Page 17 of Cooped Up for Christmas

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During the massages, Wren, Olivia, and I circled the house to make sure all the guests who weren’t being massaged had what they needed, and I realized something about this Visit right away. It was like high school all over again.

All the girls—except one—assembled a cabal in Farley’s master suite to talk about the one who wasn’t there. And then they would all snigger when Eliza walked in.

Not to mention the fact that Farley sent her minion, Jaxon, on incessant missions to deliver messages to her boyfriend, Jamison, who had set up court in the billiards room with his boys. She sent love notes, random questions, and quizzes on how much he loved her. Of course she had to send Jaxon as go-between. The other side of the lodge was apparently too far for them to walk.

Then Bobby and Dion got into a fist fight over who’d seen Keiko first. That one broke a vase.

And all the boys all complained that the food we’d offered for lunch was too frou frou, and demanded steaks—even though they were all going out to dinner in an hour—and the girls all fretted about their carb intake, miserably crunching on raw veggies as they watched the others inhale their food.

In public, that was. When they were in private, it was a carb bacchanal.

One time I popped into Farley’s suite with a genial, “How is everything?”

Her response was, “Oh, could you have one of the servant people bring us some Doritos?”

Servant people?

“And sodas,” one of her posse reminded her.

“Yes. And sodas please. Diet only. Cold. Nothing off-brand,” Farley clarified.

“Certainly.”

“Oh. Ask her for green M&Ms.” Again, from the peanut gallery, this time from the young nymph with the Chihuahua on her lap and a bad case of resting sneer.

Farley’s brow wrinkled. “Why, Tressa? I don’t even like the green ones.”

Tressa sniffed. “Because then they have to go separate them out. Wouldn’t that be hilarious?”

“That’s just stupid.” Farley turned back to me. “Just the Doritos and soda.” She tipped her head to the side. “But you could also bring some M&Ms, I suppose. I can eat around the green ones.”

I was humbled by her generosity.

“Right away.” I hoped to God we had Doritos and M&Ms in the pantry.

It went on like this for the rest of the afternoon. Running errand after errand—while trying to avoid the attention of an overly ardent Carlo and Coop’s chortles when he noticed. Ugh.

Thank God the masseurs packed up and left on time—taking Carlo with them (an extra thank God for that small miracle)—and the guests retreated to their rooms to get ready for dinner.

I practically held my breath. Hoping, praying, nothing happened to change their plans of going out.

My prayers were answered. They all piled into their cars and yes! As soon as they left, the whole energy of the place changed. It was easy to pretend that this was our house for Christmas and we were the special ones.

Of course, we didn’t dare eat dinner in the main house—not when we’d have to be the ones to clean it all up. We all gathered together in the staff kitchen for the meal instead. It was warm, intimate, and surprisingly homey. Noel had made us a Mexican fiesta, for some reason. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but surprisingly, I enjoyed it. The conversation was quick and witty and I found myself laughing more than I intended. I got to know Mungo and Christie better—between whom I was sandwiched—which was nice, because I didn’t work much with Coop’s team, and I found I really liked them both.

Mason was there too. Apparently, he’d adopted me as his new best friend, setting his long wet snout on my jeans and drooling all over my leg while I ate. Coop laughed and said Mason just knew who the softie was, but I was pretty sure if there was a softie at the table, it sure wasn’t me.

But I did give the hound some scraps; he seemed to really enjoy Mexican food. And then, when Coop asked me to stop because beans gave Mason the hot farts, I did it under the table.

It was a wonderful break, and a really lovely meal, but we needed to get back to work. When I stood, nearly everyone groaned.

“Party pooper,” Coop said sotto voce.

I gave him a reproving glance. “We need to do turndowns,” I reminded them all. In a house that large, with that many bedrooms and bathrooms, it could take a while to tidy everything up. Especially with this particular clientele. “Also, Whit mentioned the adults might want a nightcap when they return.”

Wren nodded and set down her napkin. “I’ll go set up the bar.”