pulled open the oven door and drew out a tray of cookies sprinkled with red-and-green sugar. She set them on the rack she’d left on the counter in the Cupid’s Hideaway kitchen before she turned back to her grandmother. “You can’t have a new guest checking in. You’re completely booked. It’s Christmas in July week, and the tourists are everywhere. You’ve been booked for months.”
Maisie Templeton breathed in the aroma and gave the cookies an approving smile. “I was booked,” she said. “The Crawfords.” Maisie was the least inhibited person Meg had ever known. Her grandmother was over seventy, but that didn’t stop her from pursuing her life’s passion: Cupid’s Hideaway, an island bed-and-breakfast inn known for its unique decor, its loyal clientele and the fact that the fluffy little old lady who owned it didn’t just encourage romance, she aided and abetted it.
But at the mention of the Crawfords, even Maisie’s cheeks went a little dusky under the coating of pink blusher she wore. “You remember them. They visited last summer, around this time. They were the ones who—”
“The ones we had to call the police about!” Meg rolled her eyes. She remembered the Crawfords, all right. So did everyone else on South Bass Island. The Crawfords and their exploits were already legendary in the annals of island gossip. Medium-aged. Mediumsized. Medium-temperament people. Bland as TV dinners. Or at least that was what Meg had thought when she’d seen them arrive.
Who would’ve guessed that a little game they’d been playing with a pair of furry handcuffs and a bottle of peppermint-flavored massage oil—which they’d purchased from the Cupid’s Hideaway gift store—would result in not one but both Crawfords getting stuck in the closet of the Love Me Tender room?
Meg stifled a laugh, but only because she remembered how upset Maisie had been by the whole incident. Not that she was embarrassed. It would take a whole lot more than Mary and Glenn Crawford’s wild imaginations to embarrass Maisie. No, her grandmother had been honestly distressed. After all, she believed that as innkeeper, it was her duty to make sure her guests enjoyed their stay at Cupid’s Hideaway. And the very idea that they’d had to call not only the island police but half the volunteer fire department just to get the Crawfords unstuck….
Meg hid a half smile by turning back to her cookies. She tested the temperature with one finger and carefully lifted each one off the cookie sheet with a spatula. “What, they got arrested somewhere for something they were up to?”
“No. No. Not arrested.” Behind her, she heard Maisie pour a cup of coffee. “They had to cancel. Something about appearing on a TV show. ‘Life’s Most Embarrassing Moments.’”
“More power to them.” Meg finished with the cookies and wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing. She leaned against the counter, accepting the china mug of coffee Maisie offered. “So how many more for breakfast tomorrow?” she asked.
“Just one.” Maisie poured a mug of coffee for herself. Using sterling silver sugar tongs, she added three lumps, then enough cream to make an ordinary person’s cholesterol jump at least a dozen points. But if there was one thing Meg knew about Maisie, it was that she was far from ordinary. As if she needed further proof, Maisie grinned at Meg over the rim of her cup.
Meg had seen that look before. All twinkles and smiles. All sweetness and light. She knew it meant Maisie was up to no good.
“A man,” Maisie said. Her blue eyes glowed. “A man named Gabriel Morrison. He’s checking in. By himself.”
There was nothing for Meg to get defensive about. She knew that. Which didn’t explain why her shoulders stiffened and her stomach tensed. “So?” She sounded defensive, too, and she gave herself a mental kick in the pants. “So you’re telling me this because…”
“I’m telling you this because it isn’t often we get single men here at the Hideaway. It’s a honeymoon spot, a romantic spot. Our guests are usually couples. And when couples check in here, they usually have their minds on—”
“I know exactly what they have their minds on.” The exact same thing Meg had been trying not to have her mind on since she’d returned to the island after trying life on the mainland. Rather than explain it to Maisie, as she’d tried to explain it so many times before, she headed to the refrigerator. She counted the eggs, made sure there was enough butter, did a quick survey of the pecans, raisins and cream she’d bought to make a batch of her famous sticky breakfast rolls. Satisfied that she was all set, she closed the refrigerator and turned around.
Of course, Maisie didn’t back down an inch. She was stationed next to the marble-topped table where Meg made bread, and she had the nerve to look as innocent as the baby goldfinches that chirped their heads off in the nest right outside the kitchen window.
“What they have on their minds isn’t what I want to have on my mind,” she reminded Maisie. “I told you, Grandma, I’ve given up waiting for Prince Charming. Prince Charming has left the building. And I’m pretty sure he’s left the island, the state and the continent. Besides…” Because it didn’t look as if Maisie believed her protests any more than Meg did, she decided to change course. “Just because this Gabriel Morrison is coming here by himself doesn’t mean a thing. He might be meeting someone.”
“I don’t think so. He tried for a room at the hotel over near the park. They’re booked. Christmas in July, you know.”
“And that means he’s not meeting someone because…”
“Because he would’ve asked for a room for two. And when Janice from the hotel called to see if we had any rooms available—”
“You asked.”
“Of course I asked.” Maisie pulled herself up to her full five-foot, one-inch height and threw back shoulders that were just this side of scrawny. “It’s my duty. As innkeeper. I have to know who’s staying here. And if a man’s bringing a woman, it’s my duty—as innkeeper—to remind him that we have a wide selection of products in the Love Shack designed to please them both.”
“Yeah.” This time, Meg couldn’t help herself. She had to laugh. “Like they pleased the Crawfords?”
“They were smiling when they left here.” Maisie’s eyes twinkled. “But that hardly matters. The Crawfords were the exception to the rule.” Her grandmother glanced from Meg’s brightly painted toenails peeking out of her sandals to the curly red hair she’d wound into a long braid. “Kind of like a beautiful woman who refuses to get out and try to meet a man.”
“Grandma, I told you. I’m just not ready. Not yet. Someday maybe I will be. Someday, when I find someone different.” Although it was ancient—and best forgotten history—Meg felt the familiar pang of emptiness. “Someone who isn’t Ben.”
Before Maisie could respond and remind her, as she always did, that the past was past and the future was what mattered, the little brass bell inside the front door rang, announcing their guest. How she’d timed it so perfectly, Meg couldn’t imagine, but Maisie chose that exact moment to hurry into the wide pantry on the far side of the kitchen. She waved Meg toward the front of the inn. “Get that for me, will you?” she called.
Meg sighed and slipped her apron over her head. She knew a losing battle when she saw one. She ought to; she’d been fighting—and losing—battles with Maisie all her life. She didn’t exactly hold Maisie’s persistence against her. She couldn’t. Though Maisie could be meddlesome, she was well-intentioned. There were only three things she put more energy into than Cupid’s Hideaway: Doc Ross, the retired family practitioner she
