Page 8 of Fall Surprises
"Don't touch my prep!" He grabbed my wrist before I could move the pan, his grip firm but gentle. "Everything is exactly where I need it."
"I need these photos for my business!"
"And I need to finish cooking before this food gets cold!"
We stood too close, his hand still wrapped around my wrist, both breathing hard. His eyes blazed with more than anger—frustration, maybe, or something deeper I was at a loss to name.
"Let go," I said quietly.
He released me immediately, but neither of us stepped back.
"You don't understand," I tried again, softening my tone. "This wedding is everything for my career. These photos, this content—it's how I prove I can deliver at this level."
"What you need is to stop treating everything like it exists solely for brand recognition." He turned back to the stove, but his movements were jerky now, his usual grace disrupted. "Somethings are meant to be experienced, not documented on social media."
"Says the man hiding in the middle of nowhere," I shot back before I could stop myself.
His shoulders tensed. "At least I'm not selling my soul for likes and followers."
"At least I'm not so afraid of failure that I've given up trying."
The words hung between us, sharp as his knives. I saw them land—the way his jaw clenched, the muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek.
I'd gone too far. I knew it instantly, but pride kept me from apologizing.
He reached for his container of chopped herbs—fresh parsley, cilantro, and chives—but his hand shook slightly. As he moved to add them to the eggs, I shifted position to get a better angle with my phone.
My elbow caught the container. It teetered. I grabbed for it, but my hand only knocked it further, sending it crashing to the floor. Green herbs exploded across the counter and scattered over the tile.
"Goddammit!" Gus exploded. "Are you trying to sabotage me?"
"It was an accident!"
"An accident that wouldn't have happened if you weren't treating my kitchen like your personal photo studio!"
"If you weren't so paranoid about being photographed—"
"ENOUGH!"
Rory's voice cracked like a whip. She stood in the doorway, face flushed, eyes blazing with anger I wouldn't have thought the gentle innkeeper capable of. Behind her, Cass appeared, expression grim.
"The family in the dining room can hear every word," Rory continued, her voice icy now. "The twins think you're having a 'really big fight,' and the baby is crying."
Shame washed over me. I glanced at Gus and saw my own mortification reflected in his face.
"I'm so sorry," I said to Rory. "That was unprofessional."
"We both were," Gus added, bending to pick up the spilled herbs.
Rory looked between us, her expression unreadable. "Gus, didn't you mention yesterday you needed to pick up apples and pumpkins from the local farms?"
He straightened slowly, wariness crossing his features. "Yeah, for the wedding menu."
"Perfect." Rory's smile could have cut glass. "Sam, the wedding party doesn't arrive until tomorrow. You clearly need to relax before you give yourself a stroke. Gus will take you to Hartley's Apple Orchard and Cullen's Pumpkin Patch this afternoon."
"I don't have time for—" I started.
"You have nothing but time," Rory interrupted, her tone leaving no room for debate. "Everything's ready for tomorrow. Your timelines are color-coded, your vendors are confirmed, and you're wound tighter than a spring. Go experience what makes Wintervale special. That's an order."
