Snowflakes and Mistletoe at the Inglenook Inn (New York Ever After, Book 2)

by Helen J Rolfe

  ‘He has the flu.’ She leaned in because she didn’t want anyone else to hear. There was no way she wanted to alert the whole room to the fact that this sumptuous Christmas lunch they’d all ordered and paid for could end up being one epic failure.

  Martha picked up on the need to keep calm. ‘Do you have a substitute chef?’

  ‘You’re looking at her.’

  ‘Well, I bet you’ll do a brilliant job, and I’m already looking forward to a home-cooked Christmas lunch.’

  ‘You’ve cooked a turkey before, right?’ Myles must have been listening in. Trust him to ask the obvious.

  She frowned at him. ‘Of course.’

  ‘It must be a big one for today, given all your guests.’

  Her eyes widened playfully in an attempt to disguise her trepidation. ‘It’s enormous.’

  ‘So you’ll have put it in the oven already then,’ he said.

  Her eyes fixed on his. She didn’t answer.

  ‘Yes, you must put it in, or it won’t be ready,’ Martha went on, her voice mildly hinting at panic-mode on Darcy’s behalf.

  ‘It’s in,’ she said. ‘Now, can I get you anything else?’

  ‘I’d love another coffee if I may.’ Ian had finished every last morsel of his omelette.

  ‘Coming right up. Cream on the side?’

  ‘You have a good memory.’ He smiled at her.

  She smiled back right until she got out of the dining room and into the kitchen, where she shut the door and leaned against it. She immediately took out her cell phone in a fluster. ‘Mum, thank god. It’s me, Darcy.’

  ‘Merry Christmas! It’s Darcy,’ she called into the background and Darcy could imagine her dad pushing himself up from the armchair and making his way over. But she didn’t have time for this.

  ‘It’s a disaster, Mum.’

  ‘What is?’

  Darcy told her everything. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and for the first time she felt as though everything was falling apart. If this was the huge failure she suspected it was about to be, Darcy wasn’t sure Sofia would ever forgive her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive herself either.

  ‘You need to get going with the turkey, Darcy.’ Her mum’s firm instruction came down the line. ‘I’ve got your brother and our neighbour coming so I can’t even hop on a train, not that I know whether they’ll be running in all this snow.’

  ‘Just some instructions would be good.’ Darcy gulped back tears but when her cell phone cut out in the middle of her mum talking about trussing the turkey and she looked to see the battery had died, she almost lost it. She ran out and upstairs to her apartment, got her charger and then came back and plugged it in on the cabinet at one end of the room. She waited for it to get enough power to make the call and while she waited she leaned against the kitchen door again, looking around Rupert’s domain, one she could use now and then like she had for breakfast, but not one she had a vast experience of.

  Someone was pushing the door from the other side and then there was a knock. ‘Darcy?’ It was Myles.

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute,’ she called, trying to make her voice sound as normal as possible. Guests rarely knocked on the kitchen door. It was an out-of-bounds area. She’d also made sure she’d locked the hatch so nobody would be able to peer in and see her fear building.

  She swiped the tears and pulled open the door, feigning nonchalance. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Myles looked past her and sniffed the air. ‘I don’t smell turkey.’

  She couldn’t hold it in any longer. The tears spilt over. ‘I’ve never cooked a turkey in my life. I’ve never made a Christmas dinner. Nobody will get their Christmas lunch, we’ll get a horrid review, Sofia will never talk to me again, I’ll be out of a job, and the Inglenook Inn will be no more.’

  Myles puffed out his cheeks when she finally looked at him. ‘That’s a lot of information to give me when all I said was I don’t smell turkey.’ She managed a smile. ‘That’s better.’ But then her face crumpled again.

  She waited for him to seize his moment and pull her into him, take control, but he didn’t.

  He stepped past her, into the kitchen, shut the door behind them and took Rupert’s apron from the back of the door. He put it over his head and fastened it at the back. ‘Take it from someone who made their first Christmas dinner at a very young age – and under extreme pressure, might I add? – that it’s hard, but not impossible. You can do it. I’m not doing it for you.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’m here to help, not take over. Do you have a full menu for today?’

