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Regards,

Rachel Hartwell

Chief Executive Officer

The Hartwell Hotel

I send the reply before Eric can mistake my silence for encouragement.

For a moment, I consider calling Grandma. She would know exactly what to say to a man who has already decided he’s my neighbor, my Friday-night dinner date, and a part of my life. But she trusted me to run the Hartwell while she’s away. I won’t call her every time a problem walks through our doors in an expensive suit.

I can handle Eric Voss myself.

The next morning, I enter the Hartwell through the staff door and hear laughter before I reach the staff dining room. The smell of butter, cinnamon, and fresh coffee fills the corridor.

At this hour, the room is usually half empty. The night staff are finishing their shift, while the morning team tend to grab coffee and get to work. Today, every table is full.

Boxes from the bakery two doors down cover the serving counter. Open lids reveal breakfast sandwiches, fruit, muffins, and enough pastries to feed both shifts twice. Two large coffee dispensers with taps sit beside stacks of cups, several kinds of milk, and a bowl of sugar packets.

Mia stands at the counter with an almond croissant in one hand and a fresh cup of coffee in the other.

“What’s all this?”

“Our favorite neighbor sent breakfast,” she says through a mouthful.

First wine, now breakfast. Apparently, Eric Voss thinks the road to our service lane runs through the staff dining room.

“He isn’t our favorite anything,” I snap.

Mia smiles. “Tell that to the night staff. Half of them stayed late for a second plate.”

I look around the room. Porters, housekeepers, kitchen staff, and reception workers are eating together. Everyone seems relaxed and very pleased with Eric Voss.

Even I have to admit the food looks incredible. He didn’t choose this bakery by accident. It’s a staff favorite, and buying from a business on Hartwell Boulevard helps him look like the generous new neighbor he claims to be.

I pick up the card beside the nearest box.

Dear Future Neighbors,

At Voss, we believe good neighbors look after one another.

Before Ms. Hartwell asks, yes—everything was delivered through the front entrance.

Please assure her that accepting a croissant isn’t legally binding.

Enjoy.

Your future favorite neighbor,

Eric Voss

I can almost see Eric’s smug smile as he wrote the note. He thinks he has an answer for everything. Unfortunately, he solved the wrong problem. I don’t want Voss deliveries coming through the front entrance either. Guests shouldn’t have to dodge delivery carts and stacks of pastry boxes while checking in.

I leave the staff to enjoy their breakfast and head upstairs. When I enter my office, a large cream-colored box sits in the middle of my desk. I recognize the gold seal of the chocolatier beside the theater, though I’ve never seen them sell anything this large.

Inside are four trays of chocolates. A card rests on top, the message written in neat cursive.

Rachel,