by Ali Parker
“You look like you want to eat someone,” Kassie said, falling into step beside me.
I rolled my eyes. “They would taste like shit. I will not be eating anyone. I need coffee.”
“Yeah, you do,” she said with a laugh. “You have that look on your face. Is it not going well with your new hires?”
I pushed open the door to the breakroom. “I think he is doing it to torture me. He knows nobody likes me.”
“People that know you like you. It’s just people that don’t know you… well, you scare them.”
I laughed. “I’ve never hurt anyone.”
“No, but you certainly look like you might.”
I rolled my eyes, filling my coffee cup with the strong coffee kept on the burner. “I demand excellence. I don’t see what’s so bad about that.”
“Nothing, but you could be a little softer,” she suggested.
“I don’t have time for soft,” I replied.
“You need to eat. You’re hangry.”
“I’m not hangry. I have another hour before lunch.”
“Let’s go get tacos,” she suggested. “Tacos make everyone happy.”
“I’m having lunch with the girls today,” I told her.
“Fine, I’ll eat tacos all by myself.”
I laughed. “I’ve seen you eat tacos. That’s probably for the best. No one needs to witness that.”
“Any hotties in the group of new hires?” she asked, shifting gears.
“I just told you they were incompetent.”
She shrugged. “And?”
“Doesn’t that turn you off?” I asked. “I mean, how can you have an intelligent conversation with a guy that can’t add two plus two?”
“You’re exaggerating. Besides, the things I want have nothing to do with math. I don’t care if he can’t add, multiply, or subtract. I’m not looking for a Rhodes scholar. The last thing I’m interested in are a man’s conversational skills.”
I shook my head and sipped my coffee. “You’re not shallow.”
“I can be.”
“No, you can’t. I know you. You pretend you’re shallow, but I know you’re not.”
She laughed. “I could be with the right man.”
“Trust me, it doesn’t pay. Trent was handsome and charming and absolutely fabulous in bed, and look how that worked out.”
She curled her lip. “Trent was an anomaly. You can’t judge all good-looking guys based on your ex-husband. He was a piece of shit.”
“He is a piece of shit,” I corrected. “He gave me two beautiful babies, but his sperm is about all he was good for.”
She smirked. “You really need tacos.”
I shrugged. “I’ll just have to be in a shitty mood for a while longer. I’m not skipping lunch with my girls.”
“I have to get back. I’ll see you later. Be nice to the newbies. I don’t want to be working fourteen-hour days during tax season.”
I groaned. “I’ll try, but I swear if they don’t pull their heads out of their asses, I will devour them.”
“Creepy, Hannibal, creepy.”
I pulled out my best evil laugh and walked out of the breakroom. I walked to my small office, needing to try and get some of my own work done. Babysitting the new hires was a full-time job. I got busy, working faster than usual in an effort to keep up with my clients’ needs. The alarm on my phone went off, telling me it was time to get to the girls’ school.
I grabbed my purse and rushed out of the office. I got little time with my girls. Once a week, I got to have lunch with them in their school cafeteria. The food wasn’t great, but it was the time that mattered. I made it to the school just as the lunch bell rang.
I quickly signed in, got my visitor’s badge, and made my way to the cafeteria. I scanned the crowd of four-foot blondes milling about the cafeteria, giggling and talking a hundred miles a minute. I spotted my youngest daughter first.
I tapped her on the shoulder.
“Mom!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around my waist.
“Hi, sweetie! Where’s your sister?”
She turned around, scanning the area. “Hazel!” she shouted.
I looked in the direction she was hollering and saw my eight-year-old daughter chatting with a friend. She noticed me and Autumn and quickly made her way toward us. “I didn’t know you were going to come today,” she said.
“I’m here,” I said, not hugging her. I knew better. She was eight going on sixteen and forbade the public displays of affection. “Let’s get some lunch.”
We made our way through the line, carrying our trays to a small table. I looked at Autumn, my six-year-old bundle of light and energy. She was so positive all the time. Both girls favored my looks, but they were going to be tall like their father.
“How is your day going, Hazel?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s all right. I have a math test tomorrow.”
“You’re going to do great,” I told her confidently. “You’re a math whiz. What about you, Autumn?”
“She’s in the first grade, Mom,” Hazel said in the haughty tone only an older sister could muster. “They color.”
“I don’t color!” Autumn protested. “We are reading, and we got to play a math game.”
“Was it fun?” I asked.
She bobbed her head up and down, her soft brown curls that were so much like mine moving with the action. “Yep! I won one time!”
“Awesome! Good job.”
Hazel took a bite of the pizza that had been served and appeared thoughtful. “Can I do the STEM class after school when we come back after Christmas?”
I grimaced. She’d been asking to do the after-school program for months. I had thought it was too much school for her, but she was clearly interested. “I’ll talk with the coordinator and see if you can join after winter break. You’re sure you want to do it? You’ll be at school until five every day.”
