Page 71 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

Katy laughed, delighted. “Okay, let’s try that. I’d love to come by,” she added, a warm smile on her face.

“Perfect! Let me see what I can get you…” Maggie’s voice faded as she led Katy out of the room, both women’s laughter ringing in the hall.

Ethan envied them their camaraderie and their effortless joy. Would he ever feel that way again about anything? Anyone?

“I’m going to bed,” Julia announced tiredly after a minute or two of heavy silence. “Maggie’s right. I’m sure there will be much more to deal with tomorrow.”

“Do you—” What was he going to say?Do you want me to come with you?“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he decided on instead, heart pounding erratically in his chest, unsure of what he expected her answer to be—what he wanted it to be.

“No,” she said bluntly, not meeting his gaze. “Not tonight. I just…I can’t.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand. I’ll…see you in the morning?”

She nodded back. “Yeah. Good night, Ethan.” She turned and walked out of the salon.

“Good night, Gem,” he said softly after she had left.

* * *

Julia rolled outher bread methodically, barely even registering what she was doing, back and forth on the wooden countertop, kneading it more roughly and thoroughly than was required for the bagels she was planning to make.

Her sleep had been garbage the night before, as expected. Tossing and turning, light sleep and abrupt awakenings interspersed with feverish dreams that brought the time in the shed back to life—the feel of hot exhales along her neck, the gentle scratch of wood at her back, the rough caress of a bristly beard—leaving her hot and bothered and breathless every time she awoke.

By the time five a.m. had rolled around, she hadn’t even bothered trying to go back to sleep. Instead, she’d taken herself into the kitchen to start prepping for the unknown day ahead.

What would it hold? She couldn’t bring herself to look at her phone, see if news had broken about the celebrity oasis at Donwell.

She knew she was being a bit dramatic. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if things came out the way it looked like they were going to. A bit of notoriety, some attention, good or bad. At least it would draw people to her place.

But deep down she knew—it wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’thowshe wanted it. There was a certain level of integrity she upheld, that she expected. To have Donwell be taken seriously for what it was. To have people come for the comfort of it,the homey feeling, the home-cooked foods and the fresh baked goods.

It wasn’t meant to be a tour-bus stop. It wasn’t meant to be a novelty or a joke. If it got out that Donwell was just a wannabe celebrity hot spot or the latest place on a bucket list of Upstate New York gaudiness, then she wasn’t interested. She would rather fold and find something else to do than be so powerfully unhappy with the hand she’d been dealt and the way her dream would ultimately be represented.

Looking down at her hands, she realized that her thoughts had gotten away from her and she had officially overkneaded her bagel dough. Usually an almost-impossible task for bagel dough, but it felt tough and dense in her hands, and she knew it was going to be practically inedible, at least by Donwell Cottage bagel standards.

Sighing, she was trying to think of ways around it when the sound of muffled talking hit her ears. She quickly glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even six yet, which meant neither of her employees would be up and about—even Norman didn’t start his day until seven thirty, and Maggie typically showed up midmorning at the earliest, aside from the rare occasion. It could be one of the four guests—Ethan, of course, or Katy, Noah, or Emily. Oh, and Emily’s assistant, who was also staying there.

The deep timbre of the voice, which she could make out despite the fact that she was unable to identify any of the words, led her to believe it wasn’t any of the women. And Noah, masculine and attractive though he was, didn’t quite have a deeply resonant voice, the kind that could be felt, not just heard.

That narrowed it down to only one person: It had to be Ethan.

She stepped closer to the door of the kitchen, straining to hear what he was saying. She could only catch snippets.

“What am I supposed—? No, of course I didn’t. It wasn’t up to me to—”

His voice faded, presumably as he moved away from the top of the stairs, though she could now hear his heavy tread going back and forth along the carpet.

Abandoning her bagel dough, she slowly climbed up the stairs, avoiding all the squeaky spots and trying her best not to be heard.

Sure, it wasn’t the noblest of tasks to be eavesdropping on him in the early-morning hours, when he likely believed no one else was awake. But Julia was past noble at this point. The way her week had gone—or, really, the last couple of years—gave her a slightly skewed perspective of fairness and dues that caused her to creep all the way to the top of the stairs to see if she could hear better.

“No, I think we have it under control,” she could hear him saying in a low tone, his voice still resonant in the stillness of the predawn shadows. “You don’t have to come.”

Who would be coming?She almost groaned out loud. Not another person to join this circus.

“I know what they’re saying, I saw the posts.” That meant word had gotten out and the fear that Julia had about the reputation of Donwell Cottage was justified. The posts on social media about celebrities and threesomes and nonsense that she wanted no part of.

“No, we…” Julia could hear a pause and a suppressed sigh. “We have our own content. We have this under control. They’ll leave and find something better, and we’ll take care of things here. Tie up the loose ends.”