Chapter SEVEN

Ariel Hawthorne"s fingers traced the delicate embroidery of the linen tablecloth, ensuring it was perfectly aligned with the antique mahogany dining table beneath. The gentle clink and clatter of fine China was a soothing symphony to her, the sound of everything falling into order. She watched as Darcy, with his unkempt hair and sleeves rolled up to reveal inked arms, placed the last of the extra floral teacups at the table center with an artist"s precision.

The air in Cliffside BB"s main dining room was perfumed with the scent of Earl Grey and jasmine, a fragrant invitation to the afternoon"s gathering. Velvet drapes held back the winter light, allowing it to pool on white linen-covered tables where China teapots sat like plump matrons amidst towers of delicate treats. An assortment of finger sandwiches — cucumber with minted cream cheese, smoked salmon with dill, and egg salad topped with cress — lay in precise arrangements beside scones accompanied by clotted cream and homemade strawberry preserves.

"Looks great, Darcy," Ariel said as she slipped beside him, her voice a blend of encouragement and authority that came from years in kitchens more demanding than this quaint setting in Endless Harbor.

"Thanks, boss," Darcy replied with a grin, clearly proud but trying to play it cool, his gaze lingering perhaps a second too long on the door through which Jill had just disappeared.

With the light from outside dimming with each passing minute, Ariel couldn"t help but feel a sense of contentment here in the warm interior of the dining area. This BB was her dream made manifest—every detail, from the flowers adorning the table to the scent of freshly baked scones wafting from the kitchen, was a piece of her soul laid out for guests to enjoy.

Even if one of those guests had taken a piece of it already, years ago.

She wished that Miles was here, but after his shower, he'd gone out to unearth insulation from the storage shed and make sure all the outside pipes were wrapped. She was grateful for his forethought, but felt a little unarmored without him beside her.

Her reverie was broken by the sense of someone else beside her—Bradford. His presence seemed to fill the space—a tall figure with a lopsided smile that hadn"t changed since their college days, when music and love were their shared language. Darcy cleared his throat, made an excuse about scones, and abandoned her.

No!Ariel thought. Drat.

"Hey, Ariel," he said, his voice smooth like a melody she remembered all too well. "This place is even more beautiful than the pictures online."

"Thank you, Mr. Barlowe."

He leaned over to snag a cookie from a nearby tray. Ariel felt the warmth of his shoulder as it brushed hers. The simple contact sent a jolt of nostalgia coursing through her veins, memories of late-night jam sessions and whispered promises under starry skies flooding back unbidden.

"Thank you for choosing Cliffside for your event," she managed, striving to keep her tone even, to be the consummate host rather than the girl who once believed in happily ever afters.

"Everything looks absolutely delightful," Bradford remarked.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I hope it will be to everyone"s taste."

Bradford"s smile was both appreciative and disarming as he picked up a scone, examining its golden crust before meeting her gaze again. "I have no doubt. I"ve always admired your attention to detail, Ariel."

She felt a warm rush, a dangerous softening, but squared her shoulders subtly. "It"s part of the job. Ensuring guests enjoy their stay is my top priority."

"Of course," he acquiesced, taking a seat and pouring himself a cup of tea, his fingers deftly handling the ornate teapot. The steam rose between them, a gentle mist carrying the past within its swirls.

Ariel"s hands moved with practiced grace, placing a lemon tartlet onto Randall"s plate while her thoughts spun behind her calm fa?ade. She ignored Randall's pointed glance. She couldn"t afford to drift into the undercurrent of nostalgia; there was too much at stake.

"Try the Darjeeling," she suggested to Connie as she wandered near, a hint of spice in her tone. "It pairs beautifully with the scones."

Bradford looked up and held Ariel's gaze, his own eyes reflecting a history that was both their bridge and barrier. "I wouldn"t have wanted to celebrate anywhere else," he said, and she wondered if there was more to his words than mere politeness. "Still can"t believe it"s been so long since college," Bradford remarked, his smile persistent.

"Time has a way of slipping by," Ariel replied, her heart a traitor to her composed exterior. She almost cringed at the cliched conversation, but she didn't trust herself to say more.

"Guess we"ve both been caught up in our dreams," he added, a note of something like wistfulness in his voice.

"Indeed," she agreed. Then, she said—because she couldn't resist—"Wherever those dreams led us, and however far away."

"Actually," Bradford said, lowering his voice, "I was hoping we could catch up later. Maybe after the tea?"

Ariel nodded, the professional mask firmly in place. "Of course. I'm sure the whole group will be able to get to know one another. We"ll have time." She was here to serve, to create an experience for her guests—not to rekindle old flames. "If you'll excuse me." She had a high tea to host and memories to keep at bay.

As she worked the room, serving and conversing, Ariel"s mind traversed the tightrope of her emotions. With every glance at Bradford, who seemed so at ease among her handiwork, she had to remind herself of the distance she"d traveled — from a fledgling chef in Paris to a frozen food VP, and now to the proprietor of her own BB. Miles, her husband, had supported her through the chaotic renovation of Cliffside; his steady presence a counterweight to the whims of a heart that once beat to the rhythm of Bradford"s guitar.

"Your website mentioned that you"re quite the chef," Jessica commented, breaking Ariel"s reverie as she pointed to a particularly artistic arrangement of petit fours.

"Her culinary skill is only surpassed by her hospitality," Bradford chimed in, his eyes seeking hers across the room.

She kept her tone even, despite the flutter in her chest. "Most of the baked goods are recipes from my time in Paris—adapted for the local palate."

"Paris," he mused, leaning back in his chair, a lock of sandy hair falling into his eyes. "I always knew you"d do something remarkable. You were the most passionate person I knew."

Her hands busied themselves straightening a napkin on the table, a diversion from the conflicting swell of emotion within her. "Thank you, Bradford," she said, maintaining eye contact just long enough to be polite before turning away to attend to another half-empty plate. Her pulse thrummed with a mix of pride and caution — the latter a reminder to keep her emotional distance.

"Ah, this is just divine," cooed Vivienne, her silver hair catching the light like a halo. She delicately nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, her eyes closing in appreciation. "Reminds me of the teas my mother used to host."

"Quite," agreed Hugo, though his attention was more drawn to the hearty selection of cheeses than the sentiment. Ariel had seen Vivienne shoo him away from the cheeses twice during the past hour.

Across the room sat Victoria, her expression as uninterested as their posture. Lounging back in her chair, she studied her phones more intently than the pastries in front of her. "It"s cute, I guess," she muttered, tapping away at the screen. "But couldn"t we have just grabbed coffee somewhere and not had to sit around mingling?"

"Shh, Victoria," chided Jessica. "Don"t offend the hostess."

Ariel held her tongue, her smile fixed as she refilled a teapot with a practiced hand.

The afternoon waned, shadows stretching across the vintage oak floorboards, and finally the elder attendees expressed the desire to relax in their rooms for a bit. Everyone shuffled out, until it was only Jessica, lingering by the doorway, waiting for Bradford.

"Let"s make sure we find time to chat later," Bradford whispered as he passed Ariel on the way out, the words curling around them like a shared secret.

As she was about to reply, a sudden knock at the door echoed down the quiet hall. Ariel"s brows furrowed slightly; the weather had turned, casting a snowy veil over Cliffside"s usually vibrant landscape, and they wouldn't be getting any walk-in guests in this weather.

"Excuse me," she said, gliding towards the entrance, her mind already spinning with possibilities. Could it be Katie, absentmindedly misplacing her key again?