Chapter 3 Chapter 2 — Rest in Breakfast

Thalia Rivers — POV

"You're going to ruin those eggs."

I tightened my grip on the frying pan and silently reminded myself that throwing kitchen equipment at dead people was both pointless and a terrible waste of money.

"Hugo, if you tell me how to cook these eggs one more time, I swear I'll throw this entire pan out the window."

The elderly man standing beside me folded his arms across his chest, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "A perfectly good frying pan. What a shame."

"There's nothing wrong with the eggs!"

"Then why is the butter turning brown?"

"Because that's what happens when you heat butter!"

"Not when you know what you're doing."

I turned toward him, prepared to argue, but the voices drifting in from the dining room reminded me that I had two paying guests waiting for breakfast.

Unfortunately, unlike Hugo, they were alive, and living people tended to become rather unpleasant when their meals were late.

"Well, my customers haven't complained," I reminded him as I transferred the eggs onto a plate.

"People with poor taste rarely recognize bad cooking."

"Then perhaps you should find yourself a better kitchen."

Hugo opened his mouth again, but I turned away before he could continue criticizing my breakfast.

Three weeks ago, I wouldn't have imagined myself arguing over eggs with a dead man. Then again, three weeks ago, I hadn't known my grandmother's inn was home to five ghosts.

After fainting during my first encounter with Mrs. Wetherby, I'd woken up surrounded by five unfamiliar faces and promptly fled the building.

I'd spent several hours wandering around the village before gathering the courage to return, only to discover that the ghosts had been waiting for me.

The following days involved quite a lot of screaming, arguing, and occasionally pretending they weren't there.

Eventually, however, I'd learned that they'd lived here for decades and that Grandmother had known about them all along.

Nobody could explain why I could suddenly see them, but once I'd realized they weren't dangerous, we'd managed to establish a few rules.

No deliberately frightening me, no moving furniture around living customers, and absolutely no entering occupied guest rooms without permission.

Most importantly, they weren't supposed to interfere with my business.

Naturally, that last rule was proving difficult.

"Thalia, dear, have you considered wearing something prettier today?"

I glanced toward the kitchen doorway, where Mrs. Beatrice Wetherby sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"What's wrong with my clothes?" I asked, looking down at my dress and apron.

"Oh, nothing at all." She smiled pleasantly. "But a young woman never knows when she might encounter a suitable gentleman."

"I'm running an inn, Mrs. Wetherby. I have more important things to worry about."

"There's nothing wrong with doing both."

"Perhaps she'd have better luck if she stopped arguing with the cookware," Pippa Bell suggested from beside the counter.

I turned toward her. "Pippa, unless you're volunteering to finish breakfast, I don't want to hear it."

The young maid burst into laughter, apparently delighted by my irritation.

Considering that she'd once moved a dining chair across the room simply to invite me to supper, I wasn't particularly interested in her definition of fun.

I'd eventually discovered that the mysterious six dinner settings from my first evening had been the ghosts' attempt to welcome me home.

Five places for themselves and one for me.

It was a lovely gesture, although it would've been considerably lovelier if they hadn't convinced me that someone had broken into the building.

"Miss Rivers does have customers waiting," Mr. Edwin Pritchard observed as he appeared beside the doorway, a book tucked beneath one arm. "Perhaps we should refrain from distracting her."

"Thank you, Mr. Pritchard."

"Although her language this morning has been rather unbecoming."

I stared at him, wondering how he'd managed to criticize me while agreeing with me.

Before I could respond, Sir Roland Ashford entered the kitchen with his usual straight-backed posture.

"Miss Rivers, your guests are becoming impatient."

"Yes, I know!"

Of all my supernatural residents, Roland was easily the most disciplined. Unfortunately, his experience as a royal knight had convinced him that running an inn required the same attention to order as defending a castle.

I gathered the plates and hurried toward the dining room before anyone else could offer another opinion.

Fortunately, breakfast went considerably better than the preparations.

The two travelers occupying one of my upstairs rooms seemed pleased with their meals, despite Hugo's continued muttering about the eggs.

"The woman at the bakery recommended this place," the older gentleman told me as I collected their empty plates. "I'm glad we listened."

"I'm glad you enjoyed your stay," I replied, smiling. "I hope you'll visit again."

"We certainly will."

Their compliments pleased me more than I cared to admit.

Over the past three weeks, I'd managed to reopen several guest rooms, complete a few smaller repairs, and convince the occasional traveler to stay overnight.

Business was hardly booming, but at least I was earning something.

I'd also begun reconnecting with people in the village, several of whom remembered me from childhood and had kindly recommended the inn to passing travelers.

After years of feeling lonely in the capital, it was comforting to have people recognize me.

Even the ghosts had begun feeling like family, although they were an extremely troublesome family with strong opinions about my cooking and nonexistent romantic life.

~~ ~~

By late afternoon, dark clouds had gathered over the village, and rain was falling heavily against the windows.

I'd finished checking the guest rooms and returned to the common room to review my earnings, settling behind the reception counter while the fireplace crackled nearby.

After counting the coins twice, I sighed.

"Well, at least we're improving."

"That sounds encouraging, dear," Mrs. Wetherby remarked from beside the fireplace.

