“We’ll all help,” April said. She looked at Gaspard. “And Ida too, I hope. I don’t think it’s that she doesn’t want to be involved. She’ll just need a little time to ease back into it. She worked with Glenda a lot and probably knows the most when it comes to your responsibilities.”

“Does she know anything about the wedding this weekend?” Now it was my turn to pace. I stood and followed April’s same path. “Because I don’t know how I feel about pulling off an event I know nothing about without Glenda here to walk me through it.” I perched my hands on my hips.

“We must not get ahead of ourselves,” Gaspard said. “If we cannot reopen the inn, there will be no wedding to stress over.”

No wedding. The consequences of a cancellation this close to the actual event were huge. And expensive. And terrible for the poor, unsuspecting couple.

“Gaspard’s right,” April said. “First we talk to Ida. Then we worry about the wedding.” She took two steps toward me and reached for my hands, squeezing them with her own. “We need you, Lane,” she said. “Are you with us?”

New job. No training. A grieving, widowed boss and a wedding to pull off in less than a week? I swallowed my fears and squared my shoulders. What was life without a challenge? “Let’s do it.”

* * *

It took a solid forty-five minutes. And some tears. And lots of reassuring. But Ida finally conceded. The inn would be open and ready for business by Thursday when the first of the wedding party was set to arrive. After our discussion, Gaspard hurried to the kitchen to contact his staff, leaving April and me to sort through the wedding plans and figure out how everything was supposed to go.

April opened the filing cabinet behind the desk—my desk—and pulled out a thick, three-ring binder.

“I tried really hard to get Glenda to keep digital files, but she insisted on binders for the weddings,” she said. “You’re welcome to revamp the system however you want once you get going, but for now . . .” She dropped the binder onto the coffee table next to the sofa. “This is it. Smith/Callahan wedding—June 22.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess there’s nothing to do but dig in.”

“I have to go call our department managers about getting their staff back to work,” April said. “Will you be okay if I leave you?”

“I’ll be great. Thanks for all your help.”

I reached for the binder. An hour later, I wanted to kiss Glenda. She’d left such impeccable notes I couldn’t imagine there would have been anything left for her to tell me in person even if given the chance. She’d made notes about everything from the color of the toile to the bride’s walnut allergy to a physical description of a great aunt who under no circumstances was to be seated in the first three rows during the ceremony or anywhere near the head table at the reception. I was still overwhelmed, but at least I had something to go on.