Page 7 of The Holiday Fail

The place might be out in the sticks, but it was pretty well-loved, at least from all the reviews I’d read online. People praised it for being a winter home away from home with the very hospitable hosts and the cute, welcoming town.

Behind the front counter sat an older man, Henry—the same person who’d showed me to my room last night, and the man who currently ran the B&B with his husband.

He looked up from his newspaper when he saw me entering the lobby. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Not too bad,” I replied, though I wasn’t going to elaborate and say that had more to do with the stranger who’d lulled me into dreamland like a sleeping ASMR than anything else. “I love how you furnished the room. I can’t wait to see what you guys did for the kitchen.”

Henry laughed, and the way his eyes crinkled reminded me a bit of the man from last night. Now that I was looking closer, they had the same coloring: dirty-blond hair and brown eyes. Even their face shape was similar, with hard edges and a sharp jawline. The only thing was that the stranger had a hint of dimples even when he wasn’t smiling, and Henry didn’t.

“You really are a chef, down to your bones. Don’t worry, I won’t keep you in suspense. Let me show you to the kitchen,” he replied, then walked around the counter and gestured for me to follow him through the doorway on my right.

It led us to the dining room, where there were already a couple patrons sitting and having breakfast, mostly cereal, toast, and other easy items.

There was a swinging door on the back wall which led us into the kitchen. “And here is your new workspace,” Henry said and waved around the large area.

It was a lot bigger than I’d expected for a kitchen in a small B&B. I looked around the space, surprised to see all the shiny new appliances and how clean the whole place was.

“We renovated the kitchen when our last chef retired,” Henry commented with a chuckle. He probably saw the surprise written on my face.

Living in New York, I was used to working in cramped spaces, often sharing the place with little critters.

Yes, it was disgusting, and I tried my best to keep the mice out, but New York had an infestation problem. Even the cleanest kitchens there had a tiny furry companion or two, never mind the small, dingy kitchens I’d worked in.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t have to worry about rodents here though. Sparkling ceramic tiled floors, stainless steel appliances, and a solid fridge that would keep all the food fresh and any outside pests out. And not to mention the gas stove. It was a fucking wet dream. Six open-top burners, a freaking charbroiler, and two ovens!

Fated Encounters might as well have plucked this straight out of my dreams. This was miles above the last restaurant I worked at, and I had to pinch myself—discreetly—to make sure this was real. That this was going to bemykitchen.

“I’m guessing you approve of the renovation?” Henry’s voice shocked me out of the little fanboy moment I had going on. I spun to him, trying not to seem overeager.

Be casual.

I didn’t want to come off like I was some novice, who was easily impressed and didn’t know what I was doing. I tried to sound nonchalant and said, “The place looks great. I can’t wait to get started.”

And okay, my voice might have gone up a fraction at the end of the statement, but I tried disguising the fact by clearing my throat.

Henry was all smiles and had a twinkle in his eye that said I wasn’t fooling him. At least he wasn’t pointing it out.

“There you two are,” a voice that sounded vaguely familiar said from the door.

Henry strode to the newcomer, wrapped him in his arms,then placed the loudest kiss on his cheek. “Did you miss me already, honey?”

The man rolled his eyes and tried to push Henry’s face away, but Henry was bigger and stronger and kept his grip on him tight. “Our son came by to drop off the key earlier. Have you talked to him? Something seemed off.”

“I heard he was at Dove’s Fountain last night, so maybe he was just hungover?” Henry suggested.

“Maybe,” the other man replied, then turned his focus to me. “You must be Andy. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Oh! Yes, let me officially introduce you. This is my lovely husband, Peter. Peter Li. He’s the one who did your phone interview,” Henry said.

I could practically see the stars in his eyes when he looked at his husband. It was hard to believe love like that actually existed.

My parents had barely tolerated each other, and I suspected they stayed together more for financial reasons than anything else. New York was expensive.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said and shook his outstretched hand.

Now that Henry wasn’t all over the man, I could see Peter’s features better. He was handsome, with thick eyebrows and a youthfulness about him that made it hard to infer his age. Though from what Henry had told me about Peter during the interview—and he’d told me a lot. The man could talk about his husband for hours—they’d been childhood friends and had gotten together in their twenties.

Henry had talked his husband to the moon, saying Peter hadn’t even batted an eye about starting a relationship with him when his ex had surprised him with a baby she wanted nothing to do with. Henry had moved back to Wintertown, and Peterwelcomed him with open arms. The rest was history, as he’d say.

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