Page 44

"Nope," Emma squeaked, grabbing three boxes at once. "Just talking about... roofs."

Victoria raised an eyebrow. She looked at Lucy, then back at Emma, her lips twitching. "Fascinating. I'll be in the study if anyone needs to discuss roofing."

She turned and walked out, but Emma caught the quiet sound of her laughter trailing down the hallway.

✽✽✽

By two in the afternoon, the rain had stopped, but the inn had erupted into chaos. Four groups of guests were arriving early for the festival. A delivery driver had parked his van across the driveway.

Emma stood behind the desk, typing a code into the computer with one hand while holding a stack of towels against her hip. She was running on adrenaline.

Victoria stepped behind the desk beside her. "Give me the towels," she murmured, taking the stack from Emma's arm and turning to the couple waiting to check in. "Welcome to Rosebrook. You must be the Whitmores."

For the next forty-five minutes, Emma watched Victoria work. Over the last three weeks, Victoria had absorbed every operational detail. When Mr. Whitmore asked for a walking path, Victoria was already sliding a map across the desk. When the card machine jammed, Victoria reset the terminal with a quick sequence of buttons before Emma could even reach for it.

They moved behind the desk like a dance. Their shoulders brushed. Their hands grazed over the guestbook. Victoria was a machine of efficiency, but there was a grace to it that made Emma’s chest ache. It was frightening. Being attracted to Victoria's looks was one thing. Being attracted to her mind, to the way she effortlessly carried half of Emma's burden, was an attraction you couldn't just walk away from.

"That's the last of them," Victoria said, sliding the keyboard back as the final couple headed upstairs.

Emma let out a breath, leaning against the counter. "You're getting good at this. If the estate or finance thing doesn't work out, you have a solid future as a receptionist."

Victoria leaned her side against the desk, the Breton shirt pulling slightly. "I doubt Rosebrook could afford my rate."

"Fair point." Emma smiled. She glanced at the hall clock. "We have an hour before the vendors get here. We should probably set up the sunroom."

As they carried a tray of teacups through the hallway, the afternoon sunlight filtered through the panes of the sunroom. Emma set the tray down. "Thank you. For earlier. With the check-ins."

"It's my estate too, Emma. I'm supposed to help," Victoria said, arranging the napkins.

"I know. But you didn't have to learn the quirks. Joe would have loved watching you run that desk."

Victoria’s hands stopped. She looked up, her expression softening. It was the first time Emma had brought up Joe so casually since the truth about the letters had come out.

"He always wanted to expand," Emma continued, her voice quiet. "He thought the barn out back could be converted into a bakery and a café. He knew I wanted to bake full-time."

Victoria leaned against the edge of the table. "Why haven't you?"

"Money. And time." Emma shrugged. "Running this place takes everything I have. I've got the plans drawn up in a notebook somewhere, but it was just a pipe dream."

Victoria didn't offer a pitying smile. Instead, her eyes narrowed slightly, her mind visibly calculating. "The margins on coffee and baked goods are higher than standard hospitality. If you structured it right, a café in that barn could subsidize the inn during the off-season."

Emma stared at her. Victoria was talking about her dream as if it were a tangible reality. "You're doing that thing," Emma whispered.

Victoria focused back on her, tilting her head. "What thing?"

"The numbers thing. You're analyzing my pipe dream."

Victoria stepped closer. For a small moment, a strange, dark shadow crossed her eyes—a sudden tightness in her jaw as if something had painfully caught in her throat. But she blinked it away instantly, the veneer slipping back to reveal a quiet warmth.

"It's not a pipe dream, Emma," Victoria said softly, her gaze dropping to Emma’s lips before snapping back to her eyes. "It's a viable model. And you are good at what you do."

Emma's mouth opened, the words tangling in her throat right as the sunroom doors rattled open.

"Right, let's get this over with," Gary, the owner of the pub, stomped into the room, trailing three damp vendors behind him.

Emma took a step back, her cheeks flushing as she grabbed the teapot.

Within ten minutes, twelve vendors were seated around the table. Emma stood at the head, holding the layout clipboard. She passed the maps down the table.