Holiday Spice & Everything Nice

by Conn, Claudy

  “I’ll be fine.” Slipping behind the counter, he reviewed the reservations for the day. Christmas was a busy time for the Chalet and they had two extended families arriving, taking up a dozen rooms altogether, as well as several couples and singles. Lindsay left him a few notes, bringing him up to speed in no time.

  He had missed a massage before noon, picked up by one of the others. How could he be so out of it? He was better than this. The Chalet had more than enough staff that they didn’t need him day-to-day, but he enjoyed the bustle, the people, especially over the holidays. This year, it seemed to lack the shine he had come to expect.

  The desk phone rang and he answered, “Chalet Doehr, how can I help you?”

  “Kirk. You free tonight?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I told them not to call you, Teresa.”

  “And Lindsay was smart enough to not listen. Rearrange the schedule and meet me for dinner.”

  “I already blew off a shift, I can’t bail.”

  “Listen to your big sister, little man. You need to talk to someone, so if it isn’t me, who will it be?”

  He could hear her nail tapping as though she drummed it on his desk instead of hers, in another section of the Chalet.

  “Fine, I’ll be there at eight.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kirk frowned at the receiver as he put it on its base. How did she do that? She was only a year older than him, unlike Justin or Michael, both a decade older than either him or Teresa them. Still, Teresa could boss him around better than either of the brothers. Whatever trick she used continued to work and a few hours later, he was approaching the entrance to The Bistro.

  He waited for the hostess to return to her podium. He was pretty sure he knew where Teresa was sitting, but the help had requested he allow them to provide service to him as they would anyone else. If he wasn’t a diner, he would go directly through the kitchen.

  He made point for examining the young woman who had taken her post just a few weeks ago. She was too young for him, but her cleavage was ample, her hips broad. Another man might find her chunky or fat, but she simply looked properly fed to Kirk. Even as he took stock of this woman, his mind drifted to thoughts of auburn hair at the junction of another pair of padded hips.

  “Mr. Doehr, I believe you are joining Mrs. Doehr-Belanger?”

  “Yes.” His gaze drifted across her chest, not in a leer or even further exploration, but in search of her nametag. “Ann.”

  “Please follow me.”

  She turned toward the dining room, setting her dark hair swaying over the black dress hugging her curves, which included an ass worthy of spanking. As the thought crossed his mind though, it wasn’t Ann in his vision and he blinked away the memory of a white trimmed red skirt. His gaze dropped farther, to Ann’s shoes.

  Teresa stood as he approached and hugged him. Backing up, she narrowed her gaze. “You’re not sleeping.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Lindsay told you that.”

  “That’s not the point. Even if she hadn’t, I could see it. You never slouch.”

  He instantly pulled his shoulders back.

  “You have no color. Have you been outside at all?”

  His memory recalled taking Tasha along a hiking trail to a rise offering a beautiful view of the valley, one they enjoyed amid the swirling snowflakes falling gently on their hair and lashes.

  “Okay, who is she?”

  Kirk blinked. “What? How did we go from, ‘have you been outside’ to ‘she?’”

  “You tell me.” Teresa poured Merlot into her empty glass, and held the bottle out toward his. Pushing his glass into the middle of the table, he waited for her to fill with the dark liquid.

  “It’s nothing. A fling.”

  She took a moment to savor the heady aroma of the red before sipping. Her glass back on the table, she waited for him to take a sip of his own.

  The vintage was excellent. It wasn’t the most expensive bottle they had, but he didn’t care for the mustier bottles anyway. This was upscale without being overpriced. It was one of his favorites, but instead of bursting on his tongue, it fell flat and washed over his teeth and throat.

  He continued to stare at it, and then regarded the bottle, trying to identify what was wrong with it.

  “She is making everything a bit duller, isn’t she?” Teresa continued once he’d set the glass down.

  Kirk pulled his hand back from the bottle he had just turned to read the label. “What do you mean?”