She bobbed her head up and down, her beautiful green eyes looking back at me. “I do, I do.”
“You’ll have to keep up with your other schoolwork,” I warned.
“I know.”
“It’s a long day,” I said again.
“It’s not like you’ll be home anyway,” she pointed out. “I’ll get done with STEM the same time you get done with work.”
She was right. I knew she wasn’t trying to make me feel bad about my work schedule, but I did. I hated that I couldn’t be there for them both right after school. “You’re right,” I agreed, letting her have the satisfaction of being right. “Are you guys anxious for Thanksgiving break?”
“I am!” Autumn said. “Nanny says we’re going to eat until we explode!”
I burst into laughter. “Oh, my goodness. That sounds painful!”
“She said she’s going to make pecan pie. I love pecan pie!”
I smiled, looking to Hazel to get her input. “I can’t wait until I don’t have to go to school.”
“You love school,” I said.
She shrugged. “But I like being home. Are you going to be home, or do we have to go to Nanny’s house?”
My mother had stepped up and essentially became their other parent when Trent up and left us. She was a huge help, watching the girls after school for me and on the many days they didn’t have school and I had to work. “I have to work two days but then I’ll be off for the rest of the week.”
“Are we going to do something fun?” Autumn asked.
I smiled, reaching out to touch her soft curls. “I think we should. We could go shopping or go to the children’s museum.”
“Can we go to the beach?” Autumn asked.
“I think it might be a little cold for that,” I told her.
“We can wear our coats,” she said.
I smiled, not wanting to shut down her idea. “We’ll see how the weather is. Hazel, you’ll have to think of what you want to do as well.”
“I want to stay home.”
I was dreading the teenage years
. “We can bake or play games. We’ll find something to do.”
I checked the time and realized their lunch period was almost over. I gave them each a hug, even the reluctant Hazel, before sending them back to their classes. I left the school in a much better mood. I missed the days when I could work part-time and be there for them. I hated that I had become the bread winner, bread buyer, and the bread baker in our family. I told myself it was for the best. Trent had stifled me. We’d both been unhappy and that wasn’t a good environment for the girls.
Life would get better. We would find a balance. Of that, I was sure. It just sucked getting to that point.
Chapter 3
Gabriel
I swept the floor of the cabin, making sure to bend down low and get all the way under the bed. I took a great deal of pride in presenting my guests with clean accommodations. I didn’t skimp on the cleaning. All it took was one bad review to tank a business. One piece of trash, one trail of ants, or one sticky spot on the floor could ruin a business. I swept the pile into the dustpan and dumped it into the huge trashcan I dragged from one cabin to the next.
I grabbed the dry mop, being careful not to ruin the old wooden floors that were part of the rustic charm of each of the cabins. It was hard to find such craftsmanship. Unfortunately, the upkeep on cabins that were almost a hundred years old was a lot of work. Leo and I did it all—unless it was something major and then I had to open up my wallet and pay a professional.
Leo came through the door, dumping a small trashcan into the larger one. “Why are we doing this again?” he complained. “If we had a cleaning service, you and I could be working on that new wood carving for the entrance.”
“Because we don’t want to leave trash for the rodents and other wildlife to feast upon,” I answered. “And that carving isn’t going anywhere. It will be there tomorrow.”
“You know what I mean. Why are we cleaning these cabins? We’re two guys that are outdoorsy and manly, and yet, here I am, wearing rubber gloves and cleaning cabins.”
I laughed. “I hope no woman ever hears you say that. She’ll probably grab you by the balls and squeeze really hard.”
“I’m not saying it’s woman’s work,” he said. “I’m saying it isn’t our work.”
I grabbed the window cleaner from the little caddy and walked into the small bathroom. “It is our work. The cabins need cleaning. We are cleaning them. Besides, it’s a good opportunity to inspect each cabin and head off any potential problems.”
“Why don’t we hire a real cleaning staff? You can afford to pay a maid or two.”
I laughed, wiping down the mirror. “Any cleaning staff I hire is going to come out of your wages.”
“Cheap ass,” he retorted.
“You have to earn your keep. When there aren’t any guests, what would you be doing?”
He snatched the duster and ran it over the window ledge. “Sit on my ass outside. Go fishing. Hunting. Twiddle my damn thumbs. Anything but this.”
It was always the same complaint the week following a full house. I didn’t see the need to hire a cleaning staff for a couple of days a week. There was very little for him and me to do around the retreat when it was empty. I liked being hands-on and knowing exactly what the cabins looked like when I handed over the keys to a new round of guests.
“Those lights should be here this week,” I said, changing the subject.
“Are we seriously going to put up more lights?” he asked with disgust. “One drunk chick gets lost and you’re panicking.”
“If it would have been colder, things would have ended badly. I can’t afford to get sued. I could be held responsible for her being overserved, even if she did the bulk of the drinking in the cabin with that guy.”
