From Hope Lake, With Love

by Bocci, Nina

  “I don’t have anything to hide. I think you’ll find that this place is a bit of an open book. No one can keep secrets here. It’s nearly impossible.”

  I soured a bit. “That could be dangerous.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Not in a bad way. I’m sure if you wanted to, you could, but everyone is always willing to help so if it was something bad, the town would collectively try and find a way to make it right.”

  That eased the anxious feeling. “I find that interesting. The whole concept of small towns has always been a bit of a mystery to me.”

  “I think that’s part of what drew me here. West Chester is big and this is really the opposite.”

  “Which reminds me, how did you end up here?”

  He grinned. “I knew Dr. Bishop from my years with Doctors Without Borders. He had put a call out to colleagues for some help after his mom had a bad fall. You met Gigi. She’s a force of nature but it was bad for a while. He was always such a stand-up guy that I knew I had to come. I didn’t intend to stay but I fell in love with the place.”

  The place not the Charlotte. Interesting.

  “The rest, as they say, is history. He was busy, and the practice could use another full-time doctor. Hell, we have a pediatrician on staff now too.”

  “The ladies said that people have interesting ways that they end up in Hope Lake. I’m starting to believe them.”

  We were quiet for a bit, just two people watching a crackling fire in a hearth. I’m not sure when I dozed off, or even for how long, but when I woke, Max was also asleep in the chair, a peaceful look on his face.

  “I didn’t want to disturb you both, but you’ll miss afternoon tea,” Marjorie said, resting her hand gently on my shoulder.

  She turned to her son, and while she had been gentle with me, she giggled and held his nose with her fingers. After a second or two, he coughed, and his eyes opened. “I hate when you do that,” he groaned and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted, even after a short snooze.

  “You two sleepy heads won’t be able to rest tonight if you waste the afternoon napping. The snow has stopped, and the sun is shining bright. Great time for a walk around the property to show it off,” she finished by kicking his boot.

  “I thought you said it was afternoon teatime?” I asked, still groggy and confused.

  “It is,” she said with a smile, just as Ross brought over two reusable mugs and my coat, hat, and gloves. “All ready for you guys to venture out. The air will do you good.”

  “I can take a hint,” I said, laughing when she pointed toward the door.

  “We’re ordering pizza and wings tonight. Ross is taking the quad to pick it up. You’ve got a few hours so take your time. Explore, take notes, be inspired!”

  “Subtlety has never been her strong suit,” he said, opening the door for me.

  The sun may be shining, but the blast of frigid air hit me like a freight train. “I can see that, but she is just lovely. I’ve enjoyed my conversations with her.”

  “She’s happy to have someone other than Ross to talk to,” he blurted, and I gave him the hardest side-eye. “I mean, you’re perfectly lovely, but it could have been—I mean—you could have been—you know what, I’m going to stop talking.”

  I laughed. “Good idea. Considering we’re surrounded by snow and I played softball.”

  He slid a leveling glance my way. “Oh, really.”

  I raised an eyebrow as we descended the steps into the front lawn.

  At the base of the main steps there were two planters with tall topiaries that were filled with white lights.

  “Hey the tree in town is getting lit up tonight, right?”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s postponed until tomorrow. Can’t safely get everyone into town with the snow still coming down.”

  “Smart. Tell me about it? What happens?”

  He turned, looking up at the pure white sky. Snowflakes caught on his eyelashes, and beard before melting into them. He looked like an advertisement for an outdoor magazine. I nearly said it but bit my tongue.

  “It’s a surprise. I’ll drive you tomorrow to see it,” he promised.

  We were enveloped in the shadow of the large building. It really was grand from every angle, and it made me a little dizzy to stare up at the rooftop against the clear, blue sky.

