Page 47 of One Big Lie

My attention was caught by the energy that was emitting between Martha and Downing. So, I spotted Ariel and pulled her aside. Then, discreetly—or maybe not so discreetly—I pointed to a corner of the dining room. "Downing is sitting next to your mother. What's the scoop?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Ariel followed my gaze, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "They're just getting to know each other," she revealed. But then she lowered her voice and added, "But you know, Court, I see a spark in my mother's eye that I haven't seen for years."

Their blossoming relationship was just another delightful twist in our winding journey. "Tonight is about celebrating our victories, new beginnings, and unexpected friendships," I declared.

As the lively chatter and laughter filled the room, Brad clinked his spoon against his drinking glass, grabbing the attention of the crew. His commanding yet charismatic voice rang out, "Folks, grab your drinks and get in line. It's about time we sat down to a real Western feast!"

With the enticing aroma of hickory smoked brisket wafting through the air, the grand dining room transformed into a scene from an old Western movie. The buffet tables lining the room's edges were filled with the heartiest dishes, each delicately crafted with the bold flavors of the American frontier.

A Texas-style smoked beef brisket glistened under the warm lights on one table, the carving knife sinking into the tender, smoky meat effortlessly. Adjacent to it, smoked pork ribs rubbed with a spicy-sweet concoction took center stage.

A tray of skillet-fried cornbread, crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, sat next to a cast iron pot of baked beans. The sides didn't disappoint either—there were classic coleslaws, potato salads, and a cornucopia of pickled veggies.

The pièce de résistance was the cowboy chili, its rich, aromatic steam curling up from a massive iron pot set over a mock campfire. The complex mix of flavors and spices made it a dish that even the toughest gunslinger would swoon over.

The sight was enough to make any mouth water, and Ryder and Amber were first in line, plates in hand.

The background music transitioned smoothly as our group filled their plates and settled down. The stringed ensemble gave way to a lively bluegrass band that set the atmosphere ablaze with their infectious, foot-tapping rhythms. The banjo, fiddle, and mandolin meshed beautifully, churning out energetic tunes that made it impossible to keep your feet still.

The rhythmic strumming of the banjo, the soulful notes from the fiddle, and the animated conversation around mouthfuls of delicious food filled the grand dining hall, making for a perfect backdrop to our ongoing celebration. Then, just as a new tune kicked up and a fresh round of laughter rolled around the table, I heard my name ring out over the dining room.

"Courtney!" The voice was unmistakable—it was Jenna.

I turned in my seat just in time to see Jenna and Dylan rushing through the grand archway of the dining room. They were slightly out of breath, their eyes wide and their cheeks flushed, but their faces were lit up with contagious excitement. Jenna clutched Dylan's hand, pulling him along with her as she weaved through the tables, her eyes fixed on me.

I rose from my seat, a wide smile spreading across my face. "Jenna! Dylan!" I exclaimed, the joy in my voice resonating around the room.

Before I knew it, they were at our table, their arms thrown around me in a group hug that was as warm as it was tight. We broke apart after a moment, each of us laughing as Jenna worked to catch her breath.

Jenna looked slightly sheepish as she explained, "We got lost trying to find the lodge. I swear Dylan here can't read a map to save his life."

Her teasing accusation sent Dylan into a mock protest, defending his map-reading skills amidst the collective laughter of our group. As they grabbed some food and took their seats around the table, their energy seemed to amplify the joy in the room.

Just as our laughter was dying down, Giuseppe reached into his pocket. He produced a well-aged Cuban cigar, a grin on his face as wide as the Grand Canyon. A flurry of anticipation hung in the air as he started to cut the cigar.

"No way, Giuseppe!" Ryder exclaimed, his eyes practically bulging out of his head. "Is that a real Cuban?"

"Indeed it is, my friend," Giuseppe replied with a flourish. His face held a triumphant gleam as though he had just pulled out a winning lottery ticket instead of a cigar.

As Giuseppe struck a match and lit the cigar, the smell of rich tobacco filled the air. A quiet fell over the table as we watched him draw in his first puff, savoring the taste like a sommelier would a fine wine.

With the cigar now properly lit, Giuseppe began to talk, his speech animated, his hands gesturing wildly as smoke rings billowed around him. He started to regale us with a story about his first experience with a Cuban cigar, his words painting a vivid picture that had us hanging on his every word.

However, the spell was broken when the maître d', a stern-looking man with a pencil-thin mustache, materialized beside our table. He cleared his throat loudly, causing Giuseppe to pause mid-sentence.

"Excuse me, sir," he began, eyeing Giuseppe's cigar with thinly veiled disapproval. "There's no smoking inside Ahwahnee Lodge."

For a moment, it seemed as if Giuseppe was going to protest. Instead, he looked from the maître d' to his cherished cigar, a look of disappointment crossing his face. However, instead of getting upset, he simply shrugged and pulled out a thick wad of cash from his pocket.

"Would this change your mind?" Giuseppe asked, his voice holding an undertone of mischief. He leaned over to the maître d', whispering something into his ear as he slipped him the cash.

The maître d's eyes widened, glancing at the money and then at Giuseppe. Then, as if on cue, he promptly pocketed the cash, nodded, and walked away without another word.

We watched in stunned silence as Giuseppe, looking rather pleased with himself, resumed puffing on his cigar and picked up his story right where he had left off.

Laughter rippled around the table as we marveled at Giuseppe's audacity.

As the night deepened, the Ahwahnee Lodge, with its majestic grandeur, was filled with more than the intoxicating aroma of Cuban cigars and bluegrass music.

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