Chapter 3

Early that morning, Gwen watched as the group of middle-aged women who’d booked almost all the inn’s rooms got ready to go hiking. It was already raining, but that didn’t stop the group that had dubbed themselves the Furies.

Apparently, they all loved Greek mythology and loved to imagine themselves as terrifying monsters. When in reality, they were mostly polite older ladies with a love for extra-hot coffee and gaudy scarves.

The leader of the Furies, Helen, was going around to each member to inspect their pack and footwear.

“Alice, you can’t wear sandals. We’re going ~hiking, ~not a jaunt to the beach,” said Helen.

“These sandals are specifically for hiking! I got them online.”

“That’s not a thing. There are rocks, and it’s raining. Go put on the right shoes. I’m not carrying you when your feet start to hurt.”

Alice grumbled but did as she was told. Helen was a tall, thin woman with a pointy chin, a pointy nose, and a decidedly pointy personality.

When she’d first booked the rooms, she’d told Gwen that she didn’t want “any of that extra crap that costs an arm and a leg.” Gwen had assured Helen that there would be no “extra crap” on the bill.

Another member of the group had donned a hat with a mosquito net, even though there weren’t mosquitoes on the island. Another woman was hurriedly putting on mascara before Helen returned. Helen didn’t approve of makeup while hiking, either.

“Where are the lunches?” Helen appeared in front of Gwen like an apparition. “I don’t see the lunches.”

Gwen gave Helen her best the-customer-is-always-right smile. “They’re being finished up right now. Jocelyn wanted to make sure everything was as fresh as possible.”

Helen harrumphed. “You made sure my lunch was vegan? And no mushrooms, peppers, or olives?”

“Of course. I made a special note for yours.”

Helen didn’t look convinced. Gwen crossed her fingers that Jocelyn had paid attention to Gwen’s note about Helen’s lunch.

Alice had returned wearing boots that, based on how shiny they were, would be mud-splattered by the time the group returned. After Jocelyn and the staff gave everyone their bagged lunches, the group was off, Helen in the front issuing directions. It was rather like watching an army going into battle, if that army wore Lululemon sweats and oversized rain hats.

“Did you make sure Helen’s was vegan?” said Gwen to Jocelyn.

Jocelyn Gray, who was the older sister of one of Gwen’s dearest friends, had studied at a culinary school in New York City and had even spent a summer in Paris. She’d only returned to the island to help care for her ailing father. Unlike Alex, Jocelyn’s sister, Jocelyn was straightforward and rather mysterious to Gwen. Alex tended to overshare where her sister simply didn’t share.

“I made her a mushroom wrap,” replied Jocelyn.

Gwen’s eyes widening. “No mushrooms! Please tell me you’re joking.”

Jocelyn’s expression remained bland until she started laughing. “You look like you were about to shit a brick. I promise her wrap was without any animal products, mushrooms, peppers, ~or ~olives. So basically, it’s made up of air and bitterness,” added Jocelyn wryly.

“Geez, give me a heart attack, why don’t you? I already had to listen to her complaining about the coffee being too strong.”

“Didn’t she just complain a few days ago that it was too weak?”

“Exactly.”

Jocelyn chuckled. “I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying cooking for everyone. I thought this gig would just be reheating old bagels, but I can make my own dishes. I appreciate that.”

“Reheat old bagels? Now you’re insulting me,” joked Gwen.

“Hey, I’m just going off every other hotel I’ve stayed at.”

Gwen was shuffling papers from the front register, returning pens to their cups and wiping down the counter. The entrance to the bed and breakfast was an open room that served as a dining area. Behind that were Gwen’s office and the kitchen. There were two large rooms on the first floor, along with five rooms upstairs.

The inn had once been a house that Gwen had converted.

She’d made certain to retain its early twentieth-century charm, including all the random nooks and crannies that were common for these types of houses in the era. Although at times she wished for new pipes and central air conditioning on the warmer days, she wouldn’t change this place for the world.