  “I’m not saying I’m challenging you to a snowball fight, but I’m not, not saying it, either,” I warned, backing up slowly toward the two large stone planters that sat on the edge of the wide staircase.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Max walked back toward his truck. It was cleaned off and there wasn’t an inch of snow anywhere around it from where he plowed himself a path.

  “That’s a bad move, sir. Unless you’re fast, you’re not near enough snow for a good pack.”

  “Camille, you’re from California. What do you know about packing snowballs?” he said, launching himself behind the safety of the truck.

  “Shit,” I cursed, and took off back up the stairs two at a time until I was firmly planted behind one of the four large pillars.

  I began forming snowballs as fast as I could. He wasn’t making a sound, and I was worried that he had escaped somewhere on the other side that I didn’t know about. “You’ve got the advantage. I don’t know this property like you do,” I said, trying to draw out where he went to start his snow ammunition.

  Silence.

  He was better at this than I thought.

  “It’s almost not fair,” he said from my right, just as a ball hit me in the back of the head. I hadn’t pulled my long blonde hair up, instead keeping it down, which in hindsight was a mistake because it was caked with icy snow.

  “You’re a cheater!” I howled before sending two misshapen snowballs flying in the direction I thought he was in.

  “Missed! I thought you played softball?”

  The snow was falling from my hair and down my back through the coat. It was absurdly cold, and we were acting like children. But it was fun. I was having a blast even though I was pegged three more times with expertly thrown snowballs.

  “Have I hit you at all?”

  “Nope!” he said, and this time I knew he was back over by his car.

  I tiptoed across the snow as softly as I could, armed with as many snowballs as I could carry. Desperately trying not to laugh, I jumped to the back of the truck to catch him by surprise.

  “Huzzah!” I shouted, before dumping all of the snow on top of his head. “I win!”

  Sure, he was covered in snow. Yes, I was too busy celebrating the spoils of snow war to notice him standing quickly and administering a quick, epic takedown by sweeping my leg out from under me and sending me into a mound of snow that he plowed.

  “You stink,” I said, holding my hands up for him to give me an assist.

  “Rookie mistake. Never challenge someone who grew up surrounded with snow to a snowball fight,” he said, grabbing my hands.

  Instead, I pulled him down, so he landed beside me in the pile.

  “You cheat,” he mumbled around a mouthful of snow.

  Chapter Six

  At dinner, I didn’t see Max. There was an emergency in the next town, but he did leave word with Marjorie that he would be around for breakfast in the sunroom tomorrow morning. She delivered it as an invitation, with a smirk and a wink, but I insisted it was just breakfast.

  “Nothing is ever just breakfast,” she said.

  “This was a single-family home at one point, right?” I asked, my notebook at the ready.

  “Correct. Most of the homes out here on the lake started out as family estates back in the 1800s. Now, the two that are left standing are both B&Bs. This one and the old Lovegood mansion on the other side of the lake. It’s set deeper into the woods and isn’t as big as this, but it’s beautifully maintained.”

  “Interesting. I love this sort of information. I feel like it gets lost a lot in the shuffle.”

  Marjorie laughed as she passed me the
pizza box. “You should meet Emma and Cooper then. You’d get an earful for sure.”

  “Cooper the mayor?” I asked, taking the box and passing it to Ross.

  “Yep, one in the same. Emma, his wife, is the self-appointed town archivist, so I’m told. She’s spent much of the last two or three years collecting information to include in the historical register. When Max bought this and started cleaning out the attic, she practically lived here going through everything. Which was great because I got to watch their son, Sebastian. And her mother, Sophia, was here as well. I got to know that group a lot, which was nice since I was new to town myself,” Marjorie explained and this time, I was prepared with the notebook to jot it all down.

  “Oh, I met Sophia. Seems like a nice lady.”

  “She is, she usually comes around on Thursdays for tea with the ladies, but depending on the weather, we may just see each other at the tree lighting.”

  “I’ll have to make sure I’m around tomorrow then too,” I said with a wink.

