the inn.”
Everleigh dropped the sticky bun. Not back onto the plate, of course. No, it landed on a fabric swatch, all gooey and trailing caramel. So that one was now ruined.
Which was probably the least of his problems at the moment…
“I’m sorry, what?” Amelia’s nose, dusted with those redhead’s freckles, crinkled in confusion.
The other two had jumped ahead of her, though, and clearly figured it out. Everleigh’s expression was blank disbelief. Teague’s…well, the town’s tornado/hurricane siren should’ve been going off from the storm that was brewing in his hazel eyes.
Damn it. Alex shoved up the sleeves of his fisherman’s sweater. “I hired Nora. To be our chef.”
“But we’re not slated to hire anyone for another month?” Amelia’s voice rose in question at the end. Like she genuinely couldn’t comprehend him skipping ahead on the list.
Because his sister knew him. Down to his core.
God, he hated disappointing her.
“There were extenuating circumstances. Nora’s not getting paid yet,” he rushed to reassure them. “This doesn’t change anything budgetarily. She’s just getting a jump on things.”
“You hired her?” Teague’s emphasis was unmistakable. Deliberate. Halfway to menacing.
No point denying it. Or trying to gloss it over as a trial period. “Yeah.”
“You did it. Without consulting us. Compounded by not even telling us for a while, judging by that pile of pastries.” Teague drove the point of his finger onto the table at the start of each sentence. “When did this happen?”
In a low voice that no doubt revealed his embarrassment and regret, Alex confessed. “Ten days ago.”
“What? Alex!” Amelia shoved her chair back. It squeaked loudly, both the feet scraping across the floor and the arms on the table’s edge. One more item that needed fixing to put on his list.
“It was a spontaneous thing.” His words tumbled fast, in an attempt to explain and fix it, fast. “She broke down at the dance. Sydney told you her story that night, remember? Rough divorce. Hard time. She’s doing us a favor. She’s overqualified. We shouldn’t be able to afford her. Just taste these.” Alex pushed the plate toward Everleigh.
He knew sugar wouldn’t frost over the problem. But he had to try.
Teague swept his arm out to the side. “I don’t care if she’s a five-star Michelin chef who works for free. You shouldn’t have hired her.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
Amelia rolled her eyes so hard he practically heard them rattle. “You accidentally dropped a contract in her lap? Try again.”
“Jesus, Alex, we work together all day. You and I share a cottage at night.” Teague took off his Eagles cap and scratched at his mussed hair. “You’ve had…ten days? Two hundred and forty hours of chances to talk to us about this.”
Almost under his breath, he puffed out, “I meant to tell you.”
Crossing her arms over her yellow turtleneck sweater, Amelia said, “Actions speak louder than words. Remember when Mom used to say that to us?”
Yeah, yeah.
He’d screwed up, but he wouldn’t take a dressing-down from his dead mother, once removed.
Alex couldn’t just sit there anymore while they hammered at him. He got up, paced over to the window to stare out over the frozen mess of a garden.
“I meant to have you all at the interview, the day after the dance. That was the day Duncan Wickes dropped in—unannounced—to talk about the permits. We were all frazzled. It slipped my mind that she was coming over. Then you guys went on a supply run. Nora showed up. We talked through everything. She agreed to no paycheck until we officially open. She cooked like a dream. It was too good an opportunity to miss.”
“Okay,” Everleigh said with exaggerated patience. “Then what? Then she left, we came back…and why didn’t you tell us then?”
“Our bride came over to do a walk-through. We all sat down and talked through everything with her and Dave. It took hours. You invited them to stay for dinner,” he hurled at Everleigh.
She gave him the slow, double eye blink of death before hurling her response right back. Louder than him. “Because we liked them. Because we’re trying to make friends and network and make a good impression. Don’t for a second act like it’s my fault you didn’t confer with us.”
“It’s not your fault. Of course not. I’m just explaining how it was like three days of stuff rolled into one so…it slipped my mind.”
“Every day?” Amelia asked, pointedly.
“Yes, every day.” Why didn’t they get it? Why didn’t they understand the sheer, overwhelming weight of everything Alex was