Once we were seated, I took a look at the rest of the dinner guests. Making mental notes all the while, I realized that not only was the dining room barely half full, I only counted two couples even close to my age, and only one family with small children. Nearly everyone else was retirement age at least, older in many cases. Great for client loyalty, but realistically they’d need to be replaced with new clients, new families and couples who viewed Bryant Mountain House as their special place in the mountains.
“You’re working, aren’t you?” I heard Roxie ask, and I turned to find her looking at me expectantly.
“Hmm?” I shook out my napkin and placed it in my lap. A napkin that had been folded together and placed inside a ring, an honest to God napkin ring. And finger bowls, good night, there were finger bowls on the table. I hadn’t seen a setting like this since I toured the Queen Mary.
“You’re working. I can see those wheels turning.”
“Oh, sorry, I guess.”
“She’s always working, this one, always with the working. You can’t turn it off, can you?” Natalie pointed a finger at me.
“Excuse me, that is why I’m here,” I said, pointing a finger right back at her. “And I’m not technically working, I’m here with you fools.” They were right, though. It was hard to turn off. Even the rare vacation I took, I couldn’t help but look critically at whatever hotel I was staying in.
Usually I was alone, so no one had to watch me jump through my mental hoops.
These two, however. They knew me too well.
A waiter with a tray of glasses appeared out of nowhere. “Ladies, your cocktails.”
“We didn’t order any cocktails,” I started to say, as a glass of bubbly was set down before me.
“Every meal at Bryant Mountain House begins with a champagne cocktail,” he said, setting down the final glass with a flourish.
I inspected the flute, filled to the brim with bubbles and with a tiny sugar cube nestled at the bottom and topped off with a twist of lemon. “Every meal?”
“Or another cocktail if you prefer, maybe a Grasshopper? Pink Squirrel?”
“A Pink Squirrel? What the hell year is this?” Natalie asked through the side of her mouth.
“I’m no longer sure,” I answered, raising the glass to my lips. “Well, shall we?”
We each sipped at the same time, grimaced at the same time like we’d planned it, and quickly set them aside.
“A champagne cocktail, I can’t wait to tell my mom about this, I had no idea they were still doing this up here!” Roxie laughed, reaching into her purse and firing off a quick text to Trudy.
“I take it this is another one of those long-standing mountain house traditions?” I asked. “I’ll add that to my list of wow, seriously?”
“How’s it going, by the way? Too soon to tell?” Roxie asked.
“I’m just barely scratching the surface, but I’ve got some thoughts,” I mused.
“It’s amazing up here, isn’t it? I mean, we could never afford to stay here when I was growing up, but we still made it up here for some of the bigger events. Christmas, sometimes Halloween, and they always had the most beautiful Easter Sunday celebration.”
“With the buns,” I reminded her, and she smiled.
“Totally with the buns.”
“Speaking of buns . . .” Natalie said, and I followed her gaze. There was my tour guide, moving smoothly from table to table, chatting up the guests and charming the blue hair right off those little old ladies. Dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, powder-blue tie, and yet another coordinated pocket square, Archie filled out his attire quite nicely, I had to admit. If Leo was the rugby player and Oscar was the football player, Archie looked like he’d play water polo. Long and lean, his shoulders were broad, his waist slim. And the buns?
Yeah. Even I had to admit they were pretty great.
But I worked for those buns. So . . .
“Let us not discuss Archie’s buns, okay?” I said, picking up my menu card and examining my choices.
“How’d you know I was talking about Archie?” Natalie said, casting a quick glance at Roxie.
“You weren’t?” I asked.
“Oh, I totally was, but it’s just interesting that you knew immediately who I was talking about when I mentioned that someone in this room, other than me, had a great ass.”
I looked to Roxie for help. “Tell her to stuff it, please and thank you.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell her to stuff it right after you tell us how you knew exactly who she was talking about.”
“We’re not having this discussion, he’s my boss. And an asshole.”
“She’s blushing, she’s totally blushing. Clara never blushes.” Natalie laughed, and I held my head in my hands. “You’ve got a crush. You got here yesterday and you’ve got a crush.”
“I’m not blushing. I’m not crushing. I’m trying to eat dinner with my two lunatic friends who came up here to visit me in my new place of work, mind you, and instead all we’re talking about is Archie Bryant’s buns!”
“Samuel,” I heard a deep voice say over my shoulder, “it seems the ladies at table fourteen haven’t gotten their bread basket yet, can you bring that right over?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bryant!”
Because fate is a funny fucker, standing there with an amused look on his face, knowing full well when I prattled on about his buns they were not of the bread basket variety, was Archie Bryant.
Now I blushed.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything. Smoothly taking control of the situation, the situation being Natalie and Roxie looking like this was the funniest thing ever and me looking like I’d rather be swallowed by the floorboards than still be sitting here, Archie extended his hand to Roxie.
“Roxie, good to see you, how’s Zombie Cakes coming along?”
“Good. Really good, actually.” Roxie had started Zombie Cakes last fall, a food truck out of a very cool retro Airstream trailer. Specializing in old-fashioned cakes with an updated twist, Zombie Cakes was making quite a name for itself not only in the Hudson Valley but in Manhattan as well.
