Blaire

  FOR SADIE AND CLEA, WHO MAKE EVERY DAY DELICIOUS

  —J.C.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1: Checking In

  Chapter 2: Super Scrumptious

  Chapter 3: My New Normal

  Chapter 4: Cute Little Stinkers

  Chapter 5: Best Idea Ever

  Chapter 6: Sneaky Stuff

  Chapter 7: Please Say Yes

  Chapter 8: Impossible Invitations

  Chapter 9: Operation Barn Renovation

  Chapter 10: The Event Planner

  Chapter 11: Wedding Planning Is Life

  Chapter 12: Experiments

  Chapter 13: So Farm-Like

  Chapter 14: Not Romantic at All

  Chapter 15: Cropped Out

  Chapter 16: Dress Quest

  Chapter 17: Fairly Disappointing

  Chapter 18: Pressure

  Chapter 19: Apologies

  Chapter 20: Wherefore Art Thou, Cat?

  Chapter 21: Racing Against the Clock

  Chapter 22: Sharing This Moment

  About the Author

  Special Thanks

  Preview of Blaire’s second novel!

  Learn more about Blaire

  Request a catalogue

  Copyright

  Some kids can’t wait for the lazy, quiet days of summer.

  Lazy? Quiet? No way, not at my house … and that’s just how I like it.

  Pans and dishes clang in the big kitchen. Voices chatter and silverware clinks in the dining room. Upstairs, the vacuum cleaner hums. Outside, a tractor sputters its way across a field.

  Then there’s the sound of the bell at the front desk, ringing one clear, musical note. Ding.

  I turned away from the bulletin board, where I’d been pinning up a flyer for the big Ulster County Fair in August, and smiled at the man standing at the desk.

  “Welcome to Pleasant View Farm Bed-and-Breakfast,” I said. “Can I help you?”

  “Um …” He hesitated, looking around for a grown-up. He was obviously surprised to be greeted by a ten-year-old girl.

  I get that a lot.

  “I’m Mark Reilly and I have a reservation for tonight. I know I can’t check in until later, but I’m hoping I can leave a bag here while I go for a hike.”

  “No problem,” I replied. “We can even bring it upstairs when your room is ready.”

  “That sounds perfect.” He bent down and picked something up, then placed it delicately on the desk in front of me. “There you go.”

  I looked at the bag.

  And the bag looked right back at me.

  Or I should say, two round eyes looked back at me, through a mesh panel on the side of the bag. Whatever was in there had two huge ears and a gray nose with whiskers.

  “My chinchilla, Honeybun,” explained Mr. Reilly. “He’s quite the traveler.”

  Okeydokey, I thought. I wasn’t planning on babysitting a chinchilla today, but when your family’s farm includes a bed-and-breakfast (especially one that advertises itself as “pet-friendly”), you pretty much expect the unexpected.

  I watched Honeybun’s little nose twitch. “Your buddy seems a bit nervous,” I said to Mr. Reilly. “I’ll bet he needs a moment to relax.”

  “He would like that,” Mr. Reilly said, his face softening with relief. “Somewhere dark and quiet.”

  I nodded. “I know just the place.”

  “Thank you.” Then he said good-bye to us both and left.

  I picked up Honeybun’s carrier bag and walked past the restaurant dining room and the door to the restaurant kitchen, then down a hallway. At the back of our house was a second, smaller kitchen—the one our family used—and my grandfather’s bedroom.

  “You’ll be comfy in here for a while,” I said to Honeybun as I put him on Grandpa’s desk in the corner. “I’ll come back for you a little later.”

  I turned to leave the room, only to be stopped short as my dress caught on the bag’s zipper and pulled it open.

  Uh-oh.

  Before I knew it, there was a flash of gray fur and a puffy tail moving past me. I squealed as the gray blob raced around my grandfather’s room, almost faster than I could keep track of him. Under the bed! Under the desk! Under the chair! And then …

  Stillness. Where had he gone?! I could already picture Mr. Reilly’s review on the travel sites: ZERO stars!!! Pleasant View Farm Bed-and-Breakfast LOST my chinchilla!!!!!