  She took another mouthful, grinning as she swallowed. “You’ve been oversleeping and yet look like you haven’t had a good night's rest in weeks. You are drooping in an unnatural way, and you just downed a glass of wine without even tasting it. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something is on your mind, specifically someone.”

  He didn’t answer and Teresa let the silence stretch just long enough to become awkward.

  “Not a she?” she ventured, one perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow lifting.

  Kirk scowled. She’d trapped him in this manner before. If he didn’t answer, she’d assume something worse than it actually was. Last time it had been massage therapy lessons instead of bumming around Europe, but played the same. Either let her believe he was gay, or tell her about the girl. Admit to wasting their parents’ money on personal frivolity or tell her what he planned to do with it. She knew exactly how to pin him.

  “Her name is Tasha, but there’s nothing to it. Just a fling.”

  Teresa snorted, which made his eyes widen. Such an undignified sound from his normally highly refined sister. “Perhaps for her. You, my sorry brother, are lovesick.” She lifted her glass and sipped the wine, holding it in her mouth while he tried to formulate an answer.

  “Fine. So what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not like she’s coming back for me to sweep off her feet or anything.”

  “Have you tried?”

  His mouth fell open at the audacity. What did she think he was willing to do, stalk Tasha?

  “You always do those follow up surveys. Give her a free weekend. Either you’ll win her over, or she’ll shut you down enough to move on. I bet I know exactly what happened.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by a delivery of fresh baked bread. Teresa ordered the special and Kirk copied her. He didn’t even know what the special was, but that didn’t matter. Nothing tasted right anyway.

  “Jacques does Cordon Bleu like no one else.”

  Kirk nodded mutely. How Teresa kept a size ten figure while married to a French chef who totally endorsed the cream and butter sentiments of Julia Child, he hadn’t been able to fathom.

  “You noticed her coming in and hoped to have a chance to insert yourself into her activities.” Teresa took one of the tiny loaves and pulled off a piece. “You were, but weren’t able to really introduce yourself. So, later, when she ordered a massage, you just happened to be available. And voilà, you engage in a sexual encounter that was fulfilling enough to scramble your wits not only for the length of her stay, but the week or month after.” She popped the airy white morsel in her mouth.

  Kirk’s stomach twisted in distaste at the way his sister had so easily summarized what had been anything but brief or easy. “Yes.”

  “You see? You invite her back for the weekend. Hell, give her a double so she has the option of bringing someone, and you will know once and for all.”

  Taking a tiny loaf from the decorated basket, he tore it apart, leaving fluffy crumbs across the wine colored tablecloth.

  Teresa didn’t taunt or badger him further. She poured herself a refill of wine and offered to top his.

  He hadn’t sipped more than a swallow of the second glass but downed another mouthful before urging her to pour.

  “Jacques has the most wonderful gift for Mama. You know how much she loves those tiny tea sets.”

  Kirk relaxed as the topic changed, allowing his stomach to unwind enough to eat dinner without fear of it returning. Discussing family gift giv
ing was not only distracting, it gave him a chance to surprise his sister, something that seemed painfully difficult of late.

  “Oh, Kirk, that’s fantastic. Where did you find it?” Justin’s wife, Pearl, was in constant search of all things Beatles, and he’d managed to snag a poster on EBay that she didn’t have.

  “Online. Complete fluke. I was searching for other gifts and tossed it in just to see what I would find.” He swallowed wine. “That’s how I found your present as well.”

  She narrowed her eyes, seeming to scheme a way to worm the information out of him, but their food arrived and neither mentioned it again for several minutes.

  At the end of the meal, Teresa hugged him again. “I’m sure it’ll work out, Kirk. If Tasha is the one for you, she’ll find her way back here.”

