Only when they cleared out did Holly notice the older gentleman who’d been waiting behind them. He was vaguely familiar, but there was no doubt about the dog.
“Bruce!” she cried, hurrying out from behind the desk. Only then did she put two and two together. “Oh no.” Then she saw her neighbor’s pants. The smears of dirt, the small tear at the knee. “I am so sorry, sir.”
If all of this wasn’t enough, there was a graze on his cheek for good measure. “It’s alright,” he said, finally. He was nowhere as mad as he was the last time, and that was saying something. Holly looked him over.
“It doesn’t look alright.” She turned to Bruce. “What did you do?”
Bruce wagged.
“Your dog did the trespassing, but the fall was all my own.”
“You fell?”
“I’m fine.”
“But, sir…” This was horrible. And it was all her fault.
“Please.” He held up a hand.
“Let me at least offer you a refreshment.” She glanced at the parlor, where the Shore Birds were now chatting animatedly with the elevated bachelorettes. “How about a glass of cold water in the sitting room?”
The man looked like he was about to refuse, but then he changed his mind. “Actually, I’m a little parched.”
Holly led him to the little alcove off the lobby, and pulled out a rattan chair by the fireplace. Then she poured him a drink.
“Cucumber-and-orange water.”
He made a small face but downed it all.
“I’m Holly,” she reminded him, softly.
“I remember.” He nodded toward Bruce, who’d joined them. “I remember him, too.”
“Apologies again.” She sighed. “You don’t even like dogs.”
Ezra cocked his head. “I neither like nor dislike dogs. I just don’t think about them.”
Unimaginable as that sounded, Holly pressed on. “I still owe you that dinner.” She turned to Bruce. “And after today, probably a complimentary stay. Can I at least convince you to dine with us tonight at Harvest?” She stole a remorseful look at his torn pants. “Or tomorrow, if you’d prefer.”
He looked around. “I thought this was the Cranberry House.”
“It is. Our dining room is called Harvest.”
“How bucolic.” He shook his head. “I should get going.” Still, he didn’t get up to leave.
“At least take a look at tonight’s specials.” She dashed to the front desk and returned with a menu.
As much as it appeared to pain him, he accepted the thick leather book. Holly took the seat next to him as he perused it.
“My word. Cod köttbullar?”
“With Sandefjordsmor sauce. I know it sounds eclectic, but that’s what makes our dining experience special. Chef Greta is a marvel.”
He squinted as he read aloud. “Sour cream, chive butter, and caviar? Huh.”
“It will change your life.” Holly wasn’t offended when he snorted. This was a common first-time guest reaction. The proof was in the response: everyone came back.
He closed the menu with a decided snap. “I’m not dressed to dine out, I’m afraid.” She watched as he rose stiffly from his chair, noting that something about him seemed smaller today. Gone was the robust outrage she’d been met with the first time Bruce ran into his yard. Now he was leaving, and Holly sensed that if he did, he would not be back.