  Don’t panic, I told myself. This is your house, not Honeybun’s, and you know every nook and cranny.

  I got down on my hands and knees, peeking under Grandpa’s bed. I saw something fuzzy. “Honeybun! Thank goodness,” I said, reaching for the chinchilla. “It’s okay, little guy. Let’s get you back in your bag where you’ll be safe.” I pulled him out slowly and started petting … Grandpa’s old slipper. Great. I’d been talking to a shoe.

  Still on my hands and knees, I checked under the dresser. Nothing. I looked behind Grandpa’s hamper. No chinchilla, just one dirty sock that hadn’t made it into the basket. Eww.

  As I crawled slowly toward the door, I scanned the room, checking the corners. I poked my head into the hallway, calling a soft, “Here, chilla, chilla, chilla,” hoping Honeybun would come running like a cat.

  Nope. Instead I saw Grandpa standing at the other end of the hall, looking at me with a confused expression. He was with a young couple, and the woman was holding a squirming toddler by the hand.

  “Blaire?” asked Grandpa, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “What on earth are you doing down there?”

  I jumped up and brushed myself off. “I … was … uh … trying to see which floorboard is the one that always creaks when you step on it,” I stammered, walking back to the front desk. “Doesn’t that bug you? It really bugs me!”

  Grandpa raised an eyebrow. “It’s been one of the biggest mysteries of my life.” He knew something was up. “In the meantime,” he continued, “Blaire, these are the Springers. They came here on their honeymoon a few years ago, and now they’re back with their son, Aiden.”

  “Oh, I remember you guys!” I said, turning in a slow circle and looking for any signs of Honeybun. The little boy let go of his mom’s hand and started spinning in a circle, too. I caught his eye and he giggled.

  “We remember you, too,” Mr. Springer said. “We’ve been following the cooking posts you do with your mom on the farm’s website.”

  I stopped spinning. “Thanks!” Mom and I have fun posting recipes and cooking videos. It’s always cool to be reminded that people actually read them.

  “And it looks like you all have a big project going on with your old barn,” added Mrs. Springer. “I saw your father working out there.”

  “Yep,” I replied, peeking behind the long curtains that covered the front windows. “We’re converting it into an event space for parties and weddings.”

  At the word weddings, Grandpa cleared his throat. He wasn’t too supportive of our family’s new business venture. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay,” Grandpa said, changing the subject.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Springer, hurrying after Aiden, who had stopped spinning and was now headed for the front door. “Something tells me it won’t be quite as restful this time.”

  I was just about to look for Honeybun behind the pillows on the window seat when Aiden started crying. His mom had picked him up, and he was not happy. Okay, the chinchilla would have to wait. I cannot let little kids cry at Pleasant View Farm.

  “Aiden,” I said brightly. “Come with me.”

  Mrs. Springer and Aiden followed me to the wall under the big staircase. Hidden in the patterned wallpaper was a tiny doorknob, easy to miss if you didn’t know to look for it. I opened a little door, and as soon a
s he saw what was inside, Aiden stopped crying and squirmed out of his mom’s arms.

  I’d spent months turning a storage space under the stairs into a play kitchen for kids and families who visited the B and B and the restaurant. It was an idea I’d gotten from one of my favorite design bloggers about doing creative things with unused spaces. Dad and I had a blast building a miniature pretend stove and fridge, and I’d filled it with toy pots, pans, dishes, and food. We even made a kid-sized table and two chairs, and I painted windows with curtains on the walls.

  Mrs. Springer and I crawled in after Aiden. “Oh, Blaire,” she said, “this is absolutely delightfaaaahhhh!”

  A puffy gray blob darted into the room and did a figure eight around Mrs. Springer’s ankles.

  “What was that?” she shrieked as Grandpa and Mr. Springer came running.

  “Honeybun!” I shouted.

  “Honey who?” Grandpa shouted back.

  I didn’t stop to answer. Honeybun scrambled out of the play kitchen, dashed across the hall, and raced toward the dining room. I ran after him and—BAM.

