A Wedding on Lilac Lane by Hope Ramsay (best book clubs .txt) 📕

an urgent siren when a bright gush of blood welled up from a cut on Dylan’s temple and trickled down his face.

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding.” Ella’s heart went into a full gallop as she let go of his hands and grabbed another napkin from the table. As she pressed it to Doctor D’s temple, panic began to swell inside her.

Oh, crap, crap, crap. She was a disaster. She couldn’t make coffee. She couldn’t deliver food. And now look what she’d done. She’d given her future stepbrother a concussion and a head wound that probably needed stitches.

She glanced at his eyes, which was what you were supposed to do when checking for concussions, right? They seemed normal…beautiful even. Dark blue with little amber flecks in them.

She pressed the napkin tighter against his head. Doctor D’s beautiful eyes turned up toward her. Woah. Was it weird to find them beautiful?  Or worse yet, icky?

“Someone should call a doctor,” one of the guests said in a voice that carried a world of censure.

“I am a doctor.” Dylan pressed the napkin even tighter against his head, his hand covering hers. “Harder,” he said, applying pressure that reignited the weird awareness that had seized her a second ago.

“Right, I knew that.”

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot. It’s scary but not serious.” Kindness rang in his voice.

“I’m so sorry. I’m such a klutz.”

“It’s okay. Accidents happen.”

Who was this man? Had the knock to his head unleashed a kinder, gentler Dylan, or had he morphed into Doctor Dazed?

“Here, I’ve got it,” he said a moment later, taking control of the napkin.

Oh good, he was back in control. Maybe she hadn’t concussed him, but he was certainly a mess. Globules of egg had adhered to his suit jacket and pants, and blood had dripped down his face to stain the pristine collar of his shirt and yellow polka-dotted bow tie.

She took a step back, a remorseful lump forming in her throat and tears filling her eyes. She’d really screwed things up. Mom was going to kill her.

But then Ashley materialized beside her like a guardian angel or something. “It’s okay, Ella. You go into the kitchen, wash your hands, and make another pot of coffee, okay?”

“I’m so sorry. I—”

“It’s fine. Everyone spills something sooner or later,” Ashley said.

Ella turned to look into the innkeeper’s big brown eyes and found only compassion and forgiveness.

“Go. Calm down. Make some coffee and then bring the bucket of cleaning stuff from the closet.”

 She turned, giving Dylan, who was being tended by the minister and one of the guests, one last look. Maybe he wouldn’t be scarred for life, which was a good thing, because Mom wouldn’t be happy if she’d damaged Jim’s son.

She hyperventilated as she started another pot of coffee, barely keeping her tears in check. Then she found the bucket in the closet, which contained some foam carpet spray, a sponge, a roll of paper towels, and everything needed for cleaning up a mess.

Spills in the dining room must be an everyday occurrence.

 When she returned to the dining room, Dylan was gone, and Ashley was chatting with the few remaining guests. A lot of them had left.

Oh no. This was so bad. Ella’s mistakes this morning had probably earned Howland House a few bad Yelp reviews, or maybe even lost Ashley some repeat customers. Granny would be so disappointed in her, especially since her grandmother had used her connections with the Piece Makers to help Ella find this job.

The thought goaded her into action. Maybe she was a disaster with the stupid coffee maker, but she knew how to clean up messes. Cody had been a champion mess-maker, and she’d been the only one in the band who’d followed behind him, tidying up.

She rounded the table and got down on her knees in order to pick up the egg and bacon scattered all over the floor. She scooped up the bits and pieces, putting them in a garbage bag she’d brought from the kitchen. Down under the table on her knees, her humiliation and embarrassment redoubled. She was fighting tears when Jackie arrived on the scene, poking his head under the table with a metal-mouth grin. “You screwed up big-time, didn’t you?” he said.

“Yeah, I did. I’m so sorry.” Her voice wobbled.

The kid cocked his head and paused as if he’d expected some other response from her. “Hey, it’s okay. You should have seen the time Mom tripped and dropped the Piece Maker’s cake all over the kitchen floor. She had to feed the ladies store-bought doughnuts. She’s never heard the end of that one.”

He slipped under the table and started picking up clumps of egg and bacon that were beyond her reach. “Please don’t cry.”

She stared at the kid. “I’m not crying.”

“Okay, that’s good. The guests don’t want to see you crying. The guests just want breakfast.”

She blinked at his wisdom. Obviously, he’d been living at the inn for much of his young life. She might do well to listen to him.

She scooped up the last bit of egg and tossed it in the garbage, but the carpet still smelled of orange juice, so she reached for the can of carpet cleaner and gave the area a big spray, rubbed it in with the sponge, then blotted up the wet spot until the paper towels ran out.

“I think that’s good enough,” Ashley said when the last towel went into the garbage bag. “And thank you for helping, Jackie.”

“No problem. You want me to get coffee for the guests?” Jackie asked.

“If you would, please.”

The kid scampered away to the kitchen, and Ella changed her opinion of him. He wasn’t a wiseass at all. He was merely a little different.

“Come on,” Ashley said, “the biscuits are warm in the oven, and we still have a few hungry guests to feed. Next time don’t put so many plates on the tray. And don’t run.”

“Right.”

She went back to work, inwardly cringing every time she thought about that horrible moment when she lost control