Chapter 86: Rebuilding the Town

The owner of The Good Inn was a matronly elf, stooped over from advanced age. Gray hair hung in two long braids on either side of her face, and she steadied herself with a gnarled, polished cane. She stood next to a wizened elven man I didn't recognize. He held his hat in his hand. The two of them regarded me thoughtfully.

I descended from the porch stairs and met them out in front of the Breakwater Inn. It was late afternoon, and a gentle, cool breeze rustled Wynnie's tousled hair next to me. Shivai hung a step back, straightening the wrinkles from her skintight leggings.

Seeing the scene before us, I took a deep breath, not entirely prepared for whatever came next.

There were only seven or eight, maybe nine people, but it felt like a small crowd. All of them stood awkwardly, waiting.

"Good evening," I greeted them. I glanced nervously at Wynnie, and she shrugged, ceding the stage to me. "Full house. What do I owe the pleasure?"

The old woman’s voice sounded like fall leaves rattling in the wind. "We all met after the flames died down. Herbert here managed to tame the last of it after the rain helped.” She gestured at the man next to her. He looked weary in the same way that Shivai did after she used too much mana to charm pirates. “We talked about what you told us and Mel."

Ah, yes. The offer. Made in a dark moment of heartbreak, exhaustion, and belief that a small town could triumph over whatever evils it faced.

In the clear light of day, it seemed like kind of a lot. But I was better here. I did a whole lot more than drink, game, and half-ass my fly-by-the-night situationships.

I nodded. "I want to help however I can. I'm not sure we could find enough jobs for everyone here, though."

"That's not what we're here for," the woman said, trying to be clear.

"Not exactly," added the man. "Your offer to help rebuild The Good Inn is very kind."

Surely so many people hadn't arrived simply to thank me for my pledge. There was too much expectation in the air. It was palpable, as though everyone's hopes had gathered to thicken it.

And surely, they weren’t here to watch me take the first swing of a hammer, either.

"Um, thanks," I said, trying to keep things rolling. “What did you have in mind?”

"We've seen what you've done with the Breakwater," the woman continued. "Do you think you could work such magic again?"

"Uhh."

"What my wife is asking is whether you would consider taking The Good Inn under management."

For a few seconds, I just stood dumbstruck. They wanted me to take over restaurant operations? The entire thing?

"All I know how to do is food and drink. And even then, I'm a bit better on the drink side."

Wynnie nudged me with her elbow and shot me an are-you-serious look. Apparently, according to her, I could more than hold my own elsewhere.

But I hadn’t done much. All the glow-ups I’d given the Breakwater Inn were stolen wholesale from Earth culture. Bland but classy design. Working windows and fireplace. Cocktails that cost just a bit too much.

Then again, I’d managed to make ceviche and sashimi popular. Ice cream, too. And my mignonette was definitely a revelation for the SIlver Coast.

I shrugged. "Okay, I'm decent with food, too. But I'm not a professional chef."

"Your food is all anyone has spoken about for the last couple of weeks. Either you're just being humble, or you're actually unaware of what you're bringing to the table." The woman allowed a small smile to play at the corner of her lips. "Pun definitely intended."

"We're getting old, and we'd love to retire." The man put his hat back on his head and loosened his stance. "We're not ready to let go of The Good Inn, but managing it day-to-day is quite a bit of work."

Boy, didn't I know that. Everyone thinks that owning a restaurant or café will be a simple, easy job.

It's not. It never is.

And then when they find out how little the service industry actually pays, only the most dedicated and slightly insane stick with it. Some people serve or tend bar for a few years before burning out and moving on. Lifers find a calling. Passion keeps them going when others would have quit long ago.

For some reason, when offered a fresh start in a new world, I’d committed even harder to the job than ever before. I must be slightly insane, then. Or even fully insane, given what I was now considering.

I scanned the group for someone who might look like a leader. "What about any of these folks? Wouldn't one of them want to step up?"

Several of the crowd shook their heads. Frederick the bartender spoke up.

"I've never seen anyone do what you do. It makes me realize how little I understand what can be done behind a bar. I wouldn't even know where to begin."

