Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(43)

Zoë had an innate compulsion to take care of people. It must have been in the Hoffman blood, because Justine had it, too. They both loved to welcome travel-weary or burned-out guests at the inn, most of whom were battling the endless variety of troubles that came along with being human. It was gratifying to be able to offer them a quiet room with a comfortable bed, and a good breakfast in the morning. Although none of that could fix anyone’s problems, it was an escape.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” Justine had asked one day, putting away clean dishes while Zoë made cookies. “All this baking and cooking and stuff.”

“No.” Zoë rolled out cookie dough into a perfectly even sheet. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I’m just trying to figure out what you like about it. You know how I feel about cooking. If it wasn’t for the microwave, I’d have starved long before you ever started working here.”

Zoë had grinned. “I’ve wondered the same thing about all your jogging and bike-riding. Exercise is the most boring thing in the world to me.”

“Being outside in nature is different every day. The weather, the scenery, the seasons … it’s always changing. Whereas with baking … I’ve seen you make cookies about a hundred times. It’s not like you get a lot of excitement.”

“I do, too. When I need excitement, I change the shape of the cookies.”

Justine had grinned.

Zoë picked out cookie cutters shaped like flowers, ladybugs, and butterflies. “I love doing this. It reminds me of the time early in my life when most of my problems could be solved by a cookie.”

“I’m still at that time in my life. I have no problems. No real problems, that is. And that’s the key to happiness—knowing how good you’ve got it while you’ve still got it.”

“I could be happier,” Zoë had said reflectively.

“How?”

“I’d like to have someone special. I’d like to know what it’s like to really fall in love.”

“No you don’t. Being single is the best. You’re independent. You can go on adventures with no one to hold you back. You can do whatever you want. Enjoy your freedom, Zo—it’s a beautiful word.”

“I do enjoy it, a lot of the time. But sometimes freedom seems like a word for not having anyone to snuggle with on Friday night.”

“You don’t have to be in love to snuggle with someone.”

“It doesn’t feel the same to snuggle with someone you don’t love.”

Justine grinned. “Are we using ‘snuggle’ as a metaphor? Because it reminds me of the obituary I read about Ann Landers, where it said one of her most popular columns ever was a poll asking if women would choose cuddling or sex. Something like three quarters of her readers said cuddling.” She made a face.

“You would choose sex,” Zoë said rather than asked.

“Of course. Cuddling is fine for about thirty seconds, but then it’s irritating.”

“Physically irritating? Emotionally irritating?”

“Every kind of irritating. And if you cuddle with a guy too often, it encourages him to think you’re having a relationship, and it gets all meaningful.”

“What’s wrong with meaningful?”

“Meaningful is a synonym for serious. And serious is the opposite of fun. And my mother told me that life should always be fun.”

Although Zoë hadn’t seen Justine’s mother, Aunt Marigold, for years, she remembered how beautiful and eccentric she had been. Marigold had raised her only child as a free spirit, just as she had been. Sometimes she had taken Justine to attend festivals with odd names, such as the Beltane Bash or the Old Earth Gather. She had made food Zoë had never heard of before, things like Covenstead Bread with honey and citron, and Groundhog Day cake, and Half Moon cauliflower. After visiting distant relatives, Justine had returned with stories of participating in drumming circles and “drawing down the moon” rituals held in the forest at midnight.

Zoë had often wondered why Marigold never visited the inn, and why she and Justine seemed virtually estranged. When she had tried to ask, Justine had flatly refused to discuss the subject.

“Most parents,” Zoë ventured, “tell their children that life shouldn’t always be fun. Are you sure that wasn’t what she said?”

“No, I’m sure it’s supposed to be fun. That’s why the inn is perfect for me—I like to meet someone new, get to know them superficially, and send them on their way. A continuous supply of short-term friendships.”

Unlike Justine, Zoë wanted permanence in her life. She had liked the stability of marriage, and the companionship, and she hoped to marry again someday. However, the next time she would have to choose very carefully. Even though the divorce with Chris had been cordial, she never wanted to go through something like that again.

As for Alex Nolan, he wasn’t the kind of man who would fit in with her plans. Zoë decided that she would focus on cultivating a friendship with him, nothing more. She knew herself well enough to be certain that she was not a short-term-affair kind of person. And she would have to take Alex at his word, when he claimed that she wouldn’t be able to handle him as a lover. “I have to have all the control,” he’d told her in that raw-velvet voice, and, “I’m not nice.” Which had been intended to warn her away, but at the same time had aroused a wild curiosity about what he’d meant.