by JJ Knight
I’m watching my brother as an example. Dell has helped in Arianna’s dream of a school where children of wealthy, distracted parents are loved and nurtured rather than simply taught. He’s figuring out when to step in, when to hold back. It’s a balance between commerce and vision.
I broker big business deals every day. But for grand ideas to take flight, someone like Havannah has to have a dream. And that takes time, rumination, and learning. She’s working on that.
When I pull on the door, I spot Havannah right away. She’s behind the counter, greeting customers, cocking her head to listen to their orders. The line workers make the sandwiches, but she helps customers figure out exactly what they’re after and suggests sides and additions. She’s learned the value of the up-sell.
I catch her eye well before my turn comes. It’s amazing to see her in real life rather than on the phone screen. She’s different from when I last saw her in Milan. More sure of herself. Less harried. When she gives me a quick smile, the warmth in my chest tells me I’m exactly where I belong.
When I finally arrive at the end of the counter, I say, “So what’s the best thing on the menu?”
She laughs and comes around, hooking her fingers on the belt loop of my jeans and pulling me close. “Me.”
“I’ll take it,” I say, and lean in for the first kiss in weeks.
“I’ll also take one of those,” says a wavering voice behind me. Havannah and I turn to see an elderly man grinning up at us. His white-haired wife shrugs. “Happy to let her take him off my hands.”
We can’t help but laugh.
“I’ll let the staff handle things,” Havannah says.
“Oh no,” I say. “I can’t take you from work. I’ll stand in line like everyone else.”
Havannah flashes me a look, but returns to her position and tells me I’m going to get what I get. She explains my order to the line worker then moves on to the elderly man.
“I’ll have what he’s having!” the man says merrily.
Havannah leans on the glass cover over the line. “You sure about that? It’s going to burn his face off.”
Is it? I’m intrigued, but the elderly man seems concerned. “I guess I’ll get my usual.”
Ha. So he’s a regular. Now it makes sense.
“Pastrami on rye, coming right up,” she says. “Mrs. Whitestone, do you want your usual as well?”
“I think you should make him eat the new thing,” she says. “Serves him right for treating women like it’s 1952.”
Havannah laughs. “Thankfully he’s got a good heart, so we won’t deal with him too harshly.”
Mrs. Whitestone glances up at me. “Well, in that case, I’m up for a swap.”
I almost choke, coughing through my own laugh.
“See, I can still make ’em react,” Mrs. Whitestone says.
We move down the line, and Havannah greets the next group. There’s a line to the door.
I get to the register, and a teen boy hands me a basket and a cup. “No charge,” he says. “But I’d fill that cup to the top.”
“Noted.” I lift the basket, trying to scope out its contents. I fill my cup with tea and add cream and sugar, since plain water or soft drinks will be no match for anything with heat. Then I choose a table near the window with a good view of Havannah.
There’s a side of some crispy, warm chips, and I choose one of those first. They’re good, potatoes fried with sweet and spicy seasoning. I keep catching Havannah stealing glances at me, but I don’t bite into the sandwich or even peek.
The line finally dwindles and she heads over, untying her Tasty Mango apron and setting it on the chair opposite me. She sits by my side. “You’re not hungry? Or afraid?”
“Terrified. I’m game for eating it, but I like to know what I’m putting in my mouth.”
She picks up my glass. “Tea with cream. You’re a smart one. I wouldn’t drink it, but I can see the benefit. Did you know my sister burned the inside of Anthony’s mouth the first time they met?”
“The cooking show, right? Wasn’t that an accident?”
“Or was it?” She grins at me, her chin resting on her linked fingers, batting her eyelashes.
I’m such a goner for her.
“Okay, let me see what is about to kill me.” I lift the top bun on the foot-long sandwich. “I see pickles with an ominous red tinge, ham, I think, cheese with more ominous red bits, and an angry-looking spread. Did you add every item with a fire symbol from the menu?”
“Ding, ding, ding!” she says. “It’s called the Fireball, and it’s become more popular than Anthony’s ghost pepper pickles. Both his deli and our deli serve it.”
“The Fireball. Oh boy.”
“Bon appétit!” She shoves my tea glass closer.
“The things I do for love.” I lift the sandwich and shove the end in my mouth.
When I bite down, I see stars. Actual stars. The bun dissolves away into what feels like a ball of fire. They definitely named it right. I quickly chew and swallow, hoping to minimize the amount of time the hot lava inside this sandwich will spend in my mouth.
I snatch up the glass, trying to act casual but failing mercilessly, and gulp a third of its contents.
Havannah claps me on the back. “Surviving, Mr. McDonald?”
Much of the room has paused to watch. I cough a few times and say, “Did I pass the test?”
Havannah’s smile is glorious. “With flying colors.”
“Do I have to eat any more?”
She laughs. “Not a bit.” She takes away the basket, and it’s quickly replaced with a new one by the teen. “This one might be more to your liking.”
It’s a grilled cheese, oozing and flavorful. I take three bites before I can make myself stop. “It’s amazing. What is it?”
She runs a finger along the table. “A little something we invented after I got back from France.”
