Page 18 of The Lucky One

“What?” Bridget straightens.

“This counter is different.” I wonder what else is different, shifting and blending to meet both of our desires. My eyes travel the rest of the kitchen, taking mental notes as I go.

“From when?”

“From when I stayed here last time. And what it looked like until yesterday. What else can you tell me about this house?”

She shakes her head. “I told you what I know. Things happened when my sister and her fiancé stayed here around Christmas, but either of them would be much better to ask specifics. Everything from me would be hearsay.”

I really want to know more about this house. Most of the time, answers are more roundabout than direct, but I’ll still get more information than I have now.

“Can we talk to them? Either of them?”

Bridget tucks a hair behind her ear, the color of her nails the same color as her robe. Also new. “We could get breakfast at Holden’s bakery.”

“Which one is that?”

“The Magic Crumb. You’ll love everything he makes. He provides the baked goods for the farm, too.” She flips open her giant planner and hums as she trails her finger down the page. “We can go tomorrow.”

I crane my neck to try and see what’s written in the little color blocks scattered all over the page.

“Why can’t we go today?”

She glances up at me. “Because breakfast is there tomorrow. It’s part of The Shamrock Shuffle schedule.”

“We could still go today. It sounds good.”

And honestly, I’m less curious about how this house works and more curious about the people in her life.

“But, it’s on the schedule for tomorrow.” She straightens, her eyes flicking from me to the planner page and back again.

I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms. “Are you meeting someone there?”

“No.”

“Then we can go today.” I reach over and flip her planner closed.

“Hey!” She stares at me open-mouthed.

I feel like I’ve been enrolled in a crash course on all things Bridget. And this adds a whole new level to the joy I get pushing her buttons.

“We’re going to wing today.”

You’d think I issued her a death sentence with the silence that follows.

“But there’s a whole list?—”

“We’ll be fine. Or are you afraid you might have fun?”

She presses her lips together, her jaw moving as she chews on the inside of her lip. Without saying another word, she crosses the room and rinses her coffee cup out before washing it and setting it on the drying rack.

“Look Goldilocks?—”

“Please stop calling me that.” She faces me, her eyes pleading. “You seem to like nicknames—fine, whatever—but I didn’t break into this house. I didn’t mean to sit on you, I didn’t mean to upset your dog.”

Bailey lazily wags his tail with a couple of thumps from a few feet away.

“Noted,” I reply. “I will try to drop Goldilocks.”

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