Page 59 of That Weekend in Paris
“It’s like we’ve stepped back in time or something,” Dillon says.
A very discreet sign indicates parking to the left of the château. I follow the drive around and pull in beside a few other vehicles. We get out and grab our suitcases from the trunk. I offer to take Dillon’s, but she says, “Oh, it’s easy. It’s the pull kind.”
We walk through the massive front door and into an area that serves as the lobby with several large sofas for seating. The front desk is to the right.
A smiling woman with gray hair and bright green eyes greets us with a sincere welcome. “We are so happy to have you,” she says. “We will just check you in, and then I will be happy to show you to your room.”
I hand her a credit card. Dillon reaches for hers. “It’s fine,” I say. “We’ll settle up later.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say.
We take care of the necessary paperwork, and then the woman helping us says, “Right this way, please. I will show you to your rooms. Your luggage will be up shortly.”
We take the elevator to the second floor, and she leads us down a long, vast corridor.
“Here we are,” she says, taking out a key, the old-fashioned kind instead of the card system hotels use today. “We have you in this room and then also the corner room. They are adjoining if you would like for me to open the door in between.”
I look at Dillon, who looks at me, and we both say at the same time, “Oh, sure, of course, that’ll be fine.”
The woman gives us an odd look, as if she’s trying to figure out exactly what we are to each other.
Neither of us decides to elaborate, and we are silent as she opens both rooms and points out the minibar. “Would you like ice brought to the room?”
“I think we’re good,” I say.
“Very well, then. I shall leave you to relax. I hope you will take time to explore the grounds a bit before it is dark. Are you having dinner in the château this evening?”
“Um, would you like to do that, Dillon?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says.
“I’d be happy to make the reservation if you can tell me what time you would like to eat.”
“Maybe eight o’clock?” I say.
“Yes,” Dillon agrees. “That sounds great.”
“Very well, it is done. Again, welcome to the château. Please do not hesitate to call the front desk if you need anything.”
Once she leaves, the door clicking silently shut behind her, we turn to look at each other, the awkwardness we had felt during lunch today clearly ascending again.
“If you’re more comfortable,” I say, “we can shut the door between the rooms.”
“Of course not,” Dillon says, smiling. “You are the guy I shared a bed with one night, aren’t you?”
I smile. “I believe I am that same guy.”
“Okay then,” she says lightly, “no secrets to hide from you.”
“Would you like to walk around and check the place out before we get ready for dinner?”
“I would love to do that. This place is like a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.”
As soon as our suitcases arrive, we leave the room and head for the elevator and back to the main lobby. We find a brochure at the front desk that provides a layout of the property.
“I don’t think we’ll cover the whole thing before dinner,” I say. “Which way do you want to go first?”