  I collided with my seven-year-old brother, Beckett.

  “I just saw a giant mouse!” he exclaimed.

  “It’s a chinchilla, and he’s one of our guests,” I replied. “Help me catch him!”

  We ran into the dining room. Luckily it was empty. I remembered what Mr. Reilly had said about keeping Honeybun calm, so I closed the door, turned off the lights, and told Beckett to stay quiet.

  “Where is he?” Beckett whispered after a few moments.

  “There!” I whispered, pointing to a tail sticking out from underneath a tablecloth.

  Beckett dove under the table … and Honeybun scurried out the other side.

  “Over there!” I whispered, as Honeybun disappeared under a different table. Beckett followed him, but the same thing happened.

  “Table by the fireplace!” I whispered. This time I crouched on one side of the table while Beckett guarded the other. For a few moments, nothing—and no one—moved. I plucked a cloth napkin off the table as the corner of the table cloth twitched. One … two … three …

  “Gotcha!” I grabbed Honeybun and wrapped him in the napkin. Rodent rescued!

  Back in Grandpa’s room, I put Honeybun in his carrier while Beckett zipped up the opening as fast as he could. “That’s enough excitement for you, Honeybun,” I said. “You deserve a nap.”

  I high-fived Beckett. “Thanks for your help.”

  “That was fun,” Beckett said. He was always catching something in the creek on our farm, so this was probably not the only critter he’d be chasing today.

  For me, one was enough.

  When I went back out front, the Springers were gone. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all of that,” said Grandpa from behind the desk.

  “Of course,” I replied. But before I could say any more, my mother popped her head out the door of the restaurant kitchen, where she was the chef.

  “Blaire, can you go pick more sugar snap peas? I have some time to work on our recipe for the website before lunch service starts.”

  “You got it,” I replied.

  “Thanks. Hey, what was all that racket in the dining room?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know,” I said, “just another day at Pleasant View Farm.”

  Mom was washing strawberries and blueberries when I entered the restaurant kitchen with the basketful of sugar snap peas. A bowl of fresh greens and a camera sat on the counter nearby. Beckett and I had picked the berries and greens that morning. Mom’s restaurant is “farm to table,” which means we grow many of the ingredients right here on our farm. What we can’t grow ourselves, we get from other farms in the area. Mom cooks with what’s in season so that everything is super fresh and totally delicious.

  “Here you go,” I said, setting the basket on the counter. “Sssss-super sssss-scrumptious ssssss-snap peas for the sssssss-summer sssss-salad!”

  All those s’s were our little joke for the most popular item on our summer menu. “And warm from the ssss-sunshine, too. Thanks, ssss-sweetie,” Mom replied.

  We giggled as we got to work on the salad. I love hanging out in this kitchen with Mom before the restaurant opens and the room gets busy with kitchen staff. As she sautéed the sugar snap peas, I took photos of her for the website, and Mom took photos of me when I mixed the blueberry vinaigrette dressing. The dressing was a recipe I invented last summer when we had a bumper crop of our blueberries, and customers loved it. Now it was on the menu as “Blaire-berry Vinaigrette.”

  When the peas were done, I placed them on the plate, along with the greens, and arranged the strawberries in a ring on top. The different shades of the veggies mixed just right with the reds of the berries. Now I just had to add the dressing … Perfect.

  As Mom balanced on a step stool to get some shots of the finished dish from above, I started cleaning up the kitchen. There was a smushed blueberry on the counter, and I grabbed a paper towel to wipe it up. I was about to throw the paper towel away when I noticed the color on it. Not blue exactly, but not quite purple either. Idea-sparks started going off in my head. I knew I could make something crafty with that color—maybe a decoration for the front desk. I folded the paper towel into a tiny square and tucked it into my pocket.

  “Think about what you want to say about this recipe, and we can post it tonight,” Mom said, putting the rest of the salad ingredients into the giant refrigerator. She glanced at the clock. “Don’t you need to get ready for Thea’s party?”

  “Oh my gosh, you’re right. I still have to wrap her present.”