“Did you make this for me?” I ask.
She nods. “I didn’t tell you about it because we weren’t really connecting at the time. But it’s called Swiss You Were Here.”
“It’s fantastic.” I reach for her hand. “You’re amazing.”
She glances around the deli. “I do like it here at the deli. But I have news. Big news. I wanted to tell you in person.”
Now I’m intrigued. “What is it?”
“I applied for a French tourism program. If they accept me, I can do low residency and take the classes from here as long as I make one trip to France to do a two-week residency at a property there.”
“That’s amazing. Do I get to be the one to fly you to France?” I lift her fingers to my lips and press a soft kiss there.
Her gaze meets mine. “I was hoping so.” She leans in, and her mouth on mine is like a feast after a long famine. I pull her close, my hands tangling in her hair.
“Ahem.”
We break apart to see Magnolia standing over us. She takes the apron from the chair as if she doesn’t want her logo too close to us. “You guys get out of here. You’re about to have sex on the table, and Millie only has Rebel for another hour.”
We look at each other. “We can cover a lot of ground in an hour,” Havannah says.
“I don’t want to hear it!” Magnolia rushes off.
I take Havannah’s hand. “The house isn’t far from here. Stop by there first?”
“Totally.” She picks up my basket as if she might toss it, but I rescue the sandwich first.
“I have to keep my strength up.”
We hurry out to the car. The air is starting to cool in Colorado, and the view of the mountains in the distance proves how clear the air is. I shove the sandwich in my mouth and fire up the car.
As we drive along the pretty boulevards, I think, yes, I could probably take up part-time residence here. It’s a beautiful place.
And I have a jet.
We can go anywhere we want to go from here.
37
Havannah
Well, I
can’t say much more than thank you and you’re welcome in French, but I’m getting by. Even Donovan’s attempts to talk to me in French before I arrived for my low-residency requirement didn’t stick. I’m officially too old to learn a new trick.
I hurry down the service hall of Demoor Castle, in awe of the stonework, the secret stairs, hidden rooms, and the history of the place. It’s not nearly so massive or upscale as the one where Max and Camryn got married, but it has something even better—ghosts.
The haunted experience is the entire schtick, but it’s not seedy or dumb. Guests learn the history of the castle in a welcome tour and get to know the tragic story of the original lord and lady of the manor, both of whom died in a fire two centuries ago.
The room where they died has been preserved, burn marks and all, and filled with paintings and household items from that era. The rooms are gothic and definitely set a mood. It’s popular for honeymoons, God only knows why, but in the week I’ve been an intern here, I’ve learned a crazy amount about meeting guest expectations and managing a highly curated operation in an aged, complicated venue.
My mentor Felicity passes me in the hall. “After you greet the Weiss family, you’re done for the day,” she says. “They’re German but speak enough English that you should be able to manage.”
I nod. “Will do. Thanks.”
“They have a baby. Make sure they have the setup they need.”
The word baby makes my heart pang. “Glad to.”
She nods at me, and we rush off in different directions.
Rebel will arrive tomorrow with Mom and Donovan. I can’t wait to see them all. We agreed that seven days was long enough apart, and they would stay nearby for the rest of my residency requirement in France. He’s ten months old and eating solids. He sleeps through the night, and everyone says he’s doing fine without me.
Millie, Mom, and even Brian have taken turns keeping him. He apparently has a bazillion new toys and is getting terribly spoiled. I don’t know where I’ll fit everything when I get back. We’re outgrowing the apartment I share with my sister.
But I spend a fair amount of my days with Donovan in a house he’s rented in Boulder, and we’re discussing if I might move into it full-time. My dad is freaking out about the idea, but I told him that if I can have a baby as a single mom, it’s no stretch to move into a house with a man I’ve been dating for—well, for one day longer than my child has been alive.
The hall ends in a locked door that leads to the great hall. I pass my security card over it and buzz through to the grand room at the heart of the castle. Several guests have gathered in a cluster of chairs near the hearth.
The Weiss family is waiting by the check-in desk near the door.
“Welcome,” I say. “I’m Havannah. I’ll get you settled in your room.”
They turn to me, two women and a baby about Rebel’s age. “Hello,” one woman says. “We are excited.”
“Who is this?” I ask, looking at the baby.
“Fredrick,” the other woman says.
“Nine months?” I ask. “I have a ten-month-old myself.”
They smile at this. “Yes. Nine months.”
“Follow me and we’ll get you to your room and make sure you have what you need.”
As we head down the halls, I describe the tour and the castle’s history. The Weiss family has chosen the “quiet side” of the manor, with less risk of creaks or thuds in the middle of the night.
The various halls have different levels of paranormal activity. Much of it is an old house’s bones in the wind, but there are plenty of events the staff can’t explain.
The room is ready for them, a pack and play set aside for the baby, a bit out of sync with the dark furniture and red accents on the stone walls.
“This is amazing,” one woman says. “Thank you.”
I head for the door. “Call us if you need us. Come to the great room in an hour for the tour.”
“Can the baby come? Is it scary?”