I was still pissed about that. We’d cleaned that cabin the day before and found several empty bottles of Jack and tequila. Her so-called friend had plied her with alcohol. We all knew why, and it pissed me off.
“We can’t babysit them all,” he reminded me.
“No, but I can put lights on the trail behind the cabins and hopefully prevent that from happening again. I want them in before the next group comes in.”
“When is that?” he asked.
“Two weeks, just a short weekend visit,” I told him.
“Full house?”
“Yep, an accounting firm.”
He groaned. “Great. A bunch of geeks with glasses and pocket protectors speaking math.”
“Don’t be a dick. Those geeks make more in a month than you do in a year.”
“That’s because you don’t pay me enough. I should get a cleaning wage salary on top of my usual salary.”
I laughed. “What would you do with more money? You’re single, and you don’t do anything or go anywhere.”
“I’d buy new fishing gear. I’ve been eying a reel for a while, but I can’t justify the cost.”
“You have more reels than a sporting goods store,” I reminded him.
He grinned. “But I don’t have that reel.”
“Maybe we can sneak off later and get some scouting in,” I offered.
He scoffed. “You’ll have me scrubbing the rocks outside.”
“You’re such a baby. I think we’re good in here. I don’t want to be putting the linens on until the day of their arrival.”
He nodded and pushed the large trash can out the door. I locked the cabin up and moved down the trail to the next one. We’d done the initial cleanup the day the group left, picking up any food that had been left around. I had learned the hard way on that one. Animals would find a way to get into the cabins and make a mess.
We started the usual cleanup duty, chatting about the coming weather and what it would mean for the business. There were a lot of private parties that wanted to get the winter wonderland experience—for a weekend only. Few people were interested in a week-long stay. While our business catered to large groups for family reunions and work retreats, I did do private rentals on occasion.
“Done,” Leo said, tossing his gloves into the trash when we finished the last cabin.
“Are you headed home?” I asked him.
He nodded. “Unless you need me for anything.”
“Nope, I’m going to do the food order for the party coming in two weeks,” I said, trying to find the best way to tell him the other half of the story about that particular event.
“Do geeks eat a lot?” he joked.
I laughed. “Maybe, but I’m sure their families will.”
He stopped walking and slowly turned to look at me. “Excuse me?”
I grinned. “Did I forget to mention that part?”
“What the hell? Families? This is a family thing? You said an accounting firm!”
“It is—with their families. The manager has invited his small group of people to bring their families for the weekend. He says it’s his Christmas gift to them before tax season kicks off and they’ll be working long hours.”
“I don’t suppose families is reserved for spouses only?” he asked.
I slowly shook my head. “Headcount shows there will be eight kids between the ages of six and fourteen coming along.”
“You’re shitting me? Please tell me you’re just being a dick and trying to stress me out.”
I shrugged. “Sorry, it’s true.”
“I hate kids. They stink. They’re sticky. They whine. They cry. They complain nonstop about everything.”
I grinned. “That sounds an awful lot like someone I know.”
He scowled at me. “I thought we talked about making this an adults-only place?”
I shook my head. “No, you talked about it. Kids need to get into nature. They spend too much time as it is cooped up in their rooms with those video games. I’m not about to limit where families can spend a weekend together. We need more kids here.”
His lip curled as he leaned away from me, physically distancing himself from my suggestion. “Are you out of your mind? All they do is complain when they’re
here. They want video games and internet.”
“Which is why it is up to me and you to show them how awesome the outdoors are,” I said with a smile.
“You need to hire babysitters,” he replied.
I laughed. “The kids are here to spend time with their parents. Babysitters would defeat the purpose.”
“The parents want babysitters.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Read the comments,” he retorted.
I rolled my eyes. “There are very few that mention that. I’ve made it clear this is a place to be outdoors, not inside hanging out. I’m not going to become a resort. People come here to walk, fish, enjoy the birds, and unwind.”
“Can’t do that with a bunch of screaming brats around,” he said. “I’m going home.”
I watched him walk across the gravel parking area toward his car. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him.
“I’m going home to work on my resignation letter. I expect a nice severance package.”
I burst into laughter. “You quit every two weeks.”
“This time, I’m serious. I’m tired of cleaning boogers off walls and pee from the floor. My mom would have kicked my ass if I pissed all over the floor like the kids today.”
“I think it’s the girls that pee on the floor,” I teased.
He scowled. “It isn’t funny. It’s a biohazard. You need to hire extra staff when the brats are in attendance.”
“Okay, I’ll do that and take the cut from your check.”
“You keep threatening to cut my wages and I will quit.”
“Where are you going to go that lets you get away with half the shit you pull?” I asked him.
“Why kids?” he pouted.
“Because when we can advertise we are family-friendly, it appeals to a wider audience. A wider audience means more bookings. More bookings mean more money for the business and ultimately you.”
“Mostly you,” he shot back.
I winked. “That’s the perk of having my name on the bills.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “I hate that you’re practical.”