Page 95 of A Little Too Late
“I hear you,” he says. “But are you sure you have time to wait? I got a message an hour ago that they were flying in early with finished contracts. Pretty sure that was happening today.”
“Today,” I repeat stupidly.
He nods.
I turn around and run down the staircase.
CHAPTER 33
OVER MY DEAD BODY
AVA
“Just a simple coffee service,” I say. “The coffee, plus a couple carafes of water. You could throw in a plate of cookies. Anything you’ve got back there—Christmassy or not. As soon as you can. They’ll be here any minute.”
“It will be done,” says the young waiter standing in front of me. “And I’ll be back to bus this table right away.”
“Thank you, James.”
When he runs off, I take one look at the mess in the Evergreen Room and start stacking the teacups together. We’d hosted a local library’s board meeting this morning, and now I’m scrambling to make the place ready for the official sale of Madigan Mountain to Sharpe Industries.
The Sharpesloveto show up unannounced. As I gather the lipstick-stained napkins, I wonder if this will become a theme—the Sharpes turning up whenever they feel the urge. Just to catch me off guard.
It’s nothing I can’t handle, but when I picture all my future interactions with them, I feel joyless.
James reappears with a cart and tells me he can take it from here. “There’s a floral bouquet on the piano in the lobby,” he says, sweeping dishes from the table. “Should I grab it for a centerpiece?”
“If you get around to it,” I say. “Thanks for your help with this. I really appreciate it.”
He gives me a shy smile, and I calm down just a fraction. We have great employees on the mountain. I’m not going to let them down.
As I cross the lobby, I’m simultaneously texting Mark and Melody to make sure they got all my urgent messages.
We’re almost there, Melody replies.We were at a meeting in Penny Ridge.
She means an AA meeting. Mark has had a really rough time this month, but he’s getting the help he needs.
As a result, I’ve been shouldering an almost impossibly large portion of the work. Another generous snowfall filled the resort above our usual December traffic. And then a norovirus ripped through the younger staff members, causing many of them to stay home sick from their shifts.
It’s been all hands on deck. I even took a brief stint operating a ski lift yesterday, so Bert could get some lunch. I haven’t had to do that in five years.
And all I could think about while I stood there was twenty-one-year-old Reed giving me calm advice about how to keep my hands and feet warm.
Damn him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Freezing him out hasn’t helped like I expected it to. Instead of preventing me from thinking about him, it just makes me feel petty.
I miss him so much. I ache when I picture his face.
After I swing by the front desk to request that they find rooms for the Sharpes, I stop by Mark’s office for the fountain pen he uses to sign documents and checks.
The pen was his father’s. I wonder how the late Mr. Madigan would feel about his son signing the resort away to guys with golden snakes on their ties.
I can’t even think about it without getting a stomachache. Madigan Mountain is about to be erased, and I’m the only one who cares. I’m not even a Madigan.
Although I came close once a long time ago. But it didn’t stick.
Maybe it’s a blessing that this is all happening so suddenly. I won’t have time to mourn. Even now, I hear voices in the lobby, and they have a distinctive Texan twang.
I paste on a false smile and leave the Evergreen Room to greet them.