  “I’m excited for this. Small-town Christmas sounds like something you have to see to believe.”

  “Every year it gets bigger. It’s really something to see,” she explained, eyeing the notebook. “What are the notes for? The article?”

  I slid the pad closer to her. “I’m here to write a book. Or, at least I hope to. That’s for me, but the article is my last piece for the American Adventure magazine I was working at before I came here. Once I turn it in, my hope is to start a full-time novelist career, but, I need to get my head on straight.”

  “Well, I’m interested in everything. If you need someone to read the article, or the book, I’m your girl,” she offered.

  “I appreciate that. I’ll need to chat more about the town.”

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, her eyes growing wide. “You really want to talk to Emma then. Especially for the article. I’m surprised she hasn’t sought you out yet.”

  I laughed. “I know my editor reached out but I’m thinking, perhaps, the weather is preventing it.”

  “Trust me, Emma will find a way to reach out. Even if she’s driving a quad up here by herself.”

  My slice of pizza hovered between the plate and my mouth. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Good. Emma’s is wonderful. The best person for the job she’s in, and she keeps Cooper focused on moving the town forward. She’s just a lot. So, be prepared for the interrogation. The good news is, she’ll bring a dessert and flowers to try and butter you up. They’ll all be your best friends in no time.”

  I scrunched up my face. “I’m not going to be bribed into writing something favorable if that’s what they’re thinking.”

  Marjorie cleared her throat. “Nothing like that. They’re just good at playing to the strengths of Hope Lake. They’ll make sure – even underneath all of this snow and Christmas magic—that you’ll see what a gem it is.”

  That mollified me a bit. “I could use them for the research I need. If I get a bouquet and a slice of pie out of it so be it.”

  Sometime around midnight, I awoke to a scratching at my window. Rolling over, I turned on the small bedside lamp, lighting up the bedroom in a warm yellow glow. The spindly branches from the oak tree were rubbing against the glass thanks to the strong winds.

  My stomach rolled. I wasn’t hungry but I wasn’t settled either. Shuffling into the living area, I found slippers and a long Stanford sweatshirt and headed down to the kitchen to rummage around. I hoped that no one wouldn't mind.

  The saving grace was that no one else was in the main part of the B&B to witness my pillaging of the pantry, or my outfit. Ross and Marjorie had apartments in a separate building, and though I still hadn’t seen exactly where Max’s living area was, I was curious about that set up as well.

  Following the hallway nightlights down to the kitchen, I only stubbed my toe once and made two wrong turns. Getting a tour was moving higher up on the list. I really should have done that on day one.

  The kitchen was dark, save for a snowman nightlight and the light of the moon, and a few under the cabinet lights shone balls of light onto the marble countertops. The pantry was thankfully clearly labeled, including a large basket with a chalkboard label reading guests and a smiley face on it.

  Pulling it out, I placed it on the large island in the center of the room, and with my phone’s flashlight, I found two delectable treats to munch on.

  “You mind getting me a granola bar while you’re in there?” Max said from the doorway.

  I dropped the small pack of tea crackers, and my phone clattered to the ground, turning the light off.

  “Jesus, you scared me!”

  He held up his hands as he laughed. “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me. You were too focused on snack retrieval to hear my loud boots thundering down the hallway, I suppose.”

  I grinned. “I am peckish and there was no way I was falling asleep without something to nibble on.”

  “Understood,” he said, flicking on two of the lights so that the room had at least some light. “Care for some company? I make a mean cup of cocoa.”

  I nodded. “Cocoa sounds like the perfect combination with these biscuits. Need help?”

  He shook his head and began grabbing what he needed from various cabinets. “I’m a pro at this.”

  “Oh, it’s homemade,” I remarked, seeing him pulling out actual ingredients, not just a packet of Swiss Miss like I would have done.

  He turned and gave me a look that suggested he was mock-offended that I questioned him. “I learned from my girlfriend at med school. She was French.”

