Page 26 of Chef's Kiss at the Chalet
“I really want to see what ‘the whole hog’ entails,” I admitted. “Sounds like my kind of decorations.”
Pops beamed. “You’ll have a lot of opportunities to see the decorations. The whole town has a competition every year, and the Lifties vote for their favorites. The winner receives a trophy, but it’s the bragging rights that we all want.”
“Lifties?” I asked, confused.
Delilah rolled her eyes, just as Bea came back down the stairs.
“It’s the term the lifers in town use for the tourists,” she said, coming over to stand beside Pops. Though she looked identical to her sister, I noticed that Bea carried herself differently. She was a little more abrupt, dressed simply and practically in a denim shirt and brown leather boots. She also had a nose ring, which I filed away for identifying her easily in future. “Because they come for skiing and then leave. Get it?”
“Like chair lifts,” I said, catching on.
“Pops here . . .” Bea put her arm around his shoulder and squeezed, “was born and raised in Maplewood Creek, so he’s a lifer.”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I met my wife here fifty-seven years ago at Christmastime. She was a Liftie and she fell in love with the town.”
Delilah looked affronted. “You mean, with you. She fell in love with you.”
She was obviously the romantic of the sisters, bundled up in an oversized sweater and sporting carefully applied lip gloss and eyeshadow.
“Eventually,” Pops said with a wink. “Girls, that’s a story for another day. Say, Elle. While you’re here, stay for some breakfast.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t bother you. I’ve got some errands to run anyway.”
Pops scoffed. “You’ve got to wait for your cookies anyway. It’s no trouble at all. You paid for a room, remember. That comes with a breakfast.”
Well, he had a point. I never argued with an elder.
He led me into a lovely dining area that was probably once a living room that they had converted into a breakfast or dinner nook for guests. A large window overlooked the main street of Maplewood Creek and highlighted the beautiful mountain view. The space itself was another cozy, well-appointed room, with a fireplace along one wall that was surrounded by bookshelves full of framed pictures, novels and knickknacks.
My stomach rumbled. That toast and coffee now felt like a very long time ago.
“I’ll be right back with a special treat,” Pops said, beaming. “Sweet and salty should do the trick.”
He pulled out a chair for me at a four-person table near the fireplace. Right behind him, Delilah picked up the coffee pot from the sideboard and brought it over.
“So, Elle. Why Maplewood Creek?” she asked.
“It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing,” I said, sipping the coffee.
It was delicious. Weird to say, given my previous employer, but I wasn’t much of a coffee person. I consumed it mostly for utilitarian purposes, rather than enjoyment. But this was actually . . . incredible. Maybe there was something to that cocaine theory.
“I was accepted to culinary school in London, so I’m saving up to cover tuition and living expenses. A friend of mine found the job for me.”
“First time working for the Hawthornes, then.” Bea set a plate in front of me. “Here you go. Snowbird Special.”
The breakfast consisted of a single perfectly fried egg, two triangles of whole wheat toast with jelly and butter, three slices of bacon, and a silver-dollar-sized pancake with a drizzle of syrup. Adorable, and exactly what I wanted.
“Do you know the Hawthornes well?” I asked the twins. “I get the impression they’re sort of infamous around here.”
They shared a knowing glance. “You could say that.”
“Amelia’s mostly okay,” Bea elaborated. “As long as you don’t get on her bad side.”
“I’ve only talked to her once.” I wondered what the bad side looked like. If she was anything like her mother, it must be formidable. “She seems nice enough.”
Again, they eyed each other, silently speaking in twin language.
“Yeah,” Delilah said.