“I still need to get you up here sometime for an official chat. We’d love to start featuring some of your cakes on our menu.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” she asked, beaming. “Any time!”
“And speaking of any time,” Natalie interjected, and I held my breath, not knowing what was coming next, “we gotta talk soon about getting you into my Bailey Falls campaign. Why in the world did we not photograph you when I was up here last fall? You’re way too cute not to be in those commercials—you’ve seen them, right?”
Archie nodded. “I’ve seen them, Ms. Grayson.”
“Call me Natalie.”
“Very well, Natalie. I’ve seen them, although I’m not sure the overall tone of your advertisements sends the right message to the kind of clientele we’ve tried to cultivate here at Bryant Mountain House.”
“You don’t want young hip twenty- and thirty-somethings with disposable incomes taking pictures of everything they love about this place and posting it to all of their friends, who also have disposable incomes?” Natalie asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, in fact, that’s exactly the kind of clientele we’re looking to bring in,” I interjected, before it could go any further.
“And another thing,” Natalie went on, and I dropped my head back into my hands. So much for not going further. “When I said you’re too cute to not be featured, I meant it. You’re smoking hot so take it as a compliment, okay, Arch?”
I saw him do a double take at Natalie, undoubtedly taken aback by her say-it-when-she-thinks-it delivery, but he rallied as any good host will do. “Natalie, although I’m not sure what me being cute has to do with my resort, I do thank you for the compliment.” He turned to me. “It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” I said quickly, wanting to avoid another argument. “Sorry about the buns thing, I—”
r /> “Buns thing, Ms. Morgan? What buns thing is that exactly?”
I stammered. “Um . . . I . . . uh . . .”
“Well put, Ms. Morgan. Ah yes, thank you, Samuel, very good. Ladies, enjoy your meal.” And as Archie reached down with silver tongs to place an actual bun on my plate, he turned toward me, away from my girls, with those gorgeous indigo eyes dancing, and gave me a very purposeful wink. “And your buns.”
This guy.
He knew.
He knew about the buns.
He brought me the buns.
And still . . . he winked.
Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye. Especially when what was meeting the eye was extremely good-looking.
“Flirt. Flirt. Flirt,” Natalie chanted as soon as Archie was out of earshot.
“Oh please,” I replied, picking up my warm roll and noticing instantly how perfectly it fit in my hand. Oh lordy.
“Bailey Falls strikes again,” Roxie murmured, and Natalie threw her head back and squealed.
“Okay, everyone settle down. Pick your entrée. Bailey Falls didn’t strike anything, can we all just please be adults for like a minute? Honestly, you two are children and . . . Natalie, what the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to see if he’s looking at you.” She was perched precariously on the side of her chair with her compact mirror open and angled nowhere near her face.
“Not encouraging this right now. So, Roxie, what are you going to get, the steak medallions or the salmon en papillote—that means it’s baked in parchment paper, right?”
Roxie herself could’ve been baked in parchment paper for all the attention she was paying me. “Dude, he’s not looking, he’s not looking . . .”
“Not you too. I have zero, and let me repeat, zero interest in Archie Bry—”
Roxie interrupted me. “—he looked! He totally just looked back at you, Clara!”
“He did?” I squeaked, and just then Natalie was no longer perched on her chair. The precarious became nefarious and down she tumbled to the floor, her skirt flaring up and exposing a ruby-red garter belt. Three busboys and an eighty-year-old man tumbled after her to try to be the one to help her up.
“I’ll have the steak medallions, medium rare, please,” I told Samuel, who was still standing there holding buns.
Dinner was a bit calmer after that. The service was impeccable, the food was . . . eh. Not bad, not great, but eh. I asked Roxie what she thought.
“It’s okay, tastes a bit like catering food you’d get at a midline wedding,” she replied after I noticed she mainly pushed around but didn’t finish her meal.
“I mean, it’s a bit old-fashioned, nothing new to see here. But you can’t beat this setting.” The broad expanse of windows that in daytime would be showcasing the view of the mountains mirrored back the candlelight and twinkling lights overhead. It was a cavernous room, but somehow felt cozy and intimate.
“What’s with the menu cards, why so few things to choose from?” Natalie asked as we dug into our desserts.
“They call it rotational dining, a somewhat outdated concept but fairly typical at these old resorts. The menu changes nightly, usually three to four appetizers, three to four entrées, and then a bunch of different desserts. It might repeat once during the week but only once,” I replied.
“So if you’re here for a week with your family, you could eat here every night and never get the same thing for dinner,” Roxie added.
“Exactly. But I’d be willing to bet this is the same menu they’ve been serving for a long time,” I said, thinking out loud.
“Gee, you think? I mean, Baked Alaska is always killer, but seriously, when’s the last time you saw it on a menu?” Roxie said.
“I love Baked Alaska,” Natalie replied, curving her arm around her dessert. “Don’t you dare take away my Baked Alaska.”
“No no, that’s not what Clara is saying.”
