Page 47 of Please Send Snow
The lobby isn’t exactly full, but it’s less empty than I’ve seen it. The elderly couple that was here yesterday is sitting by the fire again, chatting and smiling at each other like they’re madly in love.
A young woman is striking various poses over by thereindeer statues, a bored expression on her face, as a guy with a phone and some lighting equipment practically braids himself into a pretzel to get the perfect angle of her.
A couple and their two kids are standing by the counter, looking impatient. One of the kids is a teen scrolling her phone, but the other is a little boy, about Dylan’s age. I wonder if they’re staying here.
“I thought there was going to be a big breakfast,” the dad is saying to Margo. His tone says that he’s at the end of his rope.
“I’m so sorry for the delay, sir,” she tells him. “It will be ready in just a moment.”
Just then, Dylan lets go of my hand and darts over to Maddie, who is sitting at her usual table, her laptop in front of her.
“Hi, Maddie,” he sings out. “Are you too busy to write a letter to Santa?”
“Of course not, dill pickle,” she tells him. “I was actually hoping you and your dad might have time to eat some breakfast. Then we can go straight to your house and write our letter, and I can put it in the box when I come back here tonight.”
She glances up at me uncertainly, like maybe I’m going to deny her breakfast. I’m so relieved she isn’t quitting that I would eat a ten-course meal right now if it made her happy.
“We’d love to,” I tell her firmly.
This earns me a smile so bright I feel like I need sunglasses.
“There’s another little boy,” Dylan notices, his eyes onthe family at the counter now, like he’s forgotten all about us.
“Welcome, Mr. Stone,” Margo calls out warmly. “You’re just in time to join us for breakfast.”
She heads over to the door to the dining hall and opens it up.
“Finally,” the dad of the family grumbles.
“Thank you,” the wife says softly to Margo. “Bree, Bobby, come on, let’s go.”
“Do you need to work a little more?” I ask Maddie as the family heads into the dining area.
“No, no,” she says. She’s already out of her seat and sliding the laptop into her bag.
“Can we sit near that kid?” Dylan asks hopefully.
“I don’t see why not,” Maddie tells him. “I’ll ask Margo. She’s in charge.”
“But we have to let that family eat their meal in peace,” I add. “So maybe after breakfast you can talk with him.”
The older couple heads in and we wait for them.
“Margo, Dylan would love to be seated near the family with the little boy,” Maddie says softly.
“Of course, Miss Foster,” Margo says with a big professional smile. “Today’s breakfast will be served family style, so the boys can sit together if they’d like.”
She enters with us, the girl and her cameraman bringing up the rear.
The room is big but cozy. Thick wooden beams cross the plaster ceiling and there’s another fireplace in here with a nice fire crackling in it.
A long oak table has been set up at the center of theroom. Thankfully, the older folks are seating themselves across from the family, making it possible for Dylan to snag the seat next to them.
But that puts him beside the teen instead of the little boy.
“Hello,” Dylan says brightly to the teenage girl, not a bit intimidated.
She’s got earbuds in, and her eyebrows fly up when she realizes he’s talking to her.
