From Hope Lake, With Love

by Bocci, Nina

  “So, Cami,” he said, pushing the ignition button. “What brings you to Hope Lake?”

  “Wow,” I breathed, settling into the seat. “You guys don’t waste any time getting to the nitty gritty do you.”

  His eyes grew wide. “I apologize, I didn’t—”

  “I’m kidding. It’s fine. I’m a perfect stranger in your town. I’d ask questions too,” I insisted.

  Pulling away from the curb, he drove slowly over the snow-covered road. “Where’s the car?”

  I squinted. “Over there? I think? The white Ford something or other. It’s the least snow-friendly car I think I could have rented.”

  He chuckled and again I was struck by how deep his voice was. “You wait here. I’ll grab your things.”

  “Oh, no, I can help.”

  Max glanced down at my bare legs and raised an eyebrow. “I insist.”

  Pulling on a knit hat, he grabbed another pair of gloves from the center console and slid out into the snow. When the door opened, the wind kicked up again ushering another blast of cold and snow into the car until he slammed it shut.

  “Jesus,” I said, unlocking the car for him and pulling my coat down as much as I could to cover my legs.

  Max made quick work of my suitcases and laptop bag, carrying everything back to the car in one trip. Piling it into the backseat, he looked up at me on the passenger side. He disappeared again, this time to the back of the truck, opening the rear access. Grabbing something, he walked back around to my side and opened the door.

  “This might help until we can get you to the B&B and by the fires,” he said, offering me a thick flannel blanket.

  I grabbed onto it as if it were the last cookie in the jar and wrapped it around my legs. “Thank you,” I said as soon as he was in the truck.

  “You’re welcome. Admittedly, the outfit makes me even more curious as to why you’re here, dressed like that, in this.” He said the last bit with a grand flourish toward the blustery snow.

  I took stock of what I was wearing. Shorts that hit mid-thigh and a light, flowy Bohemian-style blouse. The cardigan that the ladies had given me at the bakery was the only other sensible thing that was fitting for the weather besides the jacket I bought at the airport when I landed. I realize now, for a travel writer, how idiotic I was when packing. I knew better to research where I was going but I was so eager to get here I just through clothes into my suitcase without thought and got on a plane.

  “So? You’re visiting?” he asked, as he pulled out onto the deserted street.

  Due to the lack of plowing, or maybe just because the snow was falling faster than they could get it off the roads, he had to stay in the center of the street where it was at least slightly safer.

  “I’m here for work, you could say. My editor,” I began, not bothering to add former to the explanation, “went to college around here and suggested running a piece on the town. I freelance for a travel magazine. Aside from that, I’ve got a novel that I’d like to finish so I figured two birds, and all that jazz.”

  He carefully wound through the streets, sitting quietly as I rambled. It’s not that I was nervous, just a smidge uneasy thanks to the weather.

  “I never would have found my way to the B&B. The amount of snow that has fallen is unbelievable. I don’t recognize a thing from earlier.”

  “Is this the way you came in?”

  I nodded. “I know it is, but wow, it’s crazy how fast it changed.”

  “The weather is always a tricky thing in the valley.” His tone was bland, yet he didn’t appear to be someone that would be boring. At least not under normal circumstances.

  “Music?” he asked, pushing the button before I responded.

  “Sure,” I said quietly, smiling when I realized the same song from earlier was on again.

  As we drove, I mentally added up the amount of decorations strewn about town. Everything seemed to be expertly decorated and yet, it never seemed like it was too much.

  “I’m out of sorts, I think. It was just Thanksgiving, literally, and this place is a wonderland. Don’t you get sick of it by the time it’s Christmas?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t. I’m sure some do, but nothing beats Hope Lake at Christmas.”

  “We’ll see if I agree in a month’s time.”

  He only smiled in response. ‘

  “You know, the bakery detour was an accident. My intention was to head straight to the B&B, have something to eat, and get unpacked. Go to bed early and get my body on East Coast time.”

