Page 18 of The Weekend Crashers
Lexi, having claimed the Malabrigo Rios for herself, starts winding the yarn on her knees.
“Oh, you mean the dudes? They’re harmless. Weekend warriors,” Lexi says.
Maggie had been tempted to confide in the two women about somewhat losing it and reprimanding the bachelor party. But she reconsiders.
“I think it’s nice to have some male energy,” Sheila says. “You young gals take it for granted. But at my age—I’m happy for even sideline viewing.”
Maggie can’t help but smile. “I’m not that young. But I appreciate your point.” Now she feels even more foolish for losing her temper. She needs a weekend reset. “So, anything I should do while I’m here aside from the workshops? This is my first trip to New Hope.”
Sheila looks up from her knitting. “Oh, honey. Then you must take the walking tour.”
Maggie isn’t really a guided tour person. She’s more of a “wander around and stumble upon things” tourist. But Sheila is emphatic, and says, “I’ll even go with you. This town is such a treasure. Always something new to learn.” She waves her phone. “I’m signing us up now. And wrangle your daughter. She won’t want to miss it.”
Belinda has a short break between the yarn market and her first workshop of the afternoon, and she steals a few alone moments on the back deck. Max comes out to join her, and she pulls her chair closer to his, brushing the dried fallen leaves off the seat cushion. He hands her a mug of their local hot chocolate that tastes like liquid molten lava cake.
It’s brisk when the wind picks up, but the heat lamps do their job. They’re a relatively new addition. Belinda and Max bought them during Covid, looking for any creative way to create space for guests. Turned out, people really loved sitting outside into the late fall and even the winter.
Like a good marriage, the inn is constantly evolving. When they assumed ownership in 1996, the building—dating back to 1871—needed a lot of work. Originally constructed as three separate buildings, two were combined in 1902 to form a hotel. The third building was added as an expansion after Prohibition, when the property had been used as a speakeasy. Somewhere in storageon the property is the preserved, original speakeasy side door with sliding peephole.
When they bought the place, it hadn’t been in service as a hotel for almost a decade. Belinda and Max were in complete agreement about the interior renovations, as they were about most things in life. They decided the common areas and guest rooms should be a mix of antique and reproduction furniture, including four-poster beds, wingback chairs, settees and plaid tapestry. They maintained as much of the original hardwood flooring as possible, covering any problem areas with patterned rugs in deep, warm colors. The lighting was also warm and soft, with antique-style chandeliers and wall sconces. They added new brass fixtures with wrought-iron detailing and glass shades. They filled empty wall space with large ornate mirrors with gilded frames. In the lobby, shelves were decorated with hardcover books and framed black-and-white photos of New Hope dating back to the early 1900s.
A year after they assumed ownership, Belinda had the idea to host knitting retreats, and this inspired another set of renovations. She initiated a project to combine three ground-floor rooms into a private event space with doors opening to a back deck. She knocked down an interior wall to combine two rooms into one, then expanded the footprint by a thousand square feet. That extension has floor-to-ceiling windows, a river view and a sliding glass door leading to the back deck. The Purl was born.
“How’s it going so far?” Max asks.
“Good.” She nodded. “It’s a nice group.”
“I’m sorry about the double-booking. I just have to be practical right now.”
She looks at him. “It’s fine. It’s really not a big deal.”
“Okay, good. Because—”
“Max!” Barclay Cavanaugh, standing in front of the patioon the river promenade, waves to get their attention. “I’ve been looking for you. I need a minute.”
He walks briskly around the wooden-beamed barrier between the public space and the deck to get closer to them. “Sorry to interrupt, Belinda.”
“You’re not interrupting,” she says, wondering what Max had been about to say before Barclay interrupted.
“The boys and I were having lunch in the tavern, minding our own business, having a good time—and one of the knitting ladies marched in and let us have it! Said we’re making too much noise. Is there some sort of new protocol around here I don’t know about?”
Belinda looks at Max as if to say,See. I told you. But he’s focused on Barclay.
“We apologize for the disruption,” Max says.
“I suspect one of my retreat attendees might just be having a bad day,” Belinda says. “Did you happen to catch her name?”
Barclay crosses his arms. “Her name’s Karen, I’d guess.”
Max laughs and she shoots him a look.
“Can you describe her?”
“Medium height. Brown hair. Wearing some sorta fluffy purple sweater.”
Maggie Hodges.
“She’d be damn attractive if it weren’t for the bad attitude,” Barclay says. “But that just ruins the whole picture, you know what I mean?”
