The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel Read Online Free Page B

and conversation, as she had pointed out last night. Focusing on the food, he said, “Thank you. It looks delicious.”
    “Would you like milk, juice, or both? I’ve got orange, apple, grape, or white cranberry peach.”
    “Um . . . juice would be great. I’ll take that . . . white kind; whatever you said.”
    She came back while he was buttering the warm muffin and poured juice into the goblet from a pretty carafe. Everything in this place had class, especially Chas Florence Henrie. Then he recalled that she’d said that she loathed being called Mrs. Henrie. He scolded himself for jumping to conclusions, but then . . . she was alone here with her grandmother and she wasn’t wearing a ring. Did that necessarily mean what he thought it meant? And what was he thinking, anyway? It would be nothing but foolish—for both their sakes—to even consider making something romantic out of his intrigue with this woman who represented nothing more to him than a temporary refuge from another kind of storm that raged many miles away. Still, he couldn’t help being intrigued. He’d never met anyone like her. She wasn’t tough and hard like the women he worked with, and yet she had backbone. She wasn’t simpering or tawdry like the women he encountered in everyday life. She was refreshingly tasteful, and she glowed with a depth of genuine kindness that he’d never encountered.
    “Now,” she said, “what else would you like to eat? We have—”
    “This will suffice,” he said, motioning toward the fruit and muffin.
    “Oh, that’s just to get you started. We take the word breakfast in our title very seriously. So, there’s bacon, sausage, hash browns, eggs any way you want them, pancakes, and waffles.”
    “And who’s cooking? You?”
    “Yes! I’m a great cook.”
    “I’m not disputing that. I was just wondering if there’s anybody else who works around here, or if you’re a one-woman show?”
    “You’re getting awfully personal, Agent Leeds,” she said facetiously. “I have maids that come in to clean as needed, and Polly, who is basically the office manager and covers for me here and there so I don’t have to be on duty all the time. But I am the cook. Now, what will it be?”
    She looked as if she would be personally insulted if he didn’t eat a hearty breakfast, so he chuckled and said, “Okay, I’ll take bacon and scrambled eggs. That should be more than enough. Thank you.”
    “It’ll be about five minutes.”
    “No problem,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
    “Good thing,” she called from the kitchen. “Even the snow plows are having trouble getting through this morning. It’s good you got here when you did.”
    “Sure is,” he said more to himself and took a long sip of coffee.
    Chas came back with his bacon and eggs and set the plate in front of him. On the plate was also an artistically cut strawberry and a mint leaf. “Thank you,” he said. She smiled and went back toward the kitchen, but he stopped her. “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”
    “I already did,” she said, looking surprised by the question.
    “Then why don’t you sit down and have a cup of coffee with me . . . unless you have something else you have to be doing.” She said nothing. “What?” he asked when she just stood there, looking confused.
    “I’ve just . . . never had a guest ask me to eat with them before. It’s a little weird.”
    “I figured since you were such a great detective and figured out that I’m apparently starved for company and conversation, you could indulge me a little.”
    “Okay,” she drawled, “but first I need your credit card.”
    He lifted his brows. “You charge extra for conversation?”
    “No,” she laughed, “but I do need to swipe it for the room you’ve rented.”
    “Of course,” he said and took his wallet out of his jeans pocket.
    “Everything is included in the price I told you over the phone. There’re some snacks and sandwiches in the little