Page 23 of Please Send Snow
I grab my juice and drink most of it down as Dylan digs into his breakfast.
“I don’t normally feed him this stuff,” Jake says thoughtfully.
Does he think I’m judging him? And what’s wrong with pancakes anyway?
“He seems like a very healthy kid,” I say firmly. “But everyone deserves a treat once in a while.”
When I glance up at him, Jake has a funny little half-smile on his face.
“So, you’ll continue to work on reading and writing,” he says. When he notices me looking, his smile vanishes. “And we’ll have a set end time today, so no one has to go running off through the woods.”
“Of course,” I agree meekly.
“Also, we didn’t talk about pay,” he says, and goes on to name a daily rate that sounds great to me mainly because it’s more than the zero dollars I currently have.
“That will be fine,” I say, doing my best to play it cool.
“Do you have a car?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I used to have a car, but it was in my dad’s name.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him.
How helpless does this guy think I am?
Of course, I am penniless and sleeping in a broom closet, so maybe his lack of confidence in me isn’t exactly misplaced.
“Fine,” he says. “If the two of you need to go into town you can take the SUV.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
It’s kind of nice to think about exploring the village of Angel Mountain. It’s not big—the fact that half the mountain is a state park limits how many houses and bigger businesses can be here. But I remember the little park, the library, and the block and a half of cute shops that passes for a main street.
The second I take my last sip of juice, Bronson sweeps in like he’s been waiting. His uniform is blindingly white today, and his chef’s hat somehow looks even taller and more impressive than ever.
“How was your meal, Miss Foster?” he asks with a low bow that makes his hat bob.
“I was so surprised—” I begin, then notice his eyes widening in horror, and I shake my head. “I mean, I wasn’t surprised at all. The food here is always wonderful.”
“Very good, Miss Foster,” he says, closing his eyes like he’s a priest blessing holy water or something. “And you, Mr. Stone. How was your meal?”
“It was a little heavy for breakfast,” Jake says lightly.
“I got asnowman,”Dylan announces suddenly, without being asked. “It’s great.”
He’s got so much whipped cream on his little face that he looks kind of like Santa Claus. Even Bronson can’t help smiling back at him.
“We’re delighted that you enjoyed it,” he says. “Let us know if we can bring anything else.”
“Miss Foster,” Margo says, approaching as Bronsonheads back to the kitchen. “We’d like to discuss your amenity list, if you could just follow me.”
Amenity list?
But the look she’s giving me leaves no room for questions.
“Excuse me,” I say to Jake before hopping up to follow her.
