it back to her. “If you can’t print something out, all we need is your reservation number. We’re… typically not in the habit of handling customer’s phones.” Eddie’s words seemed pointed despite the look on his face remaining cordial and welcoming. “Do you mind telling me your reservation number?”
“Of course,” the woman answered, reading the number from her phone’s screen. “It’s 0935768.”
“Perfect.” Eddie nodded, his hands flying across the keyboard in front of him. “All right! Miss Fiona Handler?”
“That’s me.” Fiona beamed.
A few moments later, Eddie was handing her a white keycard with a grin on his face. “Thanks for trusting us with your stay. Hope you have a hell of a time in Park City.”
“I will.” Fiona chuckled and walked away from the front desk, a light bounce to her every step.
When Fiona was nearly all the way down the nearest hall, Eddie peered over at me with a serious expression. “Never take a customer’s phone. Not if you can help it.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize that was against the rules,” I admitted.
“Yeah, it usually wouldn’t be, but Parker has a real thing about liability,” Eddie continued. “You take someone’s phone, and suddenly they’re saying you deleted their reservation or somehow spent money from their debit card on room service.”
“Really?” I couldn’t hide the surprise in my tone. “People have tried that before?”
“People have tried everything.” Eddie grinned. “But it doesn’t matter what they try, as long as they don’t succeed.”
“Sorry about that, then.” I let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be careful the next time I’m checking someone in.”
“Oh, no. None of this is on you,” Eddie replied. “I should’ve been here, anyway. Newbies aren’t supposed to be left alone to pilot the ship.” Eddie chuckled before he went back to typing on the front desk’s computer. “Where’d you disappear to, anyway? I noticed you weren’t upstairs this morning.”
As Eddie asked the question, my gaze drifted over to Jack, who was still standing near the lobby’s front door. He smiled over at me almost as soon as we made eye contact, the action causing my heart to beat double time.
“I… was just out,” I answered.
“Out?”
“Fishing,” I clarified. “I went fishing.”
“Huh.” Eddie mused, his attention still on the computer. “Sounds boring.”
“You didn’t add the salt already, did you?” Parker asked as he stared down at the pot of pasta that I’d been religiously stirring on the stove. “Were you going to put in garlic salt or regular salt?”
I was helping Parker and Iris prepare dinner for the night, offering my services once I learned that Eddie wasn’t going to be around for the meal. Apparently, he was having dinner with his boyfriend at a fancy restaurant in town, something I found myself envious about even though I was happy for him.
And, despite my envy, I was grateful for the opportunity to help out with the meal. After today’s near-fiasco with the check-in earlier, I felt like I owed it to my brothers to do something useful, rather than potentially set the Bed & Breakfast up for a lawsuit.
“Regular salt?” My response came out like a question as I slowly brought my gaze over to Parker’s own. “Why?”
“No reason,” Parker said, while he switched out the regular salt that was seated next to the pot for a bottle of garlic salt he’d been holding in his hand. He paused for a moment, his stare focused on the strokes of the wooden spoon between my fingers.
“Uh…” I continued to stir the pasta even as I cautiously voiced my opinion. “Are you sure you don’t want to make the penne yourself? It just seems like you’re a little concerned about the way that I’m doing… everything.”
“Sorry. I’m not concerned,” Parker replied. “It’s just… do you remember which cheese you used? Was it the one that Iris left out on the counter? Or something from the fridge?”
“I think I just put in something from the fridge—”
“Freestyle! You’re freestyling!” Parker let out a nervous laugh. “I love it. Sounds like dinner is going to be really interesting.”
“Do you want to be on penne duty?” I offered, taking my hand away from the spoon.
“Are you sure?” Parker asked, already moving toward the pot. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m trying to micromanage you or anything. I’m really happy that you’re helping out with dinner, Austin.”
“It’s no problem.” I shrugged before I turned away from the stove. “Just make sure you call me when everything’s ready, okay? I’ll be downstairs, on the back porch.”
“I’ll be sure