  Kirk held onto his sister, surprising tender. “I hope so. Thanks.” He still thought contacting her directly was too forward, but he would send out the survey. That part of his sister's plan was easy to do. The hard part was waiting, hoping Tasha would return it. The return rate on their surveys was less than fifteen percent even with an entry to a monthly draw. Would she be one of the fifteen percent? Nothing he could do one way or the other but try and find out.

  Chapter Nine

  December 17th

  Tasha cringed as her Skype started beeping at her. Dreading this call, she opened the window.

  “Hey, Babe. What the hell did you just submit?”

  She covered her face in her hands, not to hide tears, but her flaming cheeks. Mortified at her own failure, she didn’t know how she’d get the courage to face Brad. He was hard on her, pushing her to her best, and this was a far cry from it. There was no way she could hold up against one of his tough love sessions.

  Thankfully, he seemed to know that. “Okay, I’m going to give you until the New Year. That’s two weeks and leaves me only a day to do my magic. You’re not going to get more than one response to my changes. That’s the cost of pushing this so close to the deadline.”

  She nodded and inhaled a ragged breath. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, shame and gratitude mingled into a wash of relief that broke all her dams.

  “Tash, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you cry, and I’ve called your manuscript a flaming paper bag of dog shit.”

  She barked a laugh, remembering that day and the crap she had sent in. “I do better with a hard hand usually. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I took a weekend away and instead of coming back refreshed and hitting this out of the park, I’ve been a spiraling wreck. Every sentence I write seems worse than the last.”

  “What happened on this weekend? Where’d you go?”

  She explained the favor she’d done Erik and described the amazing Chalet, but then hesitated when it came to Kirk and her time spent with him.

  “Sounds like it should have been inspiring all right. Did you freeze your imagination in the snow?”

  She’d nearly frozen something, but it wasn’t her imagination. Her fingers instinctively moved to the ear lobe that had taken the worst lashing from the wind when her scarf wouldn’t stay in place.

  “That must be it,” she murmured, lost in memory.

  “No, it isn’t. What aren’t you telling me?”

  She shifted in her seat while the display of Brad showed him leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

  “There was a guy, and it was good. Really good, distracting, actually, and not helpful for the manuscript.”

  “Why not? Let’s change things up to make him fit. Nothing is set in stone.”

  She shook her head. “No, I already tried that and you’ve seen the result.”

  “Okay, here’s an exercise for you. Write that weekend. Top to bottom, every detail you can recall. Get it all on a page. Might just wipe the slate and let you work on something else.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’ll take one of the two weeks you’ve given me.”

  “Yeah, but once you get rolling, you’ll be able to bang this together in a few hours. Two days, tops.”

  “I find your faith disturbing.”

  He chuckled. “So do I, and you’ve got that line wrong. Take it easy, Tash, and I look forward to a not dog shit manuscript in my inbox.”

  “Yeah, sure. No problem.” Grateful to end the call, she clicked the red button and sighed in relief. Instead of opening the word processor, she clicked on her mailbox.

  Brad had actually given her a heads up about his call, if she’d bothered to check her mail. She’d been binge watching Netflix with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s since sending the manuscript to him.

  There was an email from Chalet Doehr. Holding her breath, she clicked on it.

  “A follow up survey,” she muttered, hope draining the last of her energy from her. Rather than open a window and start on her exercise, she shut everything down and crawled into bed.

  Would she recommend the Chalet to her friends? Only if she could be sure they wouldn’t break their hearts on stupid one weekend stands. Pulling the covers over her head, she tried to will the cold, Christmas, and Santa away.

  ***

  Tasha reluctantly sat in her desk chair. The first paragraphs about her whirlwind weekend had come out remarkably smoothly, up until Santa came to her room with a massage table.

  Unable to stop herself, she opened a travel advisor site and looked for a weekend stay at Chalet Doehr. The first price was appalling, but when she moved from the weekend to weekday, it price dropped almost in half. It became something she could seriously consider. Would another stab at it make things better or worse? Could she afford not to take the chance? It seemed guaranteed that staying here would get her nowhere.