  “She must have been some teacher.”

  His body shook with laughter. “Oui, oui,” he teased. His hair was wet, either from the snow or a shower.

  I pulled my bare legs up onto the stool to watch him.

  “Did you just get home?”

  He nodded, scooping a chocolate powder into the pot on the stovetop. “There was an accident in Mount Hazel, all hands on deck, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you often have to go to neighboring towns?” I asked, mainly curious about the distance between towns.

  He shook his head, lowered the heat to a simmer and turned, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement drew my eyes down, and I cleared my throat, looking away. The Rolling Stones shirt was a bit too well-fitted, but I think he did that intentionally as it enhanced everything on his upper torso. The sleeves were pulled tight around heavy biceps; the right showing off a tattoo but what it was I couldn’t tell.

  “I don’t have to go that often. Frank, Dr. Bishop, usually goes because he’s got a great relationship with the doctors in Mount Hazel and Barreton, but lately he’s been encouraging me to go so I can get to know the next generation, as he calls us.”

  “So, you plan on making Hope Lake permanent?” I asked, wishing I had my notebook with me to jot down his answer.

  He lowered his eyes, staring at his bare feet. “You spoke with Marjorie, I take it.”

  I inhaled. “We talked a bit. She said you liked the travel. As a person who travels, I get it. No judging. Just wondering if this is your home base for now, or forever.”

  He shrugged. “For now, it’s forever.”

  “Poignant.”

  Turning, he went back to stirring the pot with slow, calculated swirls. “It’s the truth, though. Can anyone say what’s going to happen in five or ten years? Hell, even next month might present a different scenario. I can say that right now, I would like to stay here. I’ve grown roots for the first time in a long time. My mom is here, and she has this place, and friends to keep her company. She doesn’t seem as lonely and lost. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

  He finished stirring and added something else from a mini glass jug that he pulled from the depths of the fridge.

  “I like rambling,” I said, walking up to stand beside him. “It gives people an insight that you don’t get when the buttoned-up guard is up.”

  He looked perfectly at ease and comfortable. “Do y
ou think I’m buttoned up? On guard?”

  I grinned, “I think you are when you want to be. I’d be willing to wager there’s another side to Dr. Reese that us mere mortals don’t oft see.”

  Moving toward him, I leaned against the counter, not touching him but not actively avoiding it either. I was a firm believer in if it happened, it happened.

  Being so close, I could smell his shampoo even over the headiness of the cocoa. Between us, there was an awareness, and I wondered if he felt it too. There wasn’t a surge or bolt of electricity that you read about happening, but I was more than conscious of him.

  I was staring at the opposite side of the room where a large wooden framed portrait of the lake hung. It looked like a window to outside it was such a crisp and clear image. I felt his body turn, and I looked up at him. His beard was more grown than before. I guess he was embracing the lumberjack look.

  Let’s be honest, it was working for him.

  “Max, I’m a journalist. I ask questions in the hopes of getting honest answers. I’ll take real over fake BS any day of the week,” I said, honestly letting his arm touch mine.

  “I feel the same way,” he whispered, dropping in a single shake of some sort of reddish-brown powder. “Secret ingredient.”

  “Can’t wait,” I said, moving imperceptively closer.

  “Your mom seems to love it here,” I remarked, seeing Post-It notes from Marjorie left on different surfaces.

  “Excuse me,” he said, reaching around me to take a spoon from the drawer beside me. When someone is that close to you, instinctively you have a tendency to back up, but I was against the counter, and had no instincts to step away.

  I would be lying if I said I didn’t find Max attractive, but to what end? As he said, his roots grew in here.

  Dipping the spoon into the pot, he fanned it with his hand before holding it up before my mouth. “Try a little. See if you want more, or less, spice.”

  I plucked the spoon from his hand, not wanting to turn anything into a sexually charged event. We didn’t seem to need more kindling in that fireplace.