brain break. And carbs. She was starving.
More voices, more noise as she rounded the beautifully restored banister. The hundred-year-old inn had been painstakingly restored with natural wood and warm, rich colors. But Tess Fletcher had a knack for the kind of homey touches that kept the Pirates’ Rest from feeling too much like a museum or another hotel. A sea grass basket filled with shells stood by the door; a vase of big yellow sunflowers nodded on the table; a stack of colorful towels under the stairs waited for guests going to or coming from the beach.
A burst of laughter penetrated from the kitchen. Lauren smiled at the sound and then hesitated outside the swinging door.Homey, but notherhome. She didn’t want to intrude on the Fletchers’ family space or Meg’s time.
But the prospect of creeping quietly back to her room, away from the laughter, away from thefood, was remarkably unappealing. She knocked once and nudged open the door.
“Oh.”
The kitchen was a rainbow of summer dresses and flowers and candles and food. A party.
Lauren stopped on the threshold, abruptly aware of her jeans, tank top, and outsider status. “I’m so sorry, I just...”
Meg, in bright red, came forward, champagne glass in hand. “Lauren! Is everything all right?”
“Fine,” Lauren assured her.
Meg’s eyes narrowed.
Lauren held up her hand in I-swear fashion. “Honest. I, um, kind of lost track of the time. Working.”
Meg’s smile flashed. “Well, that deserves a celebration. Come have cake. I’ll introduce you around.”
She wanted to. The warmth of the room tugged her forward. The smells were amazing. On the table behind Meg, the cake, already sliced, shared pride of place with a loose arrangement of black-eyed Susans and fat orange roses. Lauren’s stomach rumbled.
“Is that Jane’s lemon mascarpone five-layer cake?”
“Nothing but the best.”
“Maybe I could take a slice upstairs? I don’t want to crash your party.”
A pretty woman with coppery hair came over. “It’s my party, and I’d love for you to join us. Kate Dolan.” She held out her hand, her grin as wide and shiny as the sea at dawn. “I’m getting married on Monday.”
Her joy was irresistible. Contagious. Lauren smiled back. “I heard. To Luke Fletcher. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. And this is Taylor,” Kate said, drawing the girl to her side.
“Yeah, we’ve met.” Lauren smiled at Meg’s eleven-year-old niece. “I like your dress.”
“Thanks. I have to wear one for the wedding, too. Do you want a sandwich?”
“I would, but—”
“Please stay. We have more than enough,” Tess said.
“Well...” She was engulfed by their kindness, swept up by their welcome.
“We’re going to watch a movie,” Taylor said. “I picked it out.”
“What did you pick?” NotThe Hangover. Taylor was only eleven.Bridesmaids?
“Princess Bride.”
Lauren’s confusion must have shown on her face.
