Page 12 of Grump Hard
My friend Candy really does have one of the best jobs ever. I can’t wait until she and Kayla buy the inn and make it theirs, for real. They’re the ones responsible for the renovations that transformed the inn from a cozy mainstay to a coveted destination for New England’s elite, but it won’t technically be under “new ownership” until they save up the rest of their seed money.
But they’ll make it happen.
All my girlfriends are impressive, accomplished women, but Candy and Kayla really take girl bossing to new heights.
Like now, for example. Behind the desk, Candy leans gently forward, nodding as she listens to an unhappy-looking blonde in pricey athletic wear, her expression a perfect mixture of professional concern and small-town warmth. You’d never guess she was dealing with a challenging guest, but as I draw closer, it’s obvious this woman is Difficult with a capital D.
“We were just looking forward to the same kind we had last year,” the blond whines, sounding more like a four-year-old than a woman in her forties. “I mean, if something’s not broken, why ‘fix’ it? I certainly don’t consider it fixed. At all.”
“Of course, Mrs. Winthrop. I understand,” Candy says in a soothing, therapeutic tone. “Change is always hard. For all of us. So, it’s the marshmallows that are the main problem?”
Mrs. Winthrop takes a steadying breath as she nods. “Yes. They’re all wrong. We were expecting the tiny ones.”
“The tiny ones,” Candy echoes, her face a portrait of concern. “So, it’s the size that’s bothering you?”
“Not just the size,” Mrs. Winthrop continues. “They’re also too soft. The little, dehydrated ones are just so much better. They melt into the cocoa. These don’t. They hardly dissolve at all. They just…float.” She gestures helplessly toward the breakfast area. “It’s a completely different experience.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
I swear, the city people get stranger every year.
It’s funny, yes, but also a little sad. Don’t rich people have real problems? Or at least something more genuinely distressing to worry about?
Personally, I’d be more troubled by the change in the gingerbread. It just isn’t the same since Kayla insisted on piping the gingerbread men instead of drenching the entire cookie in a sinful icing shell.
I would be fighting a hard eye roll if I were in her shoes, but Candy doesn’t so much as blink. “I see,” she says, her voice full of empathy. “You’re correct, our supplier did alter their marshmallow offerings this year. It seems to be a supply-chain issue affecting the entire micro-marshmallow industry. We just can’t get the tiny ones anymore.”
Mrs. Winthrop presses a hand to her chest. “Oh no, I was afraid it was something like that.”
“But let me shoot a message to the suppliers to see if they might have any of the old stock that they can send our way. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can do to improve your experience.” Candy taps at her keyboard before reaching for her phone. A button punch later, she says, “Hello, Chef Marcus. I was wondering if you might be able to cut the marshmallows for the cocoa bar into smaller pieces? And potentially run them through the dehydrating machine you use for the apple slices before putting them on the buffet? Yes, so that they’ll hopefully combine with the cocoa a bit better?” She smiles at Mrs. Winthrop as she nods. “Of course. Yes. That’s perfect, thank you!” She ends the call, announcing, “He’ll have the refreshed marshmallows out within the hour.”
Mrs. Winthrop’s face lights up. “Oh, Candace, thank you so much. You really are a miracle worker. You saved our holiday! You really did.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Winthrop,” Candy says with a grin as the woman floats away, crisis averted.
The second she’s out of sight, Candy’s smile melts like a tiny marshmallow in hot chocolate. She sets her pen down, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose.
But when she looks up, her energy is once again warm and welcoming as she motions me over. “Hello, there, gorgeous! To what do I owe the honor?”
“Goat cheese special delivery for Chef Marcus. Fresh from the Silver Bell Falls Creamery.” I heft the box of Dad’s goat cheese onto the counter, the rich, earthy smell as comforting as ever. “I was heading out to run errands, so I offered to swing by on my way into Manchester.”
Candy’s focus shifts to the box, pleasure banishing the last of the tension from her expression. “Please tell me that’s the honey lavender.”
“And the rosemary thyme,” I assure her. “All your holiday goat cheese dishes will be up and running by supper tonight.”
“Bless you, you’re an angel,” she says, pulling the box closer. “I’ll take this back to Chef in a few. I have to pop into the kitchen and apologize for the marshmallow madness anyway.”
I drop my voice to a whisper as I murmur, “Oh my God, I heard. I couldn’t believe she was serious at first!”
Candy gives the tiniest of eye rolls. “Oh, she was serious. They’re all serious. Don’t get me wrong, I love our guests, I really do. But I swear, the holidays are making people crazier than they used to.”
“Sounds like it,” I agree. “In any event, you’re still the master of hospitality.”
Her eyes narrow. “And you’re still really bad at hiding it when you’ve got a secret. What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up!” I insist, too quickly.
Candy hums beneath her breath. “Nope. Something’s up. You have that squinty, I-did-something-impulsive look in your eyes.” She cocks her head to the side, making her ebony ponytail swish. “You didn’t call Kevin, did you? I thought we agreed Kevin was not worth a second date, no matter how slim the pickings are around here.”
