Page 7 of Forget Me Not

“Just tell him all the nuts are stuck on a boat in Portland, so we’re waiting on them.”

Gran sighs. I swear my grandmother has gotten more melodramatic in her older age.

Not that I envy her. I wouldn’t tell Pap his prized pistachios won’t be arriving until next week, either.

I swear, he eats so many, he’s in danger of turning into one.

“Let me tell him,” I offer, but she shakes her head, accepting her grim defeat.

“No, I’ll tell him. You just know how he is.”

“Old and cranky?” Manto, our cook chuckles from the grill and Gran nods enthusiastically.

“You married him,” I point out, chuckling as I mash up more mashed potatoes.

“I sure did.”

“Nova!” Tara, Manto’s fiancé calls from the kitchen door of the inn restaurant where I’m attempting to help Manto catch up for the night.

Mark my words, the moment we get the funds, we’re hiring a second evening cook.

Maybe.

“We need help at the bar,” Tara chimes, her face flushed and her black hair shiny in her ponytail. It’s hot and while Gran is in a sweater and sweatpants, we’re all running around like walking heat strokes.

Internally, I want to scream because I hate Friday nights at the inn. Well . . . I love them because I love this place, but I hate how I can never seem to catch up. It’s like the entire town flocks to the restaurant and bar attached to the rest of the building and everyone brings their extended family along for the ride. I’ve been running non-stop since four when I dropped the cat food off in Pap’s office and took over for Beth, the morning manager.

Life of an heiress of an old inn on a tiny island in the Atlantic. Never glamorous. Not easy. Sometimes, fun.

Honestly, though, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s home. Always

The Port Nova Inn has been a center for the community since Pappap and Gran bought it when they were my age. Mom grew up here. I spent nearly every summer here. It’s my family’s entire legacy and I’m due to inherit it when Gran and Pap think I’m ready.

Too bad I don’t feel like I’ll ever be ready. With Pap getting older, the building is starting to fall into disrepair. We do a pretty good job of keeping it hidden, but the place is in desperate need of some TLC.

Unfortunately, I have no idea how to replace busted floorboards. How to fix busted electrical sockets or the broken furnace that needs repaired before the winter.

Guess I’ll just add it to the list of things that keep me up at night.

“On it,” I tell Tara. She nods quickly, disappearing out the door she came from with a tray of food.

“Go,” Manto says, giving me a smile. “I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the best chef this town has ever seen. Of course, I do.”

I can’t help but laugh. As far as patience goes, Manto is a saint. He’s never stressed about being busy. He’s never too tired to push through. He’s steady and that’s something Tara needs after a life of really unsteady men.

“Thank you,” I breathe, moving towards the door.

“And drink some water,” he calls after me. “You’re flushed.”

I’m more than flushed. I’m hot. It’s been a scorching month on the island. Luckily, the breeze coming off the Atlantic helps to cool it down, but it doesn’t do any good in the inn. I think the AC is broken, but unfortunately, I don’t have an HVAC certificate that tells me what the hell to do with it.

The internet will only get you so far.

Out in the restaurant, the place is packed. It’s dinner rush and everyone’s laughing, eating, drinking. One thing I will say about the Port Nova Inn— what we lack in décor and working air conditioning, we make up for with the food and cheer.

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