“Of course. It’s only a walking tour. If you want to do a scary version, you might take turns. There are jump scares and flashing lights that might be too much for Fredrick.”
The women nod.
This done, I head back to the service corridor to sign out and return to my hotel. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this new certification that means almost nothing in the States, and I can’t live in France with all the family in Boulder.
But I wanted to do it while I could. I have healthy grandparents happy to help. A boyfriend with a jet. And a baby who isn’t old enough to give his opinions about my study time or jetting off to a haunted castle. Things will change soon. Life as a mother always does.
As I walk out to the road to catch a bus back to town, I glance back at the glorious structure. It stretches into the skyline, high, menacing, gothic, and eerie. I love it. It’s not the vibe I’m going for in my own dreams, but I’m glad for the experience.
I spot the bus pulling up and take off at a run to catch it. I have to listen to two lectures tonight, turn in my notes, and take an exam, all before bed. Then I’ll be mostly caught up and ready for my family’s arrival.
By this time tomorrow, I will get to see my baby, my mother, and my man. I can’t wait. Despite every hardship, my mistakes, and my missteps, my dreams feel very much within reach.
Epilogue: Havannah
I clutch the handle of my car door as Donovan turns off the highway into nowhere.
“Where are we going again?” I ask, hanging on for dear life as we bounce over the rough terrain of an empty expanse of scrub brush and pine trees.
He mashes a button on the dash, setting the odometer trip counter to zero. As we lurch over rocks, clumps of low brush, and craggy outcroppings, I begin to wonder if he’s lost his mind.
Donovan concentrates on maneuvering the Jeep. I understand why he rented it instead of his usual cars on his Colorado visits. “Almost there,” he says.
I spot something flapping in the breeze up ahead. It’s a squarish something. It’s hard to see with the bouncing of the car.
As we get closer, I realize the strange object is an oversized canvas tent set with poles. It’s easily as big as the living room of the apartment I share with Magnolia. And sitting outside of it are two comfy-looking swivel chairs, a small table, and a rug.
A rug. In the middle of nowhere.
Donovan drives up to the tent and stops.
“I take it this is where we’re spending the night?”
He grins. “Don’t worry. I know how you feel about roughing it. This will be nothing like camping on a trail.”
I open the door and jump down, now understanding his gift of my new hiking boots. I hope this expedition is not going to require any exercise. So not into that.
But the shoes are handy as we navigate the low brush to the cleared-off spot where the tent awaits.
I open the flap and peer inside. “Whoa.”
It’s like something out of a movie with an Egyptian prince. Tapestries line the walls, and silks cascade along the ceiling to soften the edges.
There’s a wide bed in the center, a table on either side set with lamps. A small table with two chairs and two place settings fills a side wall, along with a small fridge next to a large box that looks like it contains a battery.
“Nice,” I say. Cool air brushes against my cheek, and I turn to spy a freestanding air conditioner next to an ornate pedestal sink with a faucet. I turn the knob, and after a couple of seconds of chugging, clean water pours out of the spigot.
“Tell me where I’m going to pee, and I’ll decide if I can camp like this,” I say.
“There’s a small privy behind the tent,” he says. “You can check it out.”
I wave my hands. “I believe you.”
“Glamping services have gone upscale,” Donovan says. “Do you like it?”
I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I do. I like trying new things with you.”
“Good.” He leans down for a quick kiss. “There are some things I’d like to show—”
I shut him up with another kiss. “Less talking, more naked.”
He hesitates, but then a slow grin comes across his face. We’ve been apart for three weeks, longer than usual. And today is the first anniversary of our first date. Tomorrow, of course, is Rebel’s first birthday, and a huge party is planned.
Donovan will finally meet Brian—not that we’ve avoided it all this time, but it’s never worked out. I don’t see Brian all that much, spending most of my time with Millie and Jared.
Tomorrow will be very tied up.
Today is ours.
I pull his shirt from where it’s tucked into his jeans. “Did you scout some friendly rocks?” I ask. “Because I’m willing to risk a sunburn in tender places for the full outdoor experience.”
“You’re always a step ahead of me,” he says. “There’s a river.”
I hesitate. “Water? Outdoors? Like in movies?”
He grins. “Exactly.”
I grab his hand. “How far? Do we drive there? Do we have to walk?”
“It’s not far.”
And he’s right. He has the foresight to grab a couple of towels from a hamper near the chairs before we race across the field. There are no trails here, but we can navigate the bare patches in the brush easily enough. The lush green tree line tells us where the stream is, and soon we pick our way down a shallow hill to the gurgling crystal waters.
“How deep is it?” I ask.
“You can see the bottom.”
I cock my head. “Do I hear a waterfall?”
“You do. It runs year-round as long as there isn’t a prolonged drought.”
I let out a squeal and move upstream. It’s not far to get there, but I am hot and sweaty by the time we arrive. The waterfall is about fifteen feet tall, nestled in an outcropping of rock. The acreage looks to be at the foothills of Green Mountain, leading to the Rockies.
“It’s breathtaking,” I say. “It looks deep.”
Donovan finds a flat bit of rock to set the towels on. “We going in?”