LITMIR.BIZ

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hand?” she asked.

      I fumbled some more, and tried my best to look piqued. “What I need is some time away from all of this.” I gestured to my notebook, which was filled with loping red scribbles.

      She gave me a sympathetic arm-squeeze. “Why don’t you take some time off tomorrow? I’m sure we can cover for you.”

      Dang it. “Erm. Maybe. What about you, Isla? I’ve been so busy I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling. How are you settling in here?”

      She flicked the kettle on. “I’m great. Beat, you know, but that’s part of the job. It’s a good kind of tired. The garden is really taking shape.” She flashed a smile and pottered about making coffee, grabbing a tin of biscuits.

      I leaned back, rocking on my chair. “And what about the other staff? No problems with anyone?” Gosh, I couldn’t work out how to bring the conversation around to Micah without making it blindingly obvious. Was I losing my touch as matchmaker?

      “Everyone’s been great, really friendly and supportive.” She held up an empty cup toward me and I nodded yes for coffee.

      “If you need an extra pair of hands, let me know. With the party deadline, I know I’ve put you under pressure and I’m sure Micah can help you.”

      At the mention of his name she flushed scarlet. “Oh… yes. About that.” She chewed her lip while she pondered.

      “What is it?” I urged her on.

      Her gaze darted over my shoulder to the hallway, and as she turned back she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Can I ask you something… and I hope you won’t take it the wrong way?” She fidgeted with the handle of her cup.

      “Sure.”

      “Are you and Micah… like, together?” She looked downright mortified at her question.

      I furrowed my brow. “A couple?”

      She nodded. “Sorry if it’s too personal, I just wondered…you seem to be so in tune.”

      I shook my head, and laughed. “No, no, he’s like the brother I never had. Just best friends. And we’re in tune because we’ve known each other for a million years. Why do you ask?” I tried not to grin, but my lips twitched in spite of it. She liked him!

      Her face flushed a deeper shade of scarlet, bringing out her freckles. “Sorry, I just wondered. I’m not interested in him or anything like that.” A nervous, high-pitched giggle escaped.

       Sure.

      I kept my mouth shut and hoped she’d explain herself to break the silence.

      “It’s only… I just thought, well, urgh…” She played with the length of her ponytail and tried to compose herself. “He just seems like a really amazing guy, and I thought there was no way he’d be single, and I was curious. Just curious.”

      “He’s single. Totally single.” She wasn’t paying attention; her eyes were glazed as if she was stuck in a daydream. Time to move on to Operation Cupid. “Hey, do you want to meet in town for lunch tomorrow? My aunt owns the Puft bakery and I’ve found the best way to recharge and re-energize is by stuffing my face full of sugary snacks. What do you say?”

      With a few blinks she was back to me. “I’d love to. I’ve walked past it and been meaning to stop in.”

      “So, meet there at lunchtime?”

      “Deal.”

      I picked up the paperwork, and my cup of coffee. “I’d better make some inroads then. See you tomorrow.”

      I went and found Micah and spun the same story. He eagerly accepted, though was concerned about the toll Cedarwood was taking on me. “I’m fine, Micah. Nothing an hour off with my best friend won’t fix, right?” I gave him a dazzling smile, all the while wondering what kind of wedding dress would suit Isla. What flowers she’d choose for her bouquet…

      “Right,” he grinned, none the wiser. “So, lunchtime? We’ll drive there together?”

      Shoot! “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you there. I’ve got some errands to run… erm… afterwards.”

      He was busy masking up the stairwell bannister for the painters, and nodded distractedly. “OK, sure, I’ll drive myself there.”

      “Perfect. And my treat too.”

      He laughed. “Now you’re talking.”

       Chapter Eight

      “So, canapés, my darling!” Georges, the caterer, brandished a plate of tiny morsels that had my mouth watering. He was a big, round, jovial sort, with a shiny, bald head and a whopping great laugh. I’d known him ever since I was a little girl when he worked for Aunt Bessie before starting his own catering company. Unfortunately, his business was flailing, according to word around town. I felt for Georges – it would’ve been darn near impossible to make a living here catering. He traveled far and wide for clients out of necessity, but the costs were exorbitant and ate into his profit. Today he’d arrived with tasting plates for the canapés for Imelda’s party and I hoped we’d be able to work together going forward.

      “Georges, wow. I wasn’t expecting anything so inventive! These look amazing! What’s this?” I pointed to a shot glass filled with yellow soup, and topped with some kind of mini bread.

      “That’s a saffron and prawn bisque with shrimp toast. Very popular. And this…” He pointed to a Chinese soupspoon filled with fragrant meat and fresh herbs. “…Is Peking duck-inspired. All of these are miniature versions of gourmet meals. There’s not a prawn cocktail or chicken skewer in sight!”

      I let out a volley of laughter. Poor Georges – how I’d underestimated him. “Sorry, Georges. It was unforgiveable, what I said. I thought…”

      “You thought because we live in a backwater my culinary skills were also stuck in the nineties. It’s OK. I get it.” His rotund body shimmied as he laughed. “Let’s take a look at the kitchen,” Georges said, bundling up our napkins.

      I gathered up the tasting plates and followed behind.

      “There’s one problem, Georges. The kitchen is not exactly finished. Or…” I gulped. “…Even started yet. But it will be. Trust me, by party time you’ll have yourself a shiny new spick and span space with all the modern gadgets you could ask for.” I only hoped that was true. Our craftsman was dillydallying and time was running out. We wandered into the kitchen, Georges casting a keen eye over the old cooktop.

      He folded his arms over his chef whites and his face paled to match. “When are they starting it?”

      “Soon,” I said. “Very soon.”

      Georges sighed good-naturedly and shook my hand, silently agreeing on a partnership I hoped would last us decades. “I can see this being the start of a beautiful friendship.” He winked and laughed that deep, belly cackle of his. “Let’s just hope I don’t have to cook in this…”

      The next day I bounced out of bed and went to my office, taking a pot of coffee big enough to drown in, planning to tick off my to-do list. I updated social media for the Lodge, sharing more photos, and checking the insights to see how the pages were growing. I had an enquiry about a baby shower, which I replied to, sending examples of menus and room styles and sizes. I tried not to worry about the salons being finished on time, and instead focused on responding enthusiastically about Cedarwood’s charms. It was only an enquiry, not a booking, so I could panic later if they wanted to go ahead.

      Next on the list was gathering interest for the wedding expo. I uploaded some stunning black and white shots of the chapel from a distance. Its rustic façade would make a great backdrop for professional wedding photos. I searched for

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