  “Do you travel a lot?” he asked.

  I studied his profile, then glanced at his gloved hands but I couldn’t see if there was a ring.

  “So, do you?” he asked again, and I shifted in the seat.

  “Sorry, I zoned out. I do, yes. Mostly West Coast, sometimes Australia and Asia. There’s another writer who lives in New York who keeps track of this side of the country. She’s been with the magazine since its inception. Someone else is in Europe. We’re all spread out to make it easier.”

  “Sounds like a busy life. You’re able to stay here for a little bit? Your booking said a month.”

  I glanced at him. “How’d you know that?”

  He tapped the wheel for a second. “Small town, you know.” He winked and turned onto a long gravel path. On the side of the road was a large sign that read Hope Lake Bed-and-Breakfast

  Below that was the proprietor’s name, but it was covered in snow. “I hope you don’t live far since you did me a favor by bringing me all this way out here. I didn’t realize how bad the roads were.”

  He smiled. “I’m nearby.”

  The scene before me was something I imagined was on a postcard for this place back in the day. The bed-and-breakfast must have been a grand family estate at some point then divided up when someone transformed it into this. It was a massive two-story brick home with four tall, stately ivory columns at the entrance. Like the ones in town, these were decorated as candy canes, with thick, red ribbon wrapped around them. An enormous wreath was placed between the second story windows, lit up with what seemed to be thousands of twinkly white lights.

  To the side of the main home was a two-car wide carport or turn around that I assumed was for guests. On either side were two well-lit Christmas trees in planters. The white lights welcomed us to the B&B. Max pulled his car under the carport, threw it into park, and turned off the engine.

  “We’re here.”

  I looked around the otherwise empty parking lot. “I guess I didn’t pick tourist season, huh?”

  He shook his head. “You’re about four months too early. There’s a staff, of course. But it’s minimal this time of year. I can promise that you’ll be well taken care of while you’re here.”

  I side-eyed him. “How could you know that?”

  He opened the car door, slid out and stood facing me with a smile. “Because I own it.”

  Chapter Three

  “Didn’t anyone think to mention that?” I asked, trying not to laugh at what was such an obvious omission.

  He carried my luggage into the reception area with me hot on his heels. Soft Christmas music played over the speakers, and the entire area smelled like warm cinnamon sugar. He set everything down by a large, ornate oak desk that held a single lamp, a phone, and a thick leather book with a gold ribbon sticking out of it. Behind the desk was a small Christmas tree and tiny presents beneath it.

  “Marjorie?” he called, and we were joined by a petite Black woman with long, salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled back into a low side ponytail. She was starting to hunch over slightly, much like some of the ladies from earlier did. She wore a bright pink scarf wrapped around her head like a bandana and had clear framed cheetah glasses with small pink jewels at the corners.

  She smiled brightly upon seeing me standing beside Max. He received a curious look and raised an eyebrow, similar to what he had done earlier. I looked between them but dismissed the feeling.

  “Hello, dear. You m
ust be Camille Douglas. I’m happy to meet you. Maxwell will take your things upstairs for you once I get you your key.”

  “Oh no, that’s okay,” I insisted, pulling my bag from his shoulder. “I don’t have much. I’m sure you’re busy with. . .things.”

  He huffed. “Marjorie, please tell Cami that I’m never too busy to make a guest feel welcome.”

  “Cami?” she parroted, and gave him another grin. “I insist that he helps. He has to earn his keep around here somehow.”

  I flattened my lips. “Of course, I just don’t want anyone to put themselves out. Max already drove me all the way here. I’m sure he’s got to get home?”

  Marjorie raised her eyebrow. “Maxwell, maybe you can check on Ross. See if he can warm up dinner for you both,” she offered.

  My stomach answered for me. “Thanks, Marjorie.”

  “Oh, and I hope you like your décor. Usually, we don’t decorate the guest rooms but I thought it would be a nice touch since you’re the only one here.”