Mel piped up as well. "My job is stressful enough as it is without having to call the shots, too."

I could understand that. Anyone who hasn't worked a busy service shift simply doesn't understand. I knew ER nurses who had less stressful jobs.

From the murmurs of agreement passing among the others, most of the folks there felt the same. I couldn't blame them. Working in a restaurant is a lot different from running one.

"And what about your fire mage?"

The man raised his hand. "That's me. My control of the flame is not quite what it used to be. It takes more and more energy to accomplish less and less."

“Is that why you couldn’t put out the fire in The Good Inn?” I asked, almost wishing I didn’t.

He shook his head ruefully. “Can you lift a pail of milk all by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Then surely, you could lift a whole cow just as easily?”

Point taken. I nodded in understanding. "So The Good Inn would be without a fire mage?"

"I'm sure I could still do a little. If you need someone to heat the place on a cold day, I could help out. But you’ve done well down here without anyone with the spark. Perhaps you could see that our inn does well without, too.”

I shrugged. As far as I was concerned, we didn't need magic to run a good business. A good fireplace with a proper ventilation system was already working wonders at the Breakwater Inn. And fire mage or no, The Good Inn hadn't managed to do anything special with their cooking.

If anything, the amount of heat applied to any given dish could be described as overzealous. Someone with a better handle on how to work a stove would be worth a lot more in the long run than someone who relied on innate magical control.

I nodded to myself decisively. A plan was forming.

"Okay, so let me get this straight. We'll help you rebuild. When The Good Inn is up and running again, we'll take over management."

"You mean you? Or you and Wynnie?" the woman asked.

"Me and Wynnie," I said firmly. "I have a little inn experience, but Wynnie has been doing it for years. When it comes to getting guests checked in and taken care of, you'd want her guiding that effort, not me."

The two owners shared an apprehensive look, but ultimately seemed to accept my insistence.

The rest of my stipulations flowed easily. Everyone keeps their jobs. Anyone who wanted to take on more responsibilities was welcome to. Anyone who felt like they wanted to change gears and try something different should talk to us and whoever was already in charge.

And the last one was my favorite. Cross-training. If we were going to do this right, we needed to be able to support each other as sister businesses. Everyone at The Good Inn needed to learn how to run the Breakwater Inn, and vice versa.

We would create separate, completely distinct vibes for each spot. The Breakwater Inn would become even more upscale, leaning into smaller plates and a truly bespoke experience. The Good Inn, meanwhile, would become the hub of live entertainment. Beers, stews, nightly performances, the whole shebang.

There was just one last thing.

"When we help you rebuild, do you want it just the same as it was before? Or is there anything you'd like to add?"

Questions arose from the crowd.

"Could we do more rooms?"

"Do you think we have room for more taps?"

"What if we expand the bathing section?"

"Anyone else ever wish we had an employee break room?"

I grinned. As far as I was concerned, the sky was the limit. We were building a new place from the ground up. And if we were going to rebuild, we might as well build back better.

From inside the Breakwater Inn, the telltale rustle and clank of guests carrying heavy bags came muffled through the door. Low conversation alerted me as to whom. The merfolk were getting ready to set sail again.

I needed to check in with them before they left. Something about a returning Tidebringer and pirate collusion marked by deep metal needed a final word. Also, I got the impression Freya wouldn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

“Wynnie, can you get a list of folks who want to pick up shifts here?” I glanced over my shoulder past Shivai, seeing the crowd gathering inside through the window. “And get a headcount on who’s willing to hold a hammer.”

“Sure thing. You’re going to handle the check-outs?”

“Might as well start cross-training now. Oh, and let’s see if anyone here knows a builder or two. Or maybe they can help us put a call out.”

“What do you have in mind?”

I thought about Farmer Cal and Yvonne. “Building an inn sounds tough. I figured we might practice with a barn.”

With that, I turned back to the Breakwater Inn. It was time to check in with Freya about what the future held between our two kingdoms.  Behind me, Wynnie cleared her throat, getting ready to address the crowd.