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checked before coming here, is the table in Thistledown set with candles that look an awful lot like the ones in our restaurant and a bouquet of fresh cedar boughs and elderberry twigs?”
    “I . . . um, I heard the couple coming in from Japan is on their honeymoon.”
    “You mean when you
checked
with Reservations this morning to see who would be staying in your cottages this week, like you check every Saturday before you start your rounds?”
    “I thought it would be nice to set up the cabins specifically for whichever guests are staying in them.”
    “And this?” Olivia asked, reaching in her pocket again and pulling out a small cloth sack tied with jute string and a little card attached that described its contents.
    “I can explain.”
    “Good. Because I’m dying to know why one of our guests asked how come our gift shop doesn’t sell any of the ‘pretty little tree-shaped soaps’ we have in our cottage bathrooms.” Olivia untied the string, pulled out the soap and held it up to her nose, then set it on the table between them with a snort. “Which got another guest in the shop all huffy, saying she was in one of our expensive suites and
her
bathroom didn’t have any tree-shaped soaps.”
    “I was . . . It’s just an experiment. I wanted to see if people would even use goat soap before I approached you about supplying the cottages with them.”
    “They’re obviously homemade.”
    Julia nodded. “I found them at the town’s Columbus Day craft fair, only they were just square chunks. Regan Coots makes them. You know Regan, don’t you?”
    “Doesn’t she live on the Spellbound-Turtleback town line and have, like, ten kids or something?” Olivia asked with a laugh.
    Julia found her first smile since walking in. “She’s got at least ten kid
goats
and twice as many nannies, but most of the human kids you see her with belong to other people. She also runs a day care.”
    “Did you buy the soaps from Regan to put in our—or should I say
your
—cabins?”
    “No,” Julia said with a shake of her head. “I asked Regan if she’d find a small cookie cutter shaped like a fir tree and cut the soaps, then give me a few samples to try out on the guests. I told her if they were popular that you might consider buying more from her, just like you buy your kindling and pinecones from me.”
    “Only our cottages and pavilions have wood-burning fireplaces, Julia, so you don’t have any problem keeping up with demand. But Nova Mare goes through an awful lot of soap in the course of a year, especially if I wanted to supply all fifty hotel rooms and sixteen cottages. Can Regan fill that kind of order?”
    “I wasn’t intending for them to be the only soaps we supply; just an added little touch of Maine. That’s why Regan scents some of them with balsam.”
    Olivia arched a brow. “Like the balsam sachets you’ve tucked up out of sight on all your closet shelves?”
    Julia fought down her blush again, although she couldn’t stifle her smile. “I wanted the closets to smell woodsy, but they’ve been lugging off those little pillows faster than I can sew them.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and resting her arms on the table. “I’m sorry for not running my ideas by you first, but I wanted to make sure they were popular.” She shrugged. “Some tanked, but the majority of them were well received. And I have a ton of other ideas for Inglenook when it opens.” She stood up. “In fact, I have a notebook full in my cleaning cart. Let me—”
    “Hold on,” Olivia said, jumping up with a laugh and grabbing her arm—only to quickly let go when Julia flinched away. “What’s wrong? Julia, are you hurt?”
    “I . . . I wrenched my back yesterday. I’m okay; it only hurts when I forget and twist or move too fast.”
    “At work?” Olivia asked with obvious concern. “Did you hurt yourself here?”
    “Oh, no,” Julia rushed to assure her. “Last night. At home. Let me go get