Page 50 of Please Send Snow
Her eyes are on mine, and she’s dead serious all of a sudden, that hazel gaze sinking into me like maybe she can really read my intentions.
“Thank you,” she says after a moment. “But it’s still too much.”
“If you knew how much it would have cost menotto have you there yesterday, you would demand more,” I confide honestly. “I know I should have planned better and called a nanny service or something instead ofripping you away from your book. Believe me, it makes me feel better to pay you decently.”
I hold my breath, hoping she takes my words at face value. I do honestly mean them.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to leave, or maybe slap me or toss a drink in my face. I’d deserve it. Then she laughs, and the sound of it is like clear, sparkling water on a parched throat.
“Your Crêpes Suzette, sir,” the cook says importantly, setting a plate in front of me and lighting it.
The sauce surrounding the dish erupts with a flame so enormous that I barely avoid getting my eyebrows singed.
The lady across the table lets out a little scream that turns into a giggle, and a few of the others join in.
“Wow,” Maddie murmurs.
Even just a week ago, that would have been enough for me to have half the kitchen staff fired, but somehow, I find myself chuckling instead. Between Maddie’s company, the coziness of the room, and Dylan’s happiness with his seatmate, I find that I don’t even mind that this Crêpes Suzette sort of looks like a short stack of burned diner pancakes.
There’s a lightness in my chest that I can’t identify at first.
Am I actually happy?
I steal a glance at Maddie, who is wisely pulling her chair back and telling Dylan to do the same as the cook sets down her plate.
If I’m happy, it has everything to do with this remarkable young woman.
Please don’t let her break our hearts…
13
MADDIE
We’re just finishing up breakfast when Margo waves to me from across the room.
I glance at Jake, but he’s flagging down Anna for another cup of coffee.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I say softly, pulling out my chair and hoping he doesn’t ask where I’m going.
I head after Margo, who has already disappeared down the hall that leads back to the lobby.
“Good work,” she tells me curtly when I catch up to her by the front counter.
I look around, but the lobby is empty, with all the guests apparently enjoying the big breakfast, or sleeping in.
“What did you think of the Crêpes Suzette?” she asks, hope flashing in her eyes.
“It was great,” I tell her.
I’ve never actually had Crêpes Suzette before, so I’m hardly one to judge. If my parents didn’t make scrambled eggs, we mostly had cereal for breakfast, nothing fancy.
But I can’t tell Margo that or I’ll lose my broom closet. Her belief in my rarified upbringing is the only thing keeping a roof over my head.
Anyway, the crêpes were sort of like seared pancakes in a sweet orange sauce. And I enjoyed them, even if Bronson almost set us on fire. So I feel good about my answer.
“Excellent,” she says, nodding to herself. “I knew he’d rise to the occasion.”
“I think J—Mr. Stone is having a nice time too,” I tell her. “The breakfast was a good idea.”
