by Sabrina York
Next, I turned to Olivia. “Did they say what kind of sweet they wanted?”
“No.”
“Awesome.” I’d seen some frozen desserts stocked in the freezer. It only took me a minute to find some microwavable frozen lava cakes and the caramel Noel marked as leftover from the wedding cake. And yeah. I made that.
Caramel chocolate lava cakes.
Served on crystal plates (with a caramel swoosh on the base), sterling silver utensils and a cloth napkin…and you had a thirty dollar dessert. Easy. I squirted a little whipped cream on the warm cakes and then shaved chocolate over them just to be sure they looked fancy.
Olivia helped me serve, while Wren poured coffee. They didn’t ask for it, but we made decaf because, clearly, these people needed their sleep.
And so, by the way, did we.
They loved the coffee and cakes and quickly succumbed to that lovely state I like to call satiation. They were simply happy. And so was I.
Until I remembered that my chef was blotto and there was a huge breakfast planned for tomorrow morning early. As in O-Dark-Thirty, as Dad used to say.
So, as soon as the guests went upstairs, I corralled Olivia and Wren into the kitchen, grabbed my radio, and called for backup. It didn’t take long for everyone to appear in Noel’s room, which was the only staff room in the guest lodge. It was near the kitchen, but it wasn’t much larger than ours, so it was a tight fit.
Especially since Coop and his team had answered the call as well.
“We have a problem,” I said, gesturing to Noel, there on his bed, drunk on brandy. Like, sloshed. And he was not a pretty drunk. He was crying and sniveling and cradling that empty bottle, there on the corner of his bed.
The cake was done, thank God—salted caramel so no one could taste his tears, which was a blessing—but the chef was a mess. There was no way he was going to be able to pull together a five-star wedding breakfast in ten hours.
Jed shook his head. “Dude. I don’t understand why he can get shitfaced and I can’t smoke a little pot.”
Ye Gods! “Jed. Listen to me.” I took him by the shoulders. “Noel is not supposed to be shitfaced. And he will very probably be fired. Do you see? Do you see why we have that rule? Now, there’s no one to do his job. Get it?”
“So, what do we do?” Olivia asked.
I crossed my arms. “We make breakfast.” Personally, I was thinking about just throwing a couple boxes of Pop Tarts in the microwave or whatever. And yeah. We were way too close to the end of this Visit for too much creativity. These people had sucked it all out of me.
“What do we know about five-star breakfasts?” Coop asked, encouraging everyone to chime in, God love him.
“And rich people?” Jed chimed in.
“They like caviar,” Olivia offered.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, they do.” Maybe not for breakfast but, great suggestion.
“And champagne!” Not surprisingly, this was Jed’s idea.
“Okay. Caviar and champagne. Good start.” Even I was impressed with them.
Wren raised her hand. “I make a pretty mean béarnaise. I could make Eggs Benedict—”
“Eggs Benedict takes Hollandaise,” I reminded her.
Her pierced eyebrow rose. “Hollandaise is boring and derivative.”
“Okay. Eggs Benedict with Béarnaise—”
“With caviar on top!” Olivia, again.
“Good. Good,” I said. “Keep the ideas coming.”
“How about, like, a bread pudding?”
“Or monkey bread.” Wren surprised me by actually looking enthused. “My sister makes an amazing monkey bread.”
Jed wrinkled his nose. “Is it made of monkeys? Man, these rich folks are weird.”
Wren gaped at him. “Of course, it’s not made of monkeys.”
“What’s in it?” I asked. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. But, whatever it was, we weren’t calling it Monkey Bread.
“You can use those frozen rolls Noel has in the freezer, put them in a baking pan, then dump a jar of butterscotch topping and toasted pecans on it. Let it come to room temperature, double in size, and bake. Easy.”
“Sounds good too.” Or I was hungry. “How can we elevate it? Make it fancier?” I added when I noticed Jed’s puzzled expression.
“Some kind of sauce?” Olivia suggested.
“Excellent.” I smiled at her. “How about Crème Anglaise? Does anyone know how to make Crème Anglaise?”
Crickets.
“Okay. I can tackle that one.”
Cooper’s mouth dropped. “You know how to make Crème Anglaise? You been holding out on me?”
I gusted a breath. “Of course I know how to make Crème Anglaise. I took some cooking classes in my hospitality training.” Mostly so I would know what I was serving. But I really loved the patisserie classes. Oh, and on that note, I turned to Olivia, “Let’s add some cinnamon and nutmeg to the monkey bread and we’ll call them Christmas Clouds with Crème Anglaise. So we have a savory dish and a sweet… It probably wouldn’t hurt to have a quiche on hand and maybe a fresh fruit salad. And of course, coffee and mimosas. OJ for the minors. How does that sound?”
I was surprised at their response. A huge cheer. I almost told them to be quiet because they might wake the guests, but I caught Coop’s expression, and his salute as he mouthed the words, “Good job.”
Something warm rose in my breast. “Okay, everyone. Great work. Let’s keep it up and push through to the finish. Thank you. Thank you all for your great work.” Yea! I could make a motivational speech! At least, they all seemed motivated as they set out on their various assigned tasks as we prepped for breakfast.