Next door was a small plot of land with another old house on it that the Wright family had owned up until a few years ago. Due to its small size, it had never been turned into a business like a lot of places on Main Street. It was where Gwen wanted to open her restaurant–and ideally, with Jocelyn as its head chef.

Gwen gathered her nerve. “Do you know what you’ll be doing in the next few months or years? Will you be staying on the island?”

“I don’t know. Dad isn’t getting better and can’t take care of himself. And it’s too much to put on Alex completely.” Jocelyn shrugged. “More than likely I’m stuck here for a while.”

“I haven’t told anyone this—” ~except Jack Benson, that is—~”but I want to open a restaurant next door. And I’d love for you to be the head chef.” Gwen said the words in a rush.

“What kind of restaurant?”

“American, comfort food. Something that’s both high-end but...not.” Gwen laughed a little. “I should add that it might not happen. I’m still working on funding. I want to buy the house next door and convert it like I did this place. It might be a pipe dream, but you’re so talented, you deserve a position as a chef. Not just as a maker of sack lunches.”

Jocelyn was leaning against the counter, considering Gwen’s words. Gwen couldn’t tell by her face what she was thinking. Was she trying to figure out how to let Gwen down nicely?

Jocelyn was hardly a self-taught cook. She’d graduated from one of the best culinary schools in the country, for God’s sake. Her food had already won awards. The fact that she’d had to give all of that up to move to Hazel Island was a tragedy.

“I get to create the menu, the dishes, and have complete control of the kitchen?” said Jocelyn.

“Absolutely. I only know how to reheat bagels, remember?”

“Then I accept.” Jocelyn put out her hand. “For whatever that’s worth. But if you want to make this happen, I’ll help you however I can.”

Gwen shook Jocelyn’s hand, laughing incredulously. Butterflies filled her stomach. Jocelyn agreeing to this scheme, Jack helping her find funding–it made it all too real. Now she had to figure out how to do it.

“Although when you say complete control of the kitchen,” said Gwen, “do you mean I have no oversight at all?”

“I mean, I don’t want anyone who isn’t a chef to come in and tell me how to do my job.”

As the owner and manager of the inn, Gwen planned to have the same role in the restaurant. The thought of giving that control to another person made her queasy.

“I need to be able to oversee my own staff,” said Gwen.

“Micro-managing doesn’t help anyone.”

Considering Jocelyn was helping on an as-needed basis at the moment and was being paid as an independent contractor, she had more leeway in speaking to Gwen than the other members of her staff. Jessie, one of the maids, walked past the two of them and raised an inquisitive eyebrow that Gwen ignored.

“Perhaps we should go to my office,” said Gwen.

“There’s no one here.”

“You will be my employee and will report to me. Your cooks will report to you. I have no interest in interfering in your decisions as a chef, but the restaurant overall will be under my direction.”

Gwen had learned over the past five years to stick to her guns. She liked to think she was a fair boss, but she didn’t mess around, either. She expected good performances from all her employees, including herself.

Jocelyn just narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like being told what to do,” she finally said.

For whatever reason, that admittance made Gwen laugh. “Now I get why Alex says you’re bossy.”

At Gwen’s remark, Jocelyn’s expression turned a little cold. “Of course Alex says that about me to other people.”

Gwen had a feeling she’d stepped in something, but she didn’t know what it was. As Alex’s friend, Gwen had only heard snippets about Jocelyn. Alex had always sounded like a younger sister ripping into her older sibling when she’d described Jocelyn. But now Gwen wondered.

“You know Alex,” said Gwen, trying to lighten the mood. “She says a lot of things.”

She continued, “We can discuss the details later, but I promise that I don’t want to micro-manage you or anyone else. Just ask my staff. I think they’ll tell you I prefer to trust them to do their jobs than be constantly standing over their shoulder.”

Jocelyn said she’d think about it, and they both returned to work.

* * *

Gwen eventually went to her office to be alone for a few moments. She’d naively expected Jocelyn to either say yes or no, not for her to negotiate. Of course she would negotiate, Gwen reasoned. Jocelyn was a talented chef, and she didn’t want to waste her skills.