  I smiled. “That was kind, thanks. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

  Max excused himself, and left my things on a bench next to the check in desk, stacking them neatly into a sturdy pile. “He’s very precise, I’m guessing,” I said to myself.

  “He is, but I suppose that goes with the jobs.”

  “Jobs? Plural?”

  “Did he tell you anything?” she said, not exactly sounding surprised.

  Now that I thought of it, no. “He asked very specific questions, or but he wasn’t very verbose, no.” I didn’t get the impression that he wasn’t interested in what I was saying. He listened and responded.

  “Perhaps he’s not someone that opens up to strangers,” I mused. I could understand that but in my line of work, I had to pull facts and information out of people. Max wouldn’t be any different.

  Marjorie didn’t miss a beat in filling me in. “He’s one of the doctors in town. He joined Dr. Bishop’s practice. So, accuracy, efficiency, timeliness. They’re all positive attributes to have in both lines of work. Especially with how much he has going on.”

  “What else does he have going on?” I said, intrigued by the good doctor’s apparently busy schedule.

  She tapped the pen. “The practice takes up a bit of time, and he’s always helping out in neighboring towns. He and Dr. Bishop are the first to jump in when needed.”

  I leaned on the counter. “This place is busy? I looked it up before booking, you’ve got great reviews in the last year or so, so you’re doing something right.”

  She beamed. “That’s Maxwell for you,” she said absently as she scribbled in the book.

  “No computer? Or anything to keep track besides a book?” That wasn’t very modern, though the reset of the amenities didn’t seem lacking at all.

  Marjorie scrunched up her nose. “Yes, there is. It’s in the back for the other staff to use. I am not a fan and since it’s the slow season, I do my own thing. I like this book. It suits me just fine.”

  “I like a woman that knows what she wants,” I teased.

  Even though her head was still down as she wrote notes in the log book, I could see her smile. “When Maxwell first bought this place, and wanted me to come to help out, I insisted on keeping some of the charm. It worked fine for thirty years, why change a good thing.”

  I shrugged. “You’ve got a point.”

  “It wasn’t in the best condition before he bought it. People were very hard on the old owners – I think that’s why it was such a steal.”

  Where Max was the silent type, Marjorie seemed willing to share anything.

  “Marjorie, you know I’m a writer, right? I won’t add anything that you divulge unless you’re okay with it.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not like anything I’m saying is a secret. Ask anyone in Hope Lake and they’ll tell you the same thing.”

  I made a mental note of the character of the building, the antiquated, yet charming, way of checking people in and how sweet and helpful Marjorie was. While I thought I could sit and chat with her about the B&B, Hope Lake and even, perhaps, Max, it was late, and she looked exhausted.

  “I’m pre-paid, right? If you’d like to turn in, I can find my own way to the room?” I offered, but she brushed me off as she fought off a yawn.

  “You’re sweet. I usually never turn in until I know Maxwell is home safe, but today has gotten the best of me.”

  “It’s no problem. I’d feel better if I knew you were resting. I really don’t mind.”

  “I don’t know what’s keeping him. I’m surprised he’s not out trying to help plow or shovel roads. It must still be coming down,” she said, looking out the large front windows at the still falling snow.

  “Wait, does Max live here, too?” I asked, looking around the lobby area. Sure enough, there was a door off to the side that said private. It could easily lead to a second floor, or something else.

  “Yes, of course. He really didn’t tell you a thing.” Marjorie said as she handed a key over to me. An actual key. Not a key card that needed programming. An honest-to-God brass key, with a little tag on it that said the number ten.

  “There’s another wing just through that door. I have the whole first floor. It’s a bit much for me, but Maxwell insisted that I be comfortable.”

  “That’s convenient,” I said, smiling when she patted my hand. “Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll be fine.”

  She smiled gratefully. “I put you on the second floor, right by the window at the end of the hallway. You’ll be able to see the sunrise over the lake and there is a cozy sitting area with a window seat. Since we’re empty, you’ll have that whole corner to yourself,” she said kindly, handing me a small packet with my receipt on top of the stack.