Jed, of course, was assigned to watch over Noel and clean things up if he, ah, urped again, but Jed preferred that over making a quiche anyway.
We did as much prep as we could that night, but still knew we had to get up at the butt crack of dawn, so we all went to bed as soon as we could.
It was lovely cuddling with Coop. All night long.
* * *
Some things cannot be done in advance. Such as Crème Anglaise. I woke up early—again quietly disentangling myself with deepest regrets—and headed for Noel’s kitchen to make sure I had time to practice. Just in case I forgot something. Trouble was, I totally forgot that I’m not a morning person. Even navigating Google was a challenge for me. It was a fat finger morning.
Finally, I got Crème Anglaise typed in.
The response I got on my screen was that unending Circle of Doom.
“Dammit!” I glared at my phone. I didn’t have time to wait three seconds for this. I was a busy person. “Come on.”
I felt Coop’s laugh on my cheek. “Are you seriously yelling at the internet?”
I glared at him. Why did he have to stand so close? I was trying to focus.
“Here. Let me.” He took my phone, making sure our hands brushed. I wasn’t sure whether to smack him or laugh at his blatant flirting.
“Stop that,” I hissed. “I have too much work to do for you to get me in a frazzle.”
“Oooh!” he bleated. “Are you in a frazzle?”
I snatched my phone back and leaned in. “I. Have. Work. To. Do.” He totally ruined my hard on for work when he kissed my nose.
Dammit.
I never could resist that.
He hovered, then moved in for a—
“Stop,” I said in a shrill, panicked bark.
At that word, at my tone, he took a step back and held up both hands.
Dammit.
I shot him an apologetic smile. “I really do have to get moving.”
He took another step back. “I know.”
“If you start kissing me, I’ll never get this done.”
“I know.”
“They could wake up at any moment. And I have to get this breakfast ready.”
“I know. I know. I’ll, um, go see if Ben needs any help.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
And th
en he left.
Dammit.
I hated watching him walk away.
I found the stupid recipe and made the stupid crème Anglaise, and baked the quiche and tossed the fruit salad and whatever else was on the list. And we served it to the guests and they loved it and breakfast was awesome.
The whole time, all I could think about was getting close to Coop again. Soon.
Then it hit me, hard and fast, like a freaking anvil—a really difficult realization.
I wanted to spend time with him more than I wanted to work.
How had that happened?
I’d never wanted to do anything more than my work. I loved it. Every minute.
But now…
When had my work become…an annoyance? Something that was in my way?
I was all about my job. All. About it. And happily so. Had been for years.
What was this now, rumbling near the region of my heart?
An ache?
A dream?
A long-buried hope?
I wanted to spend time with him more than I wanted to work.
No one had ever done that to me before.
Dear God, let it be curable.
But…could you imagine a Christmas like this, for us? The two of us, all cooped up in a cabin together? With fantastic smells wafting through the house, and the laughter of friends and family twining with Christmas carols from the radio?
Because the cabin in my fantasy is in the middle of nowhere and doesn’t get cell service?
Can you imagine being utterly unplugged? Can you imagine going to the toilet without your radio?
Forget that. Can you imagine not working on Christmas?
What would that be like?
It had been unthinkable to me for years. In my line of work, it was a given. Everyone worked Christmas, and quit your whining. Even at my level, there were work parties and real parties and drop-bys galore. I’d always worked Christmas. I had convinced myself I didn’t care.
But, now? Now that shell was starting to crack. Did I really like working at Christmas?
No!
I would really rather be curled up before a fire with Coop in that magical lodge that didn’t have any internet but still managed to have electricity, hot water, and candles. A lot of candles. Yeah, and a claw-footed tub. Big enough for two.
“You know,” Carmella said in a loud whisper, jarring me from my fantasy. “I think this breakfast was even better than yesterday. Compliments to the chef!” Everyone around the table nodded and agreed.
The various chefs around the room exchanged grins.
Whit meaningfully unbuckled his belt—apparently a very high compliment—judging from the waggling of his brows. “I didn’t think anything could have been better than yesterday. But then, y’all have been just awesome. You have knocked this trip out of the park.”
I’m sure I blushed. “Thank you so much. We appreciate that. But, as you know, it is our pleasure to be here with you and share this special time. We’re all very happy for you. Congratulations.” That’s it. Turn the praise right back on him.
It was his turn to blush, thank you very much, and when he walked away, he walked away from that table feeling like a king. Because that is what I do to men…when I want them to tip well. Or do the laundry. Or bring me a sandwich.
It is a craft I have well-honed over years of painstaking practice.
Chapter Twelve
The wedding was perfect. Farley wore a beautiful white dress. A little too short, but who am I to judge? She also sported a sheer veil and tiara. She looked like a princess…in a very short dress. And yes, it did bear repeating.
Jamison wore a shiny leather suit for some reason, but all the others dressed normally…for really rich people at a last-minute, soon-to-be-legendary, Hollywood wedding in the boondocks. Though there was the occasional peacock plume bouncing about, and Whit wore a leopard-skin band on his Stetson, which confused me. What message was he trying to send by choosing that band for his daughter’s wedding? People perplex me, but I was happy to see that someone had nixed tiaras for anyone but the bride. Lola being the glaring exception.
