When I step into the lobby, the inn’s owner, a woman in her fifties named Tessa, gives me a knowing smile.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite baker,” she says.
“Hi, Tessa.”
“Looking for the festival lady?” she asks, way too perceptive.
I rub the back of my neck. “Is she here?”
“Conference room,” Tessa says. “You can go back, she’s alone. People were in and out earlier, but they cleared out twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Good luck,” she adds.
Wonderful. No doubt the entire town will be talking come nighttime.
I walk down the short hall and stop outside the conference room door. My heart is beating harder than it should for a simple conversation.
I knock.
“Come in,” Charlotte calls.
I open the door and she’s standing at the far end of the room, surrounded by papers and mockup boards. She has her hair pulled back, glasses perched on her nose, and a pen between her teeth. She looks like she has been in planning mode for hours.
When she sees me, she stops. The pen drops onto the table. “Hi,” she says. Her voice is soft and willowy, and once again, that pull is here, stronger than ever.
“Hey,” I say, my own voice sounds rougher than usual.
“I thought you were at the bakery,” she says.
“I was,” I answer. “I’m supposed to be, but I took a break.”
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I just… needed to talk to you.”
Silence spreads and my stomach clenches. God, I’m not good at this.
“Okay,” she says. “Do you want to sit?”
I look at the table then I look at her. “No,” I say. “I think if I sit, I might not say what I need to say.”
That earns a small smile from her. “Alright. Shoot.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, then pull them out again. I’m too restless.
“About yesterday,” I say.
Her face goes a little pink, I watch as she swallows. “The kiss.”
“Yeah,” I say. “That.”
She nods slowly, her eyes are void of emotion and I don’t like it. “Do you regret it?”
The question lands heavy between us.
“No,” I say immediately. “That’s not… I don’t regret it.”