  Looking around her tidy condo, she considered what the hard work had brought her. She’d never needed a man to put a roof over her head, buy a killer dress, or pay for a trip to the mountains. A self-made woman, she was better than mooning over a desk clerk. It was ridiculous.

  His tongue was not.

  Remembering the lashing he’d given her while wearing that damned Santa beard had her squirming, and she was actually able to capture that in her “what I did that weekend” assignment. It wasn’t her best writing, but it wasn’t shit either. Happy with her progress, she closed the trip advisor, planning to make a fresh start in the morning.

  ***

  December 18th

  After doing a few sun salutations to stretch out the kinks of another restless night, Tasha sat down to her work in progress to begin repairs. She stared at the screen until the coffee pot was empty and her stomach grumbled in hunger.

  Cursing, she got some breakfast and flipped back to her assignment. She’d been on a roll there. Surely, she could continue with it. The next paragraph wasn’t a huge fight, but each subsequent one became harder until she was grinding her teeth and slamming her head on her desk.

  “Fuck it.”

  She opened the trip advisor again, thrilled that the browser remembered her previous selections. Clicking the button before she had a chance to second guess herself, she made certain she was going to be there on December 20. Two days for romp and eleven to fix this mess. Plenty.

  Chapter Ten

  December 20th

  Kirk printed out the list of reservations for the day and skimmed it. His gaze stopped dead on one name, Natasha Kingsley. When had she made a reservation? He certainly hadn’t taken it, but he was thrilled to know she’d be arriving today.

  The timing wasn’t ideal. His family tended to monopolize the holidays. They included all the guests in their celebrations, but they didn’t give family members the same option of bowing out that they extended to guests. Thankfully, most of the festivities didn’t start until Christmas Eve, so he had a couple of days left.

  He looked over his schedule for the day, and begged off his only massage appointment to one of the masseurs. It would kill him to know he missed her arriving because he had his hands on someone else. He wanted them free for her.

  “Mr. Doehr?” Lindsay t
ilted her head in his peripheral vision and he turned toward her. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. Great, actually. Will you cover me this afternoon? I have a friend arriving and I’d like to be free to greet her.”

  Lindsay’s warm grin mocked him only slightly. “Of course. I hope she comes soon.”

  “Thank you. Until then.” He turned to the stack of check out receipts and started sorting.

  Lindsay left him to work in peace, only slightly bothered by the Christmas music playing lightly over the sound system. It was all acoustic, instrumental, allowing ambient noise to drown it out, but give the seasonal vibe when it was heard. Kirk was sure it didn’t grate on the guests, but after three days of the same loop, it was starting to drive him batty. Add in his preoccupation with Tasha and he wasn’t the happiest camper.

  But she was coming today. He started humming along to Here Comes Santa Claus and a broad grin stretched across his face. Santa Claus was coming all right, and so was the naughty girl on his list.

  The morning dragged on into afternoon. The sparse snow that had fallen on the Chalet in the morning was whipping up into something much heavier. The light through windows and skylights dimmed as clouds heavy with snow blocked the sun.

  Kirk used the desk phone to page the ski patrol office.

  “Ski Patrol.”

  “Hi, it’s Kirk Doehr. Just wanted an update on closures.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Doehr. So far we’ve only closed slope Jay. If things don’t lighten up, though, we have Kay and Ell on standby.”

  “Thanks.”

  The slope status bulletin board was within sight of the desk, but it didn’t always get updated immediately. Kay had been closed since Sunday. Although it wasn’t an avalanche, there had been a slumping on that run and the patrol wanted to give it a few days to make sure nothing worse was to come. Before he could focus on the board, however, someone approached the desk.

  “Hello, stranger.”

  Kirk grinned and turned his attention to woman at the counter, expecting the warm eyes and auburn hair of Tasha. Instead he met crystal blue eyes the same shade as his own and long blonde hair.