Page 11 of The Workaholic Down the Hall

“Not today, but you never know. Your social media campaign has been bringing in the customers like you wouldn't believe.” She waved. “See you soon.”

I'd been staying at the bed and breakfast, now known as Nora's Inn, for four days and I'd made enough progress to be pretty darn proud of myself. I'd cleaned and organized the office, done some reading about running a b & b, and researched social media campaigns. Even so, Nora was easily impressed. When she said we'd been bringing in customers like you wouldn't believe, she meant we'd brought in two more guests than last weekend, which brought us to a total of six guests in a house that could currently hold eighteen.

Nora was driving me crazy. She was literally monitoring everything I ate, even going so far as to physically remove a cinnamon bun from my hand on its way to my mouth yesterday. She also insisted I rest regularly and, when I say regularly, I mean she'd allow me to work for an hour and then 'suggest' I go back to my room and lay down for an hour. I reminded myself about five hundred times a day that she was acting this way because she cared about me and that she'd be a doting and loving grandmother to my daughter and, even if she drove us both crazy, family was everything.

I'd also been maintaining my sanity by hiding my laptop and phone in my room and continuing to work when I was 'resting.' Every once in a while, I hid out in the barn Cody had renovated and watched him work on his wines. He bought grapes from another vineyard, but used his own presses and barrels to turn the grapes into wine. I understood about half of what he told me, and I couldn't taste the wine he'd made, but I figured I needed to know as much as possible about the wine we'd be selling at the Inn and about the working vineyard. Plus, it was a good excuse to get away from Nora's watchful eyes.

Something rattled in the kitchen, so I stood to make sure it wasn't a guest who needed something.

May was standing at the kitchen counter and pouring herself a bowl of cereal.

“Cereal for lunch again?” I asked.

She grinned. “It's quick and it's easy and, most importantly, it's free.”

“Don't you work at a restaurant?” I'd gotten to know May a bit better over the past few days. Noah had always talked about her like she was a silly kid who lacked ambition and direction, but I'd found her to be kind and hard-working. Sure, she lacked direction, but she was only twenty-three.

She nodded, her mouth full of cereal, but didn't offer further explanation. I figured she didn't get to take home leftovers from her job at the local diner. “You should grab a couple of cinnamon buns while Mom's out,” she said when she'd finished chewing. “I promise not to tell.” The other thing keeping me sane had been May, she'd been smuggling me good food and helping me to laugh about Nora's constant mothering and worrying.

“Good idea.” I grabbed a plate from the cabinet and a couple of cinnamon buns from a casserole dish Nora kept stocked with the sweet treats. If she ever decided running a bed and breakfast wasn't for her, she could open a bakery with decided success.

“I'm glad to run into you, actually,” I said. “I was hoping you could take some pictures of the house and the property here for ads and promotional brochures. Unfortunately, we can't pay—”

“I'll do it,” she said. “It'll be good for my portfolio. How soon do you need them?”

“The sooner the better. We just need something for advertising now. Later, we can get better pictures in the snow and with spring flowers to replace them and add to our website.”

She nodded, her gaze going distant like she was already considering the possibilities.

There was a knock at the back door, so I walked through the office/mud room and opened the door to find a man who looked to be about my age, in khaki pants and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal impressive forearms. He wasn't a bad-looking guy with brown hair, clipped short, a strong jaw, and brown eyes. He gave me a warm, friendly smile. “Hi, I'm George Gregory. Nora asked me to come by to help her out with…” His grin widened into a sheepish, aw shucks kind of a smile. “Is she around?”

“She's out right now,” I said. “But come on in. She should be back soon.”

George followed me into the kitchen. I turned to offer him a seat at the small table by the window only to find he'd frozen in the doorway, his eyes on May, his mouth slightly open. I looked over at May, but she was shoveling cereal into her mouth, seemingly oblivious to the man in our kitchen. “May,” I said. She looked up and smiled while she chewed. “This is George Gregory. George, this is Nora's daughter, May.”

“Hi,” George said. His eyes widened and he cleared his throat. “It's nice…Good to meet you.” His cheeks pinked, which was a funny thing to see on a guy as big and brawny as George.

May turned back to her cereal. “We've already met, Gene.”

George frowned. “It's George.”

May kept chewing like she hadn't heard him, seemingly fascinated by her cereal. May was one of the friendliest, most outgoing people I knew, but something about George had clearly rubbed her wrong.

“Have a seat at the table, George. I'll just—”

The bell over the front door chimed and I sighed. “I'll check to see who's at the door. Be right back.”

I wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave George, who was staring at May like he was a puppy she'd just kicked, and May alone, but I figured they were adults and could work it out.

In the front entryway stood a slim, leanly muscled man wearing glasses, jeans, and a polo shirt. He smiled when I walked his way. “Hi,” I said. “I'm Aubrey. Are you checking in?”

“Oscar Bellington,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. “Not checking in. I'd like to discuss business, actually.”

I wasn't a fan of salespeople, but he seemed like a nice guy, and I didn't want to alienate anyone. “I'm not the owner. She's out at the moment. Can I pass your information on to her?”

His smile slipped just a bit. “Sure. I'm the owner of a new spa in town and I was hoping you could send your guests my way.”

“For a discounted rate, I assume?”

---