Page 6 of Promised Love

“I’m always on your side, kid, and that’s why I’m following your mom’s instructions carefully.” He picks up a paper from his desk and waves it in the air.

I don’t know if he’s joking, but knowing my mom, it’s certainly possible he isn’t.

I raise an eyebrow. “I hope I’m doing okay.”

“You’re exceeding everyone’s expectations.”

My chest fills with pride and happiness as I leave for my office.

* * *

“Arianna told me that Mr. and Mrs. Hardy couldn’t stop raving about you.” Chiara picks up a nacho from the bowl resting on the balcony couch and dips it into the fresh guacamole I got from the inn’s kitchen.

“Yeah? That’s so nice of them.”

“Did they get extra attention because the man was a retired Marine?” A slow smile builds on her lips, and I quickly look away.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been besties since kindergarten, Auttie. I know all your secrets. Did you write to him recently?”

“Who?” I shrug, but as always, my heart has started to race at the subtle reference to him.

She chuckles, which I find equally frustrating and amusing. “You really want me to spell it out in clear words. Your husband, Mrs. Spencer.”

“Hey. Shush.” I quickly look around, making sure no one’s listening. Even though it’s already eleven at night and we have just two employees, including the night manager, it’s possible that some sleepless guest is strolling in the gardens.

“As much as I love that you’re out of your house and living independently, we’d have more privacy if it wasn’t a room at the inn.” Chiara’s nose wrinkles as she looks around.

“It’s a suite.” I cross my arms over my chest, ready to defend my beloved place. I moved here six months back after a long and exhausting round of convincing my family. “Plus, it has its own perks.” I motion toward the spread before us. It was Mexican night at the inn.

“That’s so true!” Chiara squeals. “Why would anyone cook when you can be inside Suzie St. Hill’s kitchen in two steps?”

“Exactly.”

She clears her throat. “But coming back to him. Do you remember the day you first found out about him? We’d sneaked out for the concert.”

“Of course. It was the first time I ever passed out.”

2

AUTUMN

Six years ago

I lock my bike to the fence and hang my school bag over my shoulder, prancing toward the inn, my second home. As I pass by, I run my hand over the wooden sign with the inn’s name and trace the two butterflies above it. While crossing the kitchen window, the warm smell of spices assaults my senses. Our renowned chef, Suzie St. Hill, must have already started preparing for tonight’s rehearsal dinner.

I hop onto the porch and find Mom dressed in a billowy floral sapphire top, white jeans, and flats. Before the party starts tonight, she’ll change into an evening dress and heels.

She’s giving the final tweaks to a flower arrangement that is already perfect. That’s not only because she has the most competent staff—which she does, by the way—but she was also probably standing right here when they executed her idea.

Saying my mom is an involved boss is an understatement.

“Weren’t you supposed to be here earlier?” She pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheeks. “Please tell me you took the bus.”

When I don’t reply but give her a smug smile, her hands rest on her thin waist. “Autumn Smith, that bike of yours is a death trap. Someday a speeding car will run over you.”

Her face pales as if she just imagined that scenario. Mom runs her hands over her arms, a nervous habit of hers, which I inherited of course.

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