  “Then go, go, go—and have fun!”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I kissed her good-bye and dashed out the door.

  Our house, a Victorian built over a hundred years ago, has a narrow back staircase running up from the family kitchen. I took the steps two at a time past the second floor, where our guests stayed, to the third floor, where my parents, brother, and I lived.

  I bounded down the hallway to the best room in the whole house: my turret bedroom. It had been Mom’s room when she was growing up. When I opened the door, the sunlight practically blinded me, but hey, small price to pay when one whole wall of your room is a semicircle of ginormous windows.

  I took the paper towel out of my pocket and headed over to my inspiration board, which was where my random idea-sparks ended up. I pinned the blueberry smear to one corner, in between a magazine clipping of party decorations and a sunny yellow fabric swatch.

  After I changed into my swimsuit, shorts, and a T-shirt, I sat down at my desk to wrap the gift for my BFF’s birthday. I’d spent a week making her a pillow based on one we’d seen online. I’d never done anything quite like it before, and it was super fun to make it up as I went along. I was really happy with the way it turned out—one whole side was sequins!—and I couldn’t wait to see Thea’s face when she opened it. But now it was time for the finishing touch—a homemade gift tag. I took the strip of photos of me and Thea off my inspiration board. They were from the photo booth at last year’s fair.

  After cutting one photo off and punching a hole in the corner, I attached it to the package with a ribbon and wrote a note on the back.

  Done!

  I pinned the rest of the photo booth strip back on the inspiration board (my BFF was always a huge inspiration to me), then headed downstairs with the gift. There was a mix of voices in the dining room, which meant that lunch service had already started. I poked my head around the corner and saw one of the waitstaff putting a plate of summer salad down in front of a customer.

  The customer lifted her fork.

  I held my breath and thought of planting the snap peas and pruning the strawberry runners. I thought of the hours Mom and I spent in the kitchen, experimenting and sampling recipes. It was all for this. To give someone a delicious moment.

  “Oh my WOW,” the customer said. She put her fork down and looked at her friend across the table. “I think this is the
best salad I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I told you, that dressing is insane,” said the friend.

  A familiar warm, winning feeling rushed through me as I headed out the front door. Yes! I never get tired of that.

  I walked across our circular driveway and down a dirt path to a big old red barn. The tap-tap-tap of a hammer got louder as I got closer.

  “Dad?” I called once I was inside. My father was up in the loft, fitting the joints of two wooden beams together. He looked down at me, two nails sticking out of his mouth.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he said, but with the nails in his mouth it sounded more like, “Hakkkkkiddddo.”

  “Time to go,” I said. “Thea’s party, remember?”

  “How could I forget the official start of summer?” Dad said.

  As he climbed down the ladder, I took a look around the barn. He was making steady progress, working in the barn whenever he had time left over from running the business and marketing sides of Pleasant View Farm. With the new ceiling beams in place now, idea-sparks started going off in my head again. Shimmery silver streamers hanging from one beam as a backdrop for a photo booth. Light-up, gigantic paper stars strung from the others. I had a zillion ideas … but they would have to wait. The barn wouldn’t be ready for months.

  “Dad! Come on!” I said.

  A few minutes later, we were in his truck on the road into town, the Shawangunk Ridge mountains disappearing behind us. As the woods on the side of the road rushed by, I rolled down the window and took a big breath in. The air smelled sweet and fresh and full of possibility.

  We’d barely pulled into the parking lot of Hudson Point Park when I spotted my best friend, Theodora Dimitriou. Well, it was hard to miss her. She was standing next to the park pavilion, wearing a green bathing suit, a fluffy yellow feather boa, big black sunglasses, and a plastic tiara that read BIRTHDAY GIRL in glittering pink letters.

  As soon as Dad stopped the car, I grabbed my towel and Thea’s gift and hopped out.

  “Dahhling!” Thea said in the fake English accent she sometimes likes to do. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I answered in my fake English accent, which wasn’t nearly as good as Thea’s. “Happy birthday!” I gave her a giant hug. The feather boa tickled my nose!