  My handwritten receipt.

  “You’re just darling, has anyone ever said that?” I said, patting her hand gently.

  “Aren’t you sweet. My husband used to tell me I was a darling. It’s funny that you used that exact word. Now, you head up. I’ll have Max bring your things, and Ross will be up with a chicken pot pie for you.”

  “I didn’t think you guys served dinner?”

  She smiled. “We don’t. We had something delivered for you for when you arrived. Ross is in charge of the menu for the guests but you’re the only guest, and since you can’t go out or get delivery—” She broke off for another yawn, “we thought we would have something here for you since it’s so late.”

  How thoughtful. “Good night, Marjorie. Thank you for the hospitality. I really appreciate it.”

  She gave a small wave before disappearing into through the door marked private.

  Left to my own devices, and not ready to turn in just yet, I wandered the main floor just a bit. In the center of the room was a grand staircase. Loops, and dips of the same thick, evergreen garland and tiny twinkling lights danced up the railing leading to the top where a massive tree stood proudly.

  The woodwork was off-white like the columns out front, the runner up the middle was a bright, cheery yellow. Though I didn’t think I was tired, my bones felt weary as I climbed to the second story, but when I turned around to look over the railing, I was greeted with a beautiful sight of the lower level. A fieldstone fireplace graced one wall, with a large railroad tie for a mantlepiece. It too had garland hung with care as well as three wide brass candle holders with ivory tapers just waiting to be lit.

  In front of the hearth was a navy loveseat and two Queen Anne chairs surrounding an oak coffee table stacked with what looked like vintage Christmas books. There were small two- or four-person tables near the windows with more books stacked in the center of each as decoration.

  It was all homey and comfortable, all while embracing the perfect holiday look. Some B&B’s tended to be stuffy, or old-fashioned but this felt classic. I couldn’t wait to snap photos of my own as the ones that I found online did not do it justice. That was something I would speak to Max about before I wrote my article on my stay.


  Wandering down the hall, I made mental notes, wishing that I had taken my bag with the notebook in it to jot ideas down. By the time I ended up at number ten, I wasn’t sure if I even had the energy for dinner—until I smelled it.

  Turning, I spied a tall, lanky older man with thinning dark brown hair carrying a wide rectangular tray with the tell-tale silver dome in the center. “You must be Ross,” I said as a greeting.

  He smiled. “I am, and you must be Ms. Douglas. It’s a pleasure.”

  I hurried to retrieve the key and get the door open. Fumbling around for the switch, I turned on the lights, and gasped. “Oh!” I blurted, seeing the room all lit up.

  “These rooms are something,” he said, setting the tray down on the table near the coffee pot. “When Max bought the B&B, he and Marjorie went through the whole place and made some pretty spectacular changes.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Ross moved toward the door and gave a small wave.

  “Night. Thank you.”

  I took the lid from the tray and breathed in deeply. The pot pie smelled divine, and it was still warm as if straight from the oven. It was thankfully in a deep bowl that allowed me to carry it around the room while I ate and admired my new digs for the next however long.

  The room was larger than I anticipated and I realized quickly that it wasn’t what I booked, instead upgraded to a suite. Something that I would need to thank them for tomorrow. It was an open concept with a small living area that overlooked what I assumed was the lake Marjorie mentioned. To the side near the door was a small refrigerator, a hot plate, and a small sink. I wouldn’t call it an efficiency, per se, but it was definitely going to be handy. Around the corner was a bathroom with a claw foot tub, and a beautiful white, marble vanity.

  But the crowning glory was the bedroom. Thankfully the wide, white door was closed so I got the full effect when I opened it. There was a small side lamp near the four-poster bed. Queen sized and covered in pillows. There was a window seat, and a Queen Anne chair similar to the one in the hallway. A navy blanket was draped over it, and there was a small table beside it with a book and an unlit candle.