She took a deep breath, then another. She hated conflict. She hated when people were upset with her. Even though she knew that, logically, her discussion with Jocelyn had been just that–a discussion–she still felt that familiar anxiety surfacing.

Her ex-husband had loved conflict, or at least, that was what it had felt like to Gwen. Tim had liked to pick fights with not only her but anyone else close to him. At the beginning of their marriage, Gwen had tried her best to keep Tim happy and to avoid any possible conflict.

If it had meant that she’d had to load the dishwasher the way he liked it, or that she’d needed to wash his clothes in a particular brand of detergent, she’d done it. She hadn’t minded. She’d wanted to make her husband happy.

Tim Harrington had been Gwen’s high school sweetheart. He’d been a year older than her, and when he’d asked her out, she’d jumped at the chance. Who would’ve said no to the cute basketball player with dreamy blue eyes? He’d taken her for burgers and milkshakes, and it had been Gwen’s dream come true.

They married when she had just turned twenty. Both of their families told them they were too young, but Gwen was in love. Tim was her soulmate. Why wait to marry when she already knew they would?

The first year of marriage was blissful. Gwen graduated from college while Tim worked at his dad’s construction business. They bought a little townhouse in the suburbs of Seattle. They talked about having kids one day.

Gwen had nothing to complain about. If their sex life was lacking, what of it? No one’s marriage was perfect, Gwen had reasoned. Besides, they had all the time in the world to learn. Gwen had been a virgin when she’d first started dated Tim, while Tim had only had sex a few times with his previous girlfriend.

Tim was attentive, at least at first. But as the months, and then years wore on, Gwen could tell he was frustrated that she needed too much foreplay. When he complained one evening that she took too long, Gwen did what she always did: she worked hard to make the other person happy.

The foreplay dried up. Soon, Gwen found sex a chore with her husband. He never hurt her; he just didn’t seem to ~see ~her. The sex would last a few minutes and then Tim would fall asleep, snoring loudly as Gwen stayed awake, wondering why she couldn’t just enjoy sex for once.

One night, four years into their marriage, Tim stopped in the middle of sex and rolled off her. He made a disgusted sound.

“Do you have to just lie there?” he snapped.

Gwen could feel herself freezing up. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

“It’s like fucking a dead person. It’s creepy.” Tim sat up. “You’re my wife, right? Because sometimes you act like you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” And she didn’t. She loved him, dearly.

Tim sighed. “I’m tired. Let’s just go to sleep.”

They didn’t talk about that night again. They had sex a few more times, but eventually, the sex disappeared entirely.

Tim picked fights with her more often, mostly about stupid things. But one day, it came to a head, when he told her there was something wrong with her.

“You’re–I don’t know!” He gesticulated wildly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

She vowed to do better. She tried to seduce her husband, but in the middle of sex, she froze up. It was like being trapped in some nightmare. She told him they had to stop, and although Tim said nothing, his frustrated sigh said everything.

Tim strayed. Gwen knew it, but she was too tired to be upset about it. When she came home to find him in their bed with his mistress, though, she decided she’d had enough. She filed for divorce and moved out. Then she’d moved to Hazel Island for a fresh start.

Gwen took a deep breath again. Jocelyn wasn’t Tim. Even though she had the urge to go back and say she’d do whatever Jocelyn wanted, she resisted.

And then, for some odd reason, she saw Jack’s face: the lines of his jaw, the creases in the corners of his eyes. How he’d stepped up to help her. Why? They were friends, yes, but she didn’t think they were that close.

Her heart fluttered. She could dream of Jack as much as she wanted. He wasn’t interested in her romantically, and she knew she shouldn’t date, anyway. Not with her issues. What guy would want to be with a woman who froze up during sex? Who was incapable of one of the most basic things on earth?

Gwen wiped away a few stray tears before returning to run her business. She might not have any romance in her life, but at least she had the inn to keep her occupied.