Page 6 of Cold Winter Nights

She cocked her head to the side. “Do you like meatloaf?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can wait until tomorrow and find a place to—”

“Now, that’s not what I asked. I asked if you liked meatloaf. Or are you a vegetarian… or what’s that other one?” She snapped her fingers a couple of times, then perked up, “a vegan!”

Royal’s slight smile felt strange stretching his cheeks. “No, I’m neither.”

“Phew!” She touched her palm to her chest. “I have no clue what to make of those folks. So yeah to the meatloaf?”

“To be honest. I haven’t had it since I was a kid.”

“Well then you’re in for a treat. It’s Myra’s specialty. She’s my evening cook. Bristol will be here in the morning at five, we call her Brissy.”

Mrs. Pearl took his glass pitcher and rushed out of his room, leaving the faint scent of flowers and plums behind her.

Royal plopped down on the mattress and dropped his face into his palms. He was still in that position when Mrs. Pearl knocked on his door. He opened it to find her big smile and holding a plate with a large hunk of meat on top and the other half filled with a heaping mound of mashed potatoes smothered in dark gravy. In her other hand was a full pitcher of iced water.

After his shower and medication, he sat at the table and pulled the plate close.

The first bite of the tender meat melted in his mouth.

Fuck.

It was rich, savory, and seasoned as if it’d been made by a person who cooked with soul and love. Not in a high-end restaurant by a chef who served a two-ounce portion of food abed an over-the-top garnish to post on Instagram, not really for consumption.

Royal cleaned the plate.

He fell into bed, laid his head on the freshly fluffed pillow and was out in seconds.

When he woke, the sun was reflecting off the snow, creating a light so brilliant it blinded him.

Now he understood the need for the heavy drapes. Tonight he’d remember to close them.

Royal grabbed his cell phone thinking he was late checking his emails and schedule.

His eyes almost bugged out of his head when he saw it was after nine.

Royal

Disoriented, he placed his phone back on the nightstand and stared at it, half expecting it to ping with the start of a zoom call. It’d been so silent he thought maybe it was broken.

Royal threw back the heavy quilt, groaning and stretching muscles that hadn’t been stretched in years.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and touched one hand to the back of his head where the dull ache had begun in a mind unfamiliar with rest.

He walked barefoot to the window and pulled back the lace curtain enough to take a peek. Everything was calm and peaceful. No bumper-to-bumper gridlock, nor cursing cab drivers, nothing but houses with smoke rising from their chimneys scattered over the hills in the distance.

“What do I do now?”

Do I…do I just go downstairs?

Without a staff member telling him what to do next, Royal was forced to face a morning with no agenda.

He dressed in a crème button-down shirt, black slacks, and his leather boots. He wrapped his ivory, cashmere scarf around his neck and pulled his Dolce & Gabbana knee-length trench from his garment bag.

Royal’s room didn’t have an electronic scan pad, so he simply closed the door behind him. It felt strange leaving hispossessions unsecure, but he had a feeling the bed and breakfast didn’t have a big theft problem.

He walked down the narrow hallway, decorated with framed black and white photographs of the town’s history. Images of smiling faces, children playing, men and women building and working the land seemed like scenes from a movie.

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