Page 63 of Oh No! There's an Incubus in my Hot Spring
She opens her arms for a hug and I oblige.
“My mom always said if you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late,” she says with a mock-serious expression.
We laugh.
“Well, you’re three minutes early, so you were a third on time. Thanks for keeping me company, Leonard,” I say as I turn to the doorman.
“Anytime.” He beams as he opens the door. “You ladies have a nice dinner.”
“With the two of us, that’s inevitable,” I say.
Irene laughs. “I knew I liked you.”
The interior is just as stunning as the exterior. I’d thought it was a two-story building, but it just has areallyhigh ceiling. Gold light from the clouds above fills the rafters through the uncovered windows, and classy, modern chandeliers hang every few feet. There are spotlights pointed up at the ceiling that aren’t on yet, but I assume they help with the lighting later in the evening.
The tables are covered in white cloth and the chairs look heavy. Paintings of the Colorado mountains and the animals native to them adorn the walls. Gold accents everything, makingit all feel opulent, while still maintaining the natural quality of the wood.
There are natural dividers in the room coming off the sides of the support beams, creating a more private atmosphere. The acoustics are well-tuned, too. The din of many conversations doesn’t overcome the classy big brass band music, but the occasional laugh rises above the rest.
I like this place.
“Azarolla, party of two?” the hostess asks with a wide smile as we approach her.
“That’s us,” I say.
She waves us forward with two menus.
“I’m surprised there’s no Silver Mountain sign hanging from the host stand,” I say to Irene from the corner of my mouth.
“Yeah, he doesn’t own this one, and they refused to advertise for him. In retaliation, he doesn’t include Corks in any of his dining pamphlets or on his website even though I told him a dozen times that’s just bad marketing. If he wants big-bucks customers, he needs to show off big-bucks restaurants.”
“Here you are,” the hostess says, showing us to a table against the window with a great view of the obscured sunset. The towering mountains make it impossible to see any of the sun after seven, but the clouds are still nice.
We take our seats and the hostess leaves us with the menus. Irene drums her fingers and I have a feeling I know what’s going through her head.
“Thanks so much for meeting me.” I begin. “I wanted to talk more about hiring you for a few hours a week, if that’s all right, so I’ll be covering the entire meal.”
She lets out a big breath and smiles. “Yeah, that sounds great. Thank you for treating me.”
“Wine?” I ask, flipping open the drink menu behind our little candle on the table.
“Red?” she says with a shrug.
“Cabernet or Pino?”
“Cab.”
I scan the list, but I’m not a sommelier, so I just pick something middle-of-the-road price-wise and cross my fingers. The waiter brings us water and promises to return with fresh bread and wine soon.
“How’s your dad?”
Irene bobs her head. “He’s same old, same old. Dealing with diabetes and bad cravings that make it hard for him to be on his own, some other things. But he’s generally happy, I think.”
“What does he do, or did he do?”
“He used to run the tour buses and ski buses up the mountain.” She smiles. “Used to let me ride up with him in the morning and snowboard down before school.”
“Snowboarding looks so cool, but I never got into winter sports growing up in Cali.”
