Page 7 of Please Send Snow
I wish I could remember what Dad had said to her just before the carriage driver snapped the photo. I wish even more that I could go back to that moment and feel their arms around me and hear their laughter one more time.
Tomorrow will be better,I promise myself firmly.I’ll find a job.
I try not to think too hard about what it means that even the lodge doesn’t need workers right now. My dad always told me that Angel Mountain would take care of me when I needed it, but now I’m wondering if that’s possible when the little town can’t even take care of itself.
With all the thoughts swirling around in my mind, I’m expecting another restless night, but I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, thinking about that Angel Mountain magic and how I sure could use some right about now.
3
MADDIE
In the morning, I clean myself up the best I can in the utility sink. When I’m finished there’s a big puddle on the floor and I’m not a hundred percent sure that I’m much better off than I was when I started, but it’s a whole lot better than nothing.
I still have one clean pair of jeans and a sweater, so I pull them on and head into the hallway with my bag to use the lobby powder room.
When I come out, there’s an older couple sitting on the loveseat by the fireplace. They’re holding hands and smiling like they just won the lottery. They’re snuggled so closely together that the white cloud of her hair practically touches his bald pate as they murmur and gaze at the fire.
That could have been my parents one day.
But that kind of thinking won’t change anything, so I take a seat at the little table in the corner and pull my laptop out of my bag.
From here I can see the whole lobby. It’s a littledrafty by the windows, but that will keep me from nodding off. If Michael finds me a job like I’m really hoping he will, then this might be my only chance to write today.
As if I summoned him with my thoughts, my old friend appears in the lobby, the buttons on his uniform sparkling.
“Miss Foster,” he says, approaching me. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you again,” I tell him honestly, but don’t go so far as to mention the fact that the cot in the broom closet is the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.
“I’m very sorry, but I haven’t been able to find you any employment yet,” he tells me. “I’ll keep trying, though, don’t you worry.”
I’m not too discouraged. It’s still early, and everything, including my future, looks a little brighter in the light of day.
“Maybe I can head down to the village and see if anyone in the shops needs a hand,” I say, already trying to figure out how I’m going to get down there without a dime to my name.
“Anna from the kitchen has to run down to the village at noon to pick up a shipment of vegetables,” Michael says, reading my mind. “She’ll give you a lift.”
“Thank you,” I tell him again.
“Have some coffee,” he tells me as he heads off, gesturing to the big stainless urn at the counter.
The lobby coffee smells amazing, and it’s free, along with the cookies on the silver tray beside the urn. But I don’t want to push my luck since Margo is around. If sheremembers that I didn’t get a room last night she might kick me out this morning.
I open my laptop, feeling excited about the prospect of writing in such a perfect environment. My story is set at Christmastime, so the roaring fire and festive decor put me in the perfect mood.
Before I even have the file open, there is a swirl of winter air as a man comes into the lobby with a little boy. The kid is somewhere around five years old with a mop of dark brown hair. He looks around the lobby in delight, his brown eyes sparkling as he takes in the Christmas village. But it’s the life-sized reindeer that really capture his attention.
He takes off to examine them and my eyes return to his father and get stuck as I take him in. I’m not usually one to get all drooly over a cute guy, but this one is a whole lot more than just cute.
The man is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, with wide shoulders, hair just a little too long, and cheekbones so sharp even his five o’clock shadow can’t hide them. His clothing is quality but practical, and he’s so focused on getting the manager’s attention that he doesn’t spare a single glance at the over-the-top Christmas decor.
I pick my jaw up off the floor and wonder what’s gotten into me as Margo scurries over to the man and the lodge door opens again, letting in another blast of frigid air.
A small blonde woman and her three blonde kids hurry in and wipe their feet on the mat. Michael is already heading over to greet them, a big smile on his face like he’s really pleased to see the children.
“How may I help you?” he asks them all warmly.
“Oh, we’re just here with our letters,” the lady tells him a little apologetically.
