I fumbled to stand and shuffled out of the room, dumbstruck.
She hated my hollandaise. No one had ever criticized my hollandaise before. I didn’t understand what could’ve gone wrong. Did the sauce break in transit to the dining room? Did I not add enough lemon? Too much? My head spun.
I’d had tough bosses before. It usually took a lot to throw me off my game. But this time, her words went through me like buckshot. I had to redeem myself to Mrs. Hawthorne. So, what could I make that would regain her respect?
After brunch, I made a shopping list for dinner and headed back down the mountain in the Land Rover for more provisions. I had an idea about a vegetable-forward pasta dish, but I’d let the produce speak to me. Otherwise, maybe a lean protein like elk or venison. Perhaps a ravioli with butternut squash. I decided I’d stroll the shops in the center of town and see what else was available beyond the marketplace.
Something special. Something I couldn’t screw up.
Maplewood Creek’s snowy town square sparkled under the early afternoon sun as I drove through. Families of tourists in new ski wear strolled the sidewalks with shopping bags and kids in tow. Handwritten chalkboard signs beckoned pedestrians with seasonal sales and promotions. As I searched for an open space to park along the curb, my eyes followed the flow of people walking with steaming coffee cups from the roastery a couple of blocks up. After sneaking the Land Rover into a space, I popped in to check it out.
The Toasted Bean was packed, with several people in line and more occupying nearly every small table. Around the store, shelves of bagged coffee beans and accessories were artfully displayed among winter decorations and tiny gift boxes ready to take home.
“Does Ali know you’ve escaped?”
The soft, coy voice whispered in my ear from behind as I stood in line to order. I shivered slightly, telling myself it was from cold rather than pleasure, as I turned around to see Charles towering over me in a black quarter-zip sweater and designer coat. His hair peeked out from under his beanie cap as he unwound the scarf from around his neck.
“Tracking the Land Rover now?” I answered, turning back toward the menu behind the counter. “Or are you going to tell me it’s just a coincidence?”
“I saw theSUVand decided to come say hi.”
“Uh-huh.”
I mean, I loved that he had come to find me away from the chalet. Even if I couldn’t say so. But it wasn’t helping with the distraction problem.
“Let me buy you a coffee,” he said, coming to stand beside me when I refused to look at him.
“You’re butting.”
“What?” he laughed.
“You’re butting in,” I said, nodding over my shoulder. “There’s a line.”
His unflappable grin grew wider. “Alright, let me have cuts.”
“Sorry, can’t do it. Wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.”
Charles shook his head at me. “You really won’t let me buy you coffee? It’s like the absolute minimum effort of friendship. We can be friends, can’t we?”
My tongue turned sour at the sound of the word friend. It sent a strange wave of revulsion through my whole body.
“I don’t know,” I said, trying for aloof. I wouldn’t let this man wear me down. Not when his mother was so very scary. “Can you?”
“I’d like to try,” he said, eyeing me persuasively as I stepped up to the counter.
Concerned he might make a scene otherwise, I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Chai latte.”
His answering smile was triumphant. “Chai latte and a black coffee, please,” he told the barista. “See? Look at us. Practically chums.”
“Whatever.” I smothered a smile as I went to the far end of the counter to wait.
Despite my panic at Mrs. Hawthorne’s criticism, my mood had drastically improved with Charles’s arrival. Even if I wouldn’t let him know that.
“I thought our croissants turned out pretty well,” he said, squeezing in tight beside me to let other patrons come and go as we wedged ourselves in beside the wall. “Dad had three. Mother was livid.”
I winced. “Should I not have made them?”
He waved off my concern. “That’s their fight. Don’t sweat it.”
