Page 84 of Against All Odds

“Fix the business so I don’t have to buy the damn thing,” Ben growled. “You’ve already started sending tourists her way, but it’s not enough. Bring the locals back.”

“On it.” And I wason itlike they wouldn’t believe. I’d had a meeting with the top Royal social media guru inNew York, who’d thrown me a lifeline and was happy to help raise the profile of my girlfriend’s business.

“We need a big romantic gesture like in the movies.” Casey’s eyes lit up. “Go big or go home. Buy a billboard.”

Ben and I laughed.

“No.” Hillary was mortified. “Sable will hate that.”

“What else?” Casey wondered and looked at the last item on the list.“Well, this one is self-explanatory; don’t screw it up.”

“Roger that.”

CHAPTER 28

sable

Saturday was Jazz Night at the Wildflower, and we had a fantastic band from New Orleans called Cristina and The Mix. The vocalist, Cristina, was from Mexico, but her repertoire was impressively diverse—songs in Spanish, Puerto Rican, Italian, French, and even some Patsy Cline classics. I’d heard about them before and reached out to see if there was any chance they’d perform in Aspen. As it turned out, Cristina was already booked for a private party in town, which worked out perfectly for the Wildflower.

When I first decided to introduce Jazz Night, I’d been nervous about pulling it off—finding bands, creating the right vibe, and making it feel special. Live music nights were always hit or miss. Sometimes, we’d draw a decent crowd; other times, it was just a few locals humoring my efforts to give the Wildflower a touch of New Orleans charm.

Then Alexa’s boycott campaign started, and thingswent from challenging to downright dismal. The nights felt so empty that I seriously considered scrapping the whole idea. But I persevered because I believed in it. I believed people wanted the kind of excitement that live music brought—a casual night out without the hassle of tickets or reservations, a consistent experience they could count on.

I wasn’t sure if it was because of the band or something else, but our tables were full. The bar was three deep with people ordering drinks, snapping photos of their cocktails, and leaning in to talk over the band’s rendition of Edith Piaf’s “La Foule.”

Everywhere I turned, someone was taking a photo or filming a video. People angled their shots to capture the soft string lights I’d hung above the bar or the gleam of Elijah’s perfectly plated dishes. A woman with a fedora and bright red lipstick posed in front of a mural of wildflowers that was a bit faded since it had been there for twenty years. The woman’s phone was propped up on a tripod while her friend adjusted the lighting.

I walked over to Casey, who was rushing behind the bar, trying to keep up with orders. “What the hell is going on?” I glanced around at the crowd.

She slid two whiskey sours across the bar. “Apparently, we’re the hottest thing in Aspen right now.”

“Come again?” She might as well have said that pigs were flying over Snowmass.

“An influencer was in Aspen last Wednesday,apparently.” She tilted her head toward a group of women snapping selfies at their table. “Postedabout us. Said we were the coziest spot in Aspen for live jazz. And, thanks to the photos they posted, Elijah’s lamb lollipops are Instagram famous. They also made some big-time foodie list.”

“What list?”

“TheBest Eats in Aspenthat came out yesterday.” Casey grabbed a bottle of tequila to make a margarita. “Elijah’s lollipops are number two on the list. Cache Cache has something on number one.”

Cache Cache was one of those Michelin-star-quality places.

“We’re all over social media,” she added gleefully.

I had been thinking about improving our social media presence, but I didn’t have the time, skillset, or money to hire someone. So, I decided to wait alongtime. But now….

“This next song is a classic salsa song written by Cheo Feliciano. “El Ratón” is about a rat that is always slipping away and is hard to catch.Butit’s not about a literal rat; it’s a playful nod to Cheo’s reputation, especially when he’d disappear after shows or dodged trouble. I hope you’ll like it.”

As Cristina launched into the song about the elusive rat, the energy in the room shifted. People began to dance. They stood up and moved to the rhythm, transforming the space in front of the band into an impromptu dance floor, even though we didn’t have a designated area for it.

“Damn, Elijah is worried we’re going to run out of the lamb,” Mackenna announced as she walked by with atray of dirty plates. “People are ordering pueblo-style lamb lollipops like it’s their last meal on Earth.”

“I’ll check on him.” I went into the kitchen and found Elijah at the pass-through, plating…what else but lamb lollipops? When he saw me, he gave me a bemused grin.

“You running out of lamb?” I asked.

He winked at me. “I don’t think so, boss. Jose just got more out of the freezer, and we’re fast thawing those suckers. Everyone who wants the second-best dish in Aspen tonight will get it.”

“So, you heard about the best of Aspen list?”

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