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“Of course not,” I snapped. “But I think we’re both a little too annoyed to have this discussion productively tonight. She’s not going to quit on us just because she saw me at the bar. At least… I don’t think she would.”
I pursed my lips. That was certainly an option, but I doubted it would be much to worry about.
Rick only nodded.
“If you say so,” he said. “I’m heading to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Also, I think we’re going to need some extra fridges this year, so I’m heading into Coeur d’Alene in a couple of days to track some down.”
“All right. Mini fridges or an extra big fridge for Miss Pennington?”
“Mini fridges for rooms. We’ve only got a handful, and all of them have been requested and then some for the first few weeks of the season,” Rick replied. “One guest even added a comment to their request that said,” he cleared his throat and looked at a note in his hand, “while we enjoyed our stay last year, neither my husband nor my son could eat a single thing in the dining room. We don’t have extra money for take-out, and the only way we won’t starve again is if we have a room with a kitchenette.” Rick chuckled. “Very dramatic, but you get the idea.”
I scowled. “I get it, okay? Get the fridges tomorrow. Get them here sooner than later so that we can make sure they all work and get the stock we need before people start pouring into the lodge.”
“That’s a smart idea.”
With that, Rick and I parted ways. As I passed the dining room to head up to my room, I could indeed hear the stand mixer whirring in the kitchen. It was now just past midnight.
Though I knew I would regret it in the morning, I walked into the kitchen. The closer I got to the kitchen, the more I could hear her muttering under her breath. I caught something about ‘imagine being mad someone had the audacity to go to a public place.’ To be fair, I wasn’t really annoyed that she’d been at the bar. I just wasn’t ready to share my personal life with an employee that I wasn’t sure I was keeping around for longer than a season. But I wasn’t about to tell her that.
“Laurel?”
She quickly turned off the mixer and turned to face me, her face turning pale.
“Yes, Mr. Delaney?”
I forced myself to keep my feet planted so I didn’t sway awkwardly from side to side. “I didn’t mean to be rude at the bar tonight. I just… didn’t expect to see you there.”
She swayed a little on her feet and I could see her eyes were slightly dilated. She didn’t seem drunk, just a bit buzzed. She muttered something, but I only caught, “didn’t matter the other times.”
“Other times?” I scowled. “What do you mean other times?’”
Miss Pennington shrugged.
“I’ve seen you at the bar before, so it’s not a big deal. Don’t worry about it, Boss.”
The way she concentrated her attitude on the last word made me wonder if this was just because she was a little buzzed.
“How many times have you seen my band?” I felt the crease in my forehead deepen.
She shrugged again and unhooked the mixer’s bowl before beginning to plop mounds of dough onto a prepared cookie sheet.
“Dunno. Maybe five times? Basically every week since I started working here.”
My jaw dropped.
I didn’t know what to say.
Instead of saying anything, I walked away, keeping my face as emotionless as possible. I didn’t want to give her any ammunition to start another argument, and I knew she was always ready for one. However, all I heard as I walked away was the sound of the blender going.
How could she have seen my band so many times and not said anything? And why did she keep coming back? Was she collecting personal details from my life to use against me as ammunition in later arguments?
Somehow, I didn’t think so.
Still confused, I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the morning sun was shining in my eyes. Groaning, I rolled over, but found that my body was not going to let me go back to sleep. Instead, I pulled the curtains closed and grumbled about my habit of leaving them open when I knew I was going to be out late.
As I washed my face to get rid of any of the sweat from the night before – as spotlights were hot – I swore I smelled eggs.
