I removed my coat and took one of the blue-and-white-vertical-striped aprons off the peg in the corner, put it on, then grabbed the non-latex gloves, putting them on, too, and started the hot water as I prepared to wash the impressive stack of pots and pans waiting for me in the sink. It was part of my job as Assistant Manager of Guest Actualization Services. There was no Manager of Guest Actualization Services, or any titles, really. Arthur was right, I’d made it up, but now that I had, I kind of liked it. Maybe I’d add that to my college résumé.

“Who were you talking to?” Dad asked.

I frowned at him. “When?”

“Just now.”

He nodded to the kitchen window that overlooked the back of the inn.

“Oh. That’s Arthur. He and his aunt checked in last night.”

“Chakrabarti?”

We all had the habit of referring to guests by their last names when we talked to each other and even though Dad didn’t officially work here—he was an insurance salesman—he followed suit.

I nodded. “Though Arthur’s last name is actually Watercress, like the plant. His dad’s white.”

“You know him?”

“Uh, yeah.”

I kept scrubbing the rosemary-potato residue from the side of the stainless-steel eight-quart pot, hoping he’d leave it alone but there was exactly zero chance of that. When it came to dads, there were the ones who wanted to know every aspect of your life at all times and there were those who were satisfied with the basic headlines. Dad was absolutely the former.

“How?”

“Barrington.”

“He goes to Barrington?”

“Yep.”

“Did you know he was coming to Christmas?”

“God, no.”

Dad chewed a little more. Thoughtful.

“Are you . . . dating?”

I almost dropped the pot.

“What? No! Ugh. Gross.”

He held up both hands, one still holding the sandwich. “Just asking.”

I returned to the pot, scrubbing harder. Tried to get the idea of dating Arthur out of my mind.

Dad continued. “You both seemed animated is all.”

“That’s how Arthur is.”

“You were, too.”

“Was I?”

Ayisha Lewis said, “You totally were.”

I looked back as Ayisha entered the kitchen and, apparently, my conversation with my father.

Her long black box braids were worn in a high ponytail up top and left loose on the bottom, which was her typical style, but I noticed the tips were a bright burgundy and that was new since I’d left town. Also new? Seeing her in the same light blue button-down shirt, navy crew neck sweater, and khaki pants that I was wearing, which was as close to a uniform as Grandma Jo wanted for folks working at the inn.

Because Ayisha Lewis, the prettiest girl in my old high school, was working at the Hoyden Inn.

Another surprise for me. Who knew so much could happen in six months?

She smiled and nodded to my dad. “Hey, Mr. Brown.”