She’d built a shrine of his ideas, kept things the same, frozen time, because that had seemed like a way of keeping a part of him alive. Brent had hired Stephanie, therefore Stephanie’s presence was a connection to Brent. But she saw now that living like that had stopped her moving on.
When you lost someone you loved, you only ever remembered the good parts. Or that was what had happened to Hattie. She remembered Brent’s smile, his enthusiasm, the way he said yes to everything even when he didn’t have time for anything else in his life. The way he swept you away with the conviction that this was going to be the best thing that had ever happened to you.
But there had been bad things, too. She felt guilty even thinking that, but it was true and it was time she was honest with herself. That confidence and conviction of his had also made him stubborn. When she’d suggested that a country inn like theirs perhaps didn’t need a celebrity chef with enough stars to form their own galaxy, and that maybe an excellent chef keen to build his reputation might be a better idea, he’d dismissed it. He talked constantly about reviews and once they’d opened, he’d checked the reviews feverishly. He was determined that people would cross continents to eat in their restaurant, and stuck with that view even when she’d pointed out that if that happened then they wouldn’t have room in the restaurant to feed the guests so how would that work?
He’d appointed Stephanie as their head housekeeper because she’d worked in a five-star establishment in Boston favored by corporate types and sports stars. He’d been impressed by her credentials, and when Hattie had pointed out that maybe giving ordinary people a really special, memorable break required a different set of skills, he’d again overruled her.
But now here they were, with no award-winning chef and no head housekeeper.
She had two choices. She could curl up and give up, which wasn’t an option because someone had to take care of the guests, or she could throw out Brent’s rulebook—his dream—and run things the way she felt they should be run.
And she knew which choice she was going to make.
All the ideas and impulses that had been held tightly inside her bubbled to the surface.
The incident with Stephanie had somehow shaken her out of her inertia. For the first time since Brent had died she’d taken a step that had been of her choosing. She’d shown a strength she didn’t know she was capable of showing. And it was a step forward. If she could take that one step, then she could take others. She needed to keep moving.
“Hattie?” A young couple who had checked in the day before arrived back from a trip to town loaded down with bags stuffed with gifts. Snow dusted their coats and they looked as if they’d just stepped straight off the set of a Christmas movie. Most importantly, they looked happy and that, to Hattie, was the most meaningful review she could have had for the inn.
She stopped to talk to them. No matter what revelations were popping in her head, her guests always came first. “You seem to have had success with your Christmas shopping.”
“It was fabulous. I bought gifts for everyone, including Ray’s mother, and believe me, that’s the biggest challenge of all because she is not an easy woman to please.” The woman gestured to one of the bags, which obviously contained the precious item. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
“You’re welcome.”
“We have a table booked for seven fifteen,” the woman said, “but we wondered if we could push it back to eight? We wanted to wrap the gifts and make some calls and just enjoy being in the room. It’s hard to force ourselves outdoors, to be honest, because we love it here so much. It’s not often you book a festive break and don’t want to leave the room, but that’s how we feel. Would that annoy Chef? He seemed very put out last night when we were five minutes late.”
Hattie wondered at what point the emotional state of her chef had started to take precedence over the wishes of her guests.
The man gave a nervous smile. “We wouldn’t want him to have a tantrum and walk out.”
A bit late for that, Hattie thought.
“That will be no problem at all,” she said. “I’ll let the kitchen know.”
Providing there was anyone left in the kitchen. It was entirely possible that in the past hour they’d all followed Chef Tucker and left Hattie to stew in her own misery—or boil, or flambé, depending on whether you preferred your crisis to be well-done or medium rare—although hopefully Claudia would have persuaded them against that course of action.
She wished Claudia was staying.
“If there is anything I, or my team—” what’s left of it “—can do to make your stay more comfortable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”
The couple headed toward the stairs, and Hattie watched them for a moment and then walked to her office.
Erica was pulling some pages from the printer and looked up as Hattie walked into the room.
“I’ve retyped the menu—changed the layout as Claudia requested. Take a look and let me know what you think.” She handed them over and Hattie took the menu, trying not to be distracted by the fact that this was Erica and the whole situation was beyond weird. She had no idea how she was supposed to react, but that was true of so much of life, or so she was discovering.
She scanned it. “You’ve called it the Winter Warmer menu?”
“It’s no longer a taster menu, so I thought we should present it as something different. Confidently. Not as something we’ve thrown together in last-minute desperation. It’s snowing outside. People enjoy comfort food when it’s cold, and also at Christmas. I thought tomorrow’s menu could be Festive Feast. And maybe later in the week we could have Santa’s Supper.”
Hattie was so focused on simply surviving the evening, she hadn’t given a thought to the rest of the week. But Erica had thought about it. Winter Warmer. Festive Feast.
“I wanted to do something similar in the beginning—fun themed evenings. I thought we could do a Swiss night, with fondue and other traditional Swiss dishes. I even thought about offering posh afternoon tea, the way they do in the big hotels in London. Finger sandwiches and amazing cakes, maybe a glass of champagne—” She stopped and shook her head. “Sorry. Getting carried away and I need to stay focused. Thanks for the menu.”
“Wait—” Erica tapped her finger against her lips. “So what happened to your idea for Swiss night and afternoon tea? It wasn’t a success?”
“We didn’t try it. Brent didn’t think it would work. He wanted to offer a gourmet tasting menu with wine pairings. And that was popular. His idea was a good one.”
“But that doesn’t mean your idea was bad,” Erica murmured. “There is more than one good idea in the world. I’ve heard a lot about what Brent thought, but what about you? What does Hattie think?”
No one ever asked her what she thought. Everyone had just assumed she’d keep things going the way Brent had. Except Noah, of course. He’d always shown confidence in her and encouraged her to forge her own path.
Noah.
She wasn’t sure what she would have done without his support earlier. Just having him there had made things easier.