Everything else went perfectly. For all that they were high school students playing at an impromptu wedding for one of their favorite stars, the string quartet was really good. Hardly screechy at all. But Mungo was the big surprise here, because the enormous, long-haired biker-dude really cleaned up nice. He pulled his hair back into a ponytail and wore a suit jacket and tie and everything. He even shaved. And, internet-ordained or not, he did a fabulous job.
For as much time as it took to set up, the wedding was over quickly. That’s the way it works sometimes. Hours of prep for an event that lasts minutes, but it was Farley’s first wedding, so we all wanted it to be special.
Judging from their expressions, we nailed it. When we brought out the cake, everyone cheered.
After that things moved quickly. You know how that goes? You’ve been anticipating something—the guests leaving, for instance—for what seems like forever, and then suddenly, that time is here and you’re not quite ready for it?
I was sad when the luggage started coming down, because I knew this adventure was at an end.
And it had been an adventure.
Not only had I reunited with Coop—and only time would tell where that went—but this opportunity to experience life in the trenches again had opened my eyes. I could see serious issues with staff training and mentoring. I started sketching out ideas to solve these problems with a plan to bring this up at the next board meeting. The company had multiple properties just like Mistletoe Lodge and if they had the same inconsistencies in training, we were looking at a systemic challenge.
All of a sudden—at long last—all the staff lined up in the driveway to say farewell to our guests. They came through one by one, adults first, hugging us all and gushing over what a wonderful time they’d had.
Farley was the last to come through with Eliza by her side. When she hugged me, she held on for a while. “Thank you for all your help with Jamison,” she said. “I’ll never forget you.”
And wow.
Something warm welled in my chest.
I’d made a difference. Somehow, I’d made a difference.
“Congratulations on your wedding,” I said. “I know you two will be very happy together.” I knew nothing of the sort. It was Hospitality 101: Everything’s Awesome. It was kind of a knee-jerk reaction at this point in my career. But I didn’t mind. Neither did she.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. And then, she handed me the envelope.
The big fat tip envelope we all live to see.
She did so with a wink. So it was probably a good tip.
Yay!
We all stayed in place as we watched them climb into their various SUVs—waving their farewells—and drive away.
For a second, after they disappeared, there was silence.
Then everyone let out a deep sigh of relief.
They were gone. It was over.
But it wasn’t time for fun yet. I turned to my staff and said, “Let’s flip the house,” and they all groaned, but I could tell they were just playing. We all knew, once the house was flipped—and ready for the next Visit—we were really done.
That thought made me a little sad too.
* * *
Since Coop and his team helped as we stripped the beds and cleaned the rooms, it didn’t take long to finish. After the tip meeting—where I passed out equal shares to everyone—I rewarded everyone by treating them to takeout of their choice, which resulted in a very eclectic dinner. Jed and Ben had pizza, Olivia ordered Chinese with Coop’s team and me, and Wren and Ken Nora had sushi.
Noel had tequila. Thankfully there was still some left in the cabinet.
But here’s the fun part. Because the Visit was over, alcohol was allowed.
Lunch was very boisterous indeed.
The party lasted late into the night, from what I could tell. I can’t know for su
re, because Coop and I decided to spend the night in the guest house away from all interruptions. I chose one of the smaller rooms because it was the most secluded corner of the house, and also because I knew I had to clean it in the morning.
When Olivia and Wren found out what I had planned, they snuck in and littered the bed with leftover flower petals from the wedding, and left an iced bottle of Prosecco and a bowl of strawberries.
I have no idea what the chocolate syrup and whipped cream were supposed to be for, but I know how we used them.
This was the best night yet.
Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Everyone was thinking about what was next for them. So I wasn’t alone in that. I sat next to Coop at the table, enjoying his warmth as we all ate.
Of course, I was preoccupied. With myself.
I realized that these were probably my last few minutes with my staff, and as frustrating as this week had been, I’d come to really care about them all.
“So, Olivia,” I said. “What are your plans now?”
She froze and then looked at me with wide eyes. “Management training?” It was a question. It shouldn’t have been.
“Good. You’ll be great in that program.” I turned to Wren. “And how about you?”
“I’m thinking about that, but I’m also enrolled in a community college class in business starting in January.”
“Awesome. Jed?”
He grinned. It was a crooked grin. “Right after this, I’m going snowboarding with my buds.” Okay. I tried. Can’t win ’em all.
“I have another Visit in the Bahamas,” Ken said, chop-sticking a California roll into his mouth.
“At the new property?” I asked. How exciting. Eden’s Emerald Isles had just opened there. “I’d love to get that gig.”
Ben was planning to hit the slopes for a couple days and Coop’s team was returning to their base in Seattle.
It seemed like everyone had something planned.
All but me.
I hadn’t really wanted to think about it until now, and now, thoughts were flooding my head. Too many to make any real sense of it. I didn’t really know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted it to be with Coop.
“How about you, Vic?” Olivia asked, and I stilled.
