The very best place to cook in North Rustico was Rose's Red Door Inn. Everyone knew Caden Holt Jacobs's kitchen was charmed. Maybe it was Caden who brought the magic.
Whitney had certainly thought so as a high school student learning to cook from the inn's chef herself. Maybe Caden had left some fairy dust behind.
And the inn was closed this time of year—really any time of year that threatened frost.
Which meant...
Whitney barely dared to hope. But it was her only chance to save her stall at the farmers' market. To save her business this season.
After carefully tucking the pies into her fridge, she pulled on her thick jacket and tied her scarf around her neck. Wind whipped inside when she opened the kitchen door, but she stepped into the ankle-deep snow and hurried along the path toward the big blue house with the bright red door.
* * *
Whitney let the warmth of the inn's mudroom fully embrace her before loosening her homemade blue scarf. Thumping her boots on the floor, she knocked off as much snow as she could, but not enough to risk tracking it beyond the tiled floor. So she toed off each fur-lined boot and crept into the kitchen.
The inn was oddly silent. At least upstairs. The echo of children's play seeped through the floorboards, shrieks of laughter and delight. But Marie and Seth Sloan, proprietors of Rose's Red Door Inn for nearly ten seasons now, didn't seem to be around.
Whitney tiptoed through the immaculate kitchen, giving the stainless-steel double oven an envious glance before making her way down the short hall to the office. The big wooden door stood wide open, revealing a desk piled with papers in nearly every color of the rainbow. The sleek computer monitor was on, but the little room was empty.
She turned back to the kitchen and stopped mid-stride.
Chubby cheeks and a near-toothless grin greeted her from the hardwood floor. Squishy hands grabbed at the air as the baby reached up. "Nee-nee. Nee-nee."
Whitney scooped up the little doll, pulled her into a tight hug, and pressed a kiss to her silky brown hair. "Well, hello there, Miss Jessie. Where's your mama?"
The little girl blew a series of bubbles in response and giggled with glee, her rosy cheeks positively pinchable.
"Should we go find her?"
Jessie blew some more bubbles, which Whitney took as agreement, and they trotted around the rest of the main floor. Decorating had already begun in the parlor, which featured an evergreen in the corner, adorned with ribbons and bows and strings of popcorn. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, a cozy blanket laid across the oversized chair. It looked ready to welcome any and all guests.
Except the inn was officially closed. It wouldn't open up again until tourists returned in May.
Suddenly a cry split the air. "Jessie. Je-essie!" Footsteps pounded down the back stairs, and Whitney raced to meet them in the kitchen.
"She's here. She's fine."
Marie landed on the bottom step with a sigh of relief, swinging her mass of brown waves out of her face as she put her hands on her hips and frowned at her youngest. "Her brother thinks it's funny to take her downstairs and then promptly forgets about her."
Whitney chuckled. That sounded about right.
Only then did Marie seem to realize she hadn't even greeted her visitor. "I wasn't expecting company today," she said, giving Whitney a quick side hug. "How are you?" She offered a smile that hadn't changed much since they'd met so many years ago. Perhaps there were a few new wrinkles around her eyes, but if she had any gray hairs, she hid them well. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
Whitney flashed hot beneath her puffy coat, but she nodded anyway. "Please."
