Page 22 of Please Send Snow
Seriously, what is going on here today?
“Go ahead,” Jake says, his deep voice commanding as he turns to me. “Eat.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I take a bite and hum around it happily, just like in the old days.
Though, admittedly, I’m a little surprised to find a mushroom in it when I’m chewing. There aren’t usually mushrooms in Quiche Lorraine. And I think the cheese is cheddar, not Gruyere.
But I won’t complain about a free quiche. My stomachis so happy that I don’t even realize how fast I’m eating until suddenly I look down and the plate is clean.
When I look up again, Jake Stone is watching me.
My cheeks heat and I inwardly curse my stupid awkward ways. He’s going to see me blushing and think I have a crush on him or something, when really it’s only that I’m embarrassed for scarfing down my food like someone was going to take it.
“How was your call?” I blurt out.
“Fine,” he says, still studying me. “Where did you run off to yesterday?”
“I had to talk with someone,” I tell him. “And I didn’t realize how late it was getting.”
It’s the truth, though it doesn’t really illuminate anything.
He nods, thankfully taking it at face value.
“Your croque monsieur, sir,” Anna says suddenly, appearing out of thin air at Jake’s shoulder.
I almost jump out of my chair, but Jake doesn’t even flinch. If the lodge does go out of business, Anna could still have a very promising career as a ninja.
“Thanks,” he says, not bothering to lean back to make it easy for her to place the plate on the table. “Coffee too, please. Black. And milk for the boy.”
The urn with the free coffee is literallyright there,but he turns his attention to his plate and she has no choice but to scurry over and fix it for him.
A moment later she returns and sets the cup on the table. From the way the surface of the coffee is rippling, I can tell her hand is shaking and I feel a pang of sympathy.
“I’ll be right back with those pancakes,” she mumbles, doing the weird backing away thing again.
“Hm,” Jake says, taking a bite. “This isn’t a croque monsieur, it’s a Montecristo.”
“Smells good,” I offer.
“Pancakes,” Dylan squeaks.
Sure enough, here comes Anna again with another plate on her tray. This time she seems to be smiling genuinely. Probably because Dylan is so happy that he’s practically standing on the table. Who could resist that kind of excitement?
“Here are your pancakes, sir,” she tells him, setting down a plate and a glass of milk beside it.
His eyebrows leap up at that. But when she places the plate down, his delight at being calledsiris forgotten because the pancakes really are impressive.
There are three of them—a big one at the bottom of the plate, a medium sized one in the middle, and a small one at the top. Laid out like this, they look like a snowman, and that impression is strengthened by the whipped cream swirled on each pancake, and the blueberry eyes, strawberry nose, and syrup smile on its face.
“It’s Froggy,” he yells, looking up at me with wonder in his eyes.
“It’s pancakes, sir,” Anna says worriedly. “Just like you ordered.”
“It’s fine,” Jake says dismissively.
“Maddie, his eyes areblueberries,” Dylan sings out in delight.
Anna is already backing away worriedly. But up at the counter Margo nods with a tiny but genuine smile on herface. When she catches me looking she gives me a thumbs-up, but I have no idea why.