"Yes, although I'd be considerably more encouraged if someone booked a room for an entire week."

"Perhaps someone will."

"I certainly hope so."

I was about to close the account book when the bell above the entrance rang.

A customer? In this weather?

Well, I certainly wasn't going to complain.

The door opened, admitting a gust of cool air and a young man carrying a small traveling bag. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and brushed the rain from his dark coat.

He was tall, with neatly styled dark hair and handsome features that immediately caught my attention. His clothes were understated but looked expensive, and an unusual silver pendant rested against his chest.

For a moment, I found myself staring longer than I should have.

Good heavens, he was rather attractive.

More importantly, he looked like someone who could afford accommodation without arguing over the price, which was considerably more exciting.

I straightened behind the counter and offered him my most welcoming smile.

"Good evening! Welcome to the inn. Are you looking for a room?"

"I am, if you have one available."

His voice was calm and pleasantly deep.

"Of course! We have several. Please, come in properly before you catch a cold."

He glanced toward the fireplace. "I was rather hoping the rain wouldn't follow me inside."

I laughed before I could stop myself. "Well, I can't promise anything about the roof, but the common room should be perfectly safe."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "Should be?"

Oh, wonderful. Why had I mentioned the roof?

"It's perfectly safe," I assured him quickly. "Just a little joke."

"An interesting way to welcome a guest."

"Would you prefer that I lied?"

"Not particularly."

"Then we're off to an excellent start."

He smiled at that, and I found myself appreciating how much the expression suited him before remembering that I was supposed to be arranging his accommodation.

I reached for the registration book.

"Thalia Rivers," I introduced myself. "I'm the owner."

"Adrian Salvatore."

"A pleasure, Mr. Salvatore." I opened the book to a fresh page. "How long were you planning to stay?"

"I haven't decided yet."

I looked up at him. "You haven't?"

"Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all!" I answered rather quickly, then cleared my throat. "We can arrange things one night at a time, although if you're planning to remain for several days, I'm sure we can work something out."

"That sounds reasonable."

He glanced around the common room, taking in the fireplace, wooden staircase, and old furnishings before returning his attention to me.

"Have you been running this establishment long?"

"Not particularly. I inherited it from my grandmother recently."

"My condolences."

"Thank you."

His expression softened slightly, and I appreciated that he didn't immediately begin asking questions about her death.

"The building has been in the family for years," I continued. "I'm still getting everything back into shape."

"I can see you've been working hard."

"Is that your polite way of saying the place needs repairs?" I asked, giving him a suspicious look.

"Not at all. I was referring to the freshly polished furniture and the rather impressive stack of neatly arranged accounts behind you."

I glanced toward the papers on the counter, which I'd spent most of the afternoon organizing.

"Well, somebody has to keep everything running."

"Quite right."

His easy agreement caught me off guard. I'd expected another teasing remark, but he simply waited while I finished entering his details.

"So, would you prefer a room overlooking the road or the garden?"

"Which would you recommend?"

"The garden, definitely. It's quieter, and the view is lovely when it isn't pouring rain."

"Then I'll trust your judgment."

"Excellent choice."

I made a note beside his name, feeling rather pleased with myself.

A handsome customer who wasn't concerned about the inn's age, didn't complain about the weather, and might remain for several nights?

Perhaps my luck was finally improving.

"Does the inn receive many travelers?" Adrian asked as I checked the available rooms.

"More than it did when I arrived, thankfully. We're still finding our feet."

"You're managing it alone?"

"Mostly."

That wasn't entirely true, but I wasn't about to explain that my staff consisted of five dead people who couldn't be seen by ordinary customers.

"Sounds exhausting."

"It has its moments."

"Yet you seem rather determined to continue."

I glanced up from the book. "Well, I've already spent three weeks cleaning the place. Giving up now would make all that suffering a terrible waste."

He chuckled, and I couldn't help smiling too.

Honestly, he was much easier to talk to than I'd expected. There was something pleasant about his calm manner, even if he occasionally seemed to enjoy teasing me.

I was about to ask whether he'd prefer supper before retiring when movement near the staircase caught my attention.

Oh, wonderful. Sir Roland had arrived.

The knight approached with his usual straight-backed posture, studying Adrian with an expression of deep suspicion.

I resisted the urge to sigh. Roland treated practically every unfamiliar guest as though they were planning to rob the establishment, and I'd already reminded him several times that intimidating people wasn't going to improve our business.

Fortunately, ordinary people couldn't see him, so I returned my attention to the registration book, determined to finish checking Adrian in.

At least, that was what I intended to do.

Because just as I lowered my pen, Adrian's gaze shifted away from me.

He turned toward the staircase, his eyes settling on the knight standing a short distance behind him.

For a moment, I assumed he'd noticed something near the stairs, but then he spoke.

"Excuse me, but is there a particular reason you're watching me so closely?"

My hand stopped moving.

Sir Roland straightened in surprise, and I slowly looked between the two men, struggling to understand what had just happened.

There was nobody else standing near the staircase.

Surely, Adrian couldn't have been speaking to Roland.

"Wait..." I stared at him in disbelief. "You can see him?"

Adrian turned toward me so quickly that I nearly stepped backward.

For the first time since entering the inn, his composed expression disappeared.

"You can see him too?"