“Not at all, but maybe we could change things up a bit. Keep some classics, clearly the ones that have been here forever, but maybe update others a bit.” I pulled out my notebook and jotted a few ideas down while I was thinking about them. “Rox, you should come back up here again. Meet with Archie about Zombie Cakes, but maybe we could also get into the kitchen a bit more, see what’s actually going on back there. I’ll pull some menu cards and see how often they get changed.”
“I can do that.”
“I want to come too,” Natalie said.
“You stay in town with Oscar, churning butter or whatever the hell it is you two get up to down there.”
“We get up to plenty. Just last night he had me on top of the kitchen counter, dress over my head, his mouth full of—”
“So anyway, with you involved I’m hoping that Archie will be a little more receptive to the changes I want to make around here.” I looked pointedly at Roxie, knowing better than to let Natalie continue.
“Is he not playing nice?”
“He’s playing kind of jerky, which believe me when I say is honestly the best word for it. But it feels different this time, more . . . I don’t know. When it’s happened before at other hotels I’ve worked at, it’s because they think I show up with a giant red pen and start changing anything and everything I can get my hands on, and they see it as me throwing out everything they’ve ever worked for when in fact it’s the opposite. This place is incredible, I just need to make it profitable again. Bring it into this century, dust it off a bit.”
“It’s pretty pricey. I mean, there’s plenty of money in the Hudson Valley, but what they charge per night is pretty tough to swing for most people,” Roxie agreed.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to talk to them about their pricing. I’m sure Archie will go through the roof. Any tips on how to get through to him?”
“Me? I barely know him.”
“Come on, you grew up in this town.”
“True, but there are two sides to Bailey Falls. I’m on the diner side, families like the Bryants and the Maxwells are on the country club side. Plus, he’s older than I am, I only know the little bits my mom has told me over the years. She’s good friends with Hilda Banning who works up here, and she said he changed a lot after Ashley.”
“Ashley?” I asked.
“Ashley?” Natalie asked, through a mouthful of Baked Alaska.
Roxie nodded. “His wife.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling my spine deflate and sinking back into my chair. Of course he was married, what guy looked like that and wasn’t married. I looked across the room to where he was talking to a group of waiters and noticed for the first time the wedding band he wore on his left hand. Of course.
Wait, why of course? Why do you care? Whether or not Archie Bryant is married has absolutely nothing to do with the job you were hired to do. So eat your Alaska and go back to work.
I picked up my fork while Roxie continued. “Yeah, according to Mrs. Banning he was a mess when she passed away.”
My head snapped back.
“Whoa, wait, what?” Natalie asked.
“Oh,” I breathed. Oh.
I looked at Archie again, watching him move around the dining room, greeting and meeting, all the while knowing now that something terrible had happened to him.
“How did she—”
Roxie interrupted Natalie. “I don’t know, I didn’t live here at the time so I never got the details.”
“Jesus, does it matter?” I asked as his eyes met mine across the dining room. For just one instant, I saw something flash across his face. Interest? Intrigue? And for just an instant, I felt that flash run wild across my body. But before I could finish flashing, the look was gone and that cool, reserved expression was back.
Chapter 7
“No . . . no . . . please . . . no . . . NO!”
I awoke suddenly, soaked through with sweat, tangled in the sheets, clutching my pillow with tears streaming down my face. My breathing, my panting were so loud in this room, this entirely too-silent room. “Dammi
t,” I snarled, still clutching the pillow with one hand and dragging the other through my damp hair. “Dammit,” I repeated, a little softer this time as my heartbeat began to slow, the stored-up tension beginning to leave, relaxing my frozen-in-fear joints.
This fucking nightmare. I’d been having it for as long as I could remember but not nearly as often anymore. And usually not after a night spent with my girls. Always the same dream, always the same beginning.
I’d picked up my suitcase and started out walking through the front door of a pretty brick colonial house, just your average house on your average street in average town USA. But on the other side of that door was another door, on another street in another town. I kept pushing through the doors, one after the other, never getting anywhere, never able to stop and settle and breathe. Each time I looked down, I had another suitcase in my hand, stacking up one by one until a mountain of trunks and boxes was dragging behind me.
I finally pushed open the last door, and there they were. A mom, a dad, a dog, a cat. My family. They were waiting for me. Set your bags down, they said. Stay awhile, they said. You have a beautiful room waiting for you, they said, it’s just up that staircase.
But as I started for that staircase, my heart beating fast and a nervous smile beginning to creep across my face, I heard another voice. Loud, authoritative, unflinching.
“A mistake has been made.”
I turned to see a woman, severe in her high-buttoned collar and tight suit, too tight for her to wear comfortably. How does she sit down in that, I’d always wonder, without popping every single button off?
“A mistake has been made,” she repeated, quickly crossing the floor to me.
My hands were slick with sweat as I struggled to hang on to my suitcase. “A mistake?” I heard my own voice ask, tiny and tinny and small and yet, still so hopeful.
“You don’t belong here.”
The family turned away, even the cat, turned away from me and my suitcases. The dog growled, low and slow and in that grumbly way that almost doesn’t register at first in your ears. “Go away,” he seemed to say, “you don’t belong here.”