“Shall I send the troops in?” Trevor asked.
“Yes, please do. The staff is here to help them get settled, and we will serve light refreshments in the dining hall between eight and nine o’clock. We didn’t know if you’d stopped for a decent supper.”
“Thank you, Miss…”
“Angie, everyone here calls me Angie.”
“Yes, well, thank you, Angie, for the food. I was about to tell my passengers to find somewhere in town to eat. You are already making my job easier.”
Trevor returned to the foyer entrance, opened both sides of the double oak doors, and waved them in. He stood there, directing them to the reception desk, and oohing and awing with the comments they made regarding the detailed structure of the magnificent Victorian-style Inn.
Angie raised her eyebrows in fun toward Charles, a wide smile lighting up her face. “And so it begins.”
With names and pertinent information written in the registrar, and rooms or cabins assigned, the exodus from the foyer began. Sammy led the group destined for the cabins on-foot, while a trailer attached to the ATV followed behind with their luggage. House workers helped those staying inside the Inn with their bags and showed them to their rooms. Meanwhile, the dining room kept busy arranging an assortment of sandwiches, finger foods and delicious squares on platters for a welcome buffet table.
The group arrived back inside the main building famished at eight-o’clock sharp. Angie leaned against the wall, watching men, women, and a few teens exclaim their appreciation of the food with every bite. The week was off to a good start. That was important to her. She often sensed her father’s presence, bringing to mind his smile of encouragement, and warming to the recollections of his endearing pats on the back for a job well done.
“What are you smiling about?”
Angie jumped at the sound of the voice beside her. Trevor regarded her with amusement.
Unsure why she felt so compelled for honesty with this stranger, Angie said, “I was thinking of my father. He loved to watch guests at the Inn enjoying the food. Said our chef was the best in the whole country.”
“Its just sandwiches and snack foods. Not a gourmet feast.”
“I beg to differ,” Angie said. “Are you listening to your people?”
“They exaggerate about everything. Think it goes hand-in-hand with vacation appreciation.”
“I notice you haven’t filled a plate yet. Are you not hungry, Mr. Dristoll?” Angie asked.
“Famished. Waiting for the hungry lions to get their fair share, then I’ll clean up the leftovers.”
“Glad to hear you are happy to settle with snack food. I hate sandwiches the second day,” Angie teased.
“Touché. I’ll head over there now. And perhaps later, offer a critique on your claim to fame in securing the best chef in the world.”
“I believe I said country – but world will do fine, Mr. Dristoll.”
Angie chuckled as she walked from the room and headed toward her office. She had at least two more hours of paperwork to get through before her head hit the pillow tonight. Close to eleven, she locked the door behind her and headed toward her suite.
“Excuse me,” said a voice as she passed the sitting room. Angie jumped and popped her head inside.
“Mr. Dristoll. I thought everyone had retired by now.”
“I tried. Grew restless and landed here,” Trevor said.
“I hope your room is to your liking?”
“Perfect. Thank you. Usually I get the smallest, cubbyhole space that no hotel wants to give the tour guests.”
Angie smiled. “I’m afraid we have no such room. I consider everyone here a guest, including guides and bus drivers.”
“You were right about the quality of snacks served tonight,” Trevor chuckled. “No simple egg or tuna salad found its way to that buffet table. And what about those fancy meaty things wrapped in pastry, not to mention the squares that melted in my mouth?”
“That’s your idea of a critique?” Angie laughed.
“Yeah, well, my mother is a meat and potatoes kind of cook. I never starved, but she’d be the first to admit that she wouldn’t have a clue how to whip up your kind of fancy food. Although, the woman is excellent with cookies, and would gladly fly to your doorstep for a taste of that cheesecake they served tonight.”
“Aha. That’s probably why you’re having trouble sleeping. How many of those rich squares did you eat?”
“The leftovers. Said I’d clean up the plates and I am a man of my word,” Trevor said.
“Glad to hear that, sir.” Angie started to move closer to the door that led to her suite of rooms, the only home she’d ever known. Trevor jumped to his feet and followed.
“Are you too tired to join me for a night-cap?” Trevor asked.
Angie raised her eyebrows. No man had asked to share drinks with her in ages. “I don’t drink alcohol, but I have it on good authority there is homemade eggnog in the refrigerator chilling for tomorrow’s festivities.”
“Eggnog? Part of the Christmas in July theme I read about in the advertisement, right?”
Angie could not hold back her enthusiasm. “Yes! This is my favorite time of year, except for the real event in December.”
“You and my mother would get along great.”
Angie interpreted that piece of insight as a compliment directed toward his mother and hopefully, a high regard for the family. She found herself attracted to