  She wiped her cheeks, blew her nose and then washed her hands. He did his hands too and then, after he’d taken the turkey from the refrigerator and switched on the oven to preheat, they went through the plan she and Rupert had made, step by step. There were vegetables to prepare, the meats to make, gravy, side dishes.

  ‘Dessert is almost covered,’ said Darcy confidently as she wound her loose hair up into a high bun to get it out of the way. ‘And by the time everyone has eaten the enormous lunch, we could play for time and gather them all in the lounge by the fire for Christmas songs, or games of charades.’

  ‘Great idea. I’ll get Mum and Dad to run that. They have a weird fascination for charades that I don’t even want to think about.’

  Darcy laughed, the first time she’d smiled genuinely since she’d spoken with Rupert that morning. ‘It’ll give us time to finish the desserts.’

  ‘What do we have?’

  ‘Rupert made salted-caramel pie, which should be in the refrigerator…’ She pulled open the door to check she was right. ‘…Yes, it’s there. He also planned to make a cinnamon-and-cardamom-spiced apple pie.’ She looked at the recipes Rupert had left beneath their plan and thanked goodness her chef was so organised. ‘It says here that it’ll take forty-five minutes to cook, and, looking at this, I estimate twenty minutes to prepare.’

  ‘Too easy,’ he said without looking up from what he was doing with the turkey.

  ‘What are you doing there?’

  He pulled a face. ‘Sorry, am I taking over?’

  She waved her hands. ‘I’m not going to fight you. Not today anyway.’

  ‘I’m almost disappointed.’ His gaze lingered on her until she ushered him into continuing with the turkey. ‘This is going to be a maple-syrup-glazed turkey, which we’ll serve with a white-wine gravy.’

  ‘You’re following Rupert’s recipe?’

  ‘To the letter,’ he said. ‘And I’m impressed he left recipes.’

  ‘He doesn’t always, but for the Christmas dinner I made him write them out.’

  ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  Rupert hadn’t wanted to, he’d told her to trust him, but Christmas was a big thing, the first time the Inn had hosted it, and she needed to be able to visualise what would be served, how guests may react, the whole parcel of Christmas at the Inglenook Inn.

  The atmosphere between them started off tense, but the more Darcy let Myles help and they worked together, the better it became. Rather than feeling she was losing control, she felt she was gaining it, because letting him in to help out was the way she was going to maintain the integrity of the Inn. And that was her end goal after all.

  They made a stuffing and filled the cavity of the turkey with it, they seasoned the bird and then used a cheesecloth coated in melting butter to drape over the meat while it went in the oven, to keep it moist. The word cheesecloth had been scribbled on Rupert’s recipe but without Myles’s input Darcy would never have known what it meant. ‘I didn’t do it the first time I roasted a turkey,’ he’d said, ‘but over the years I learned it as a good trick to keep the bird moist at the start of cooking.’

  Darcy peeled potatoes, Myles washed and prepared carrots and chopped beetroot. ‘I smell of food,’ she laughed. She’d given up trying to stay clean. Her sparkly top had been mostly protected by an apron, but cooking a meal of this size came w
ith risks and she had a spill of melted butter on her jeans, starch from the potatoes up her arms. She’d even managed a smear of beetroot colouring across her jawbone that Myles had helped her wipe off with kitchen towel.

  Christmas music blared out from the corner of the room and every now and then Darcy went out to ensure guests were happy enough and didn’t need anything. Her cell phone was charged, she spoke to her parents – who were confused when they heard how chirpy she was now – and she sent Rupert a text to say that everything was in hand. He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

  ‘Oh crap!’ Darcy put a hand across her mouth when she went to the refrigerator and saw the racks of venison. ‘We haven’t done anything with this yet.’

  Myles turned the flame on beneath the pan of potatoes and came over, leaning so close to Darcy as he peered into the refrigerator that her insides took a tumble.

  ‘Relax,’ he told her, going over to the collection of recipes. ‘I read the plan and it won’t take anywhere near as long as the turkey. You go and set up the dining room, make it look stunning, and I’ll move on to the sauce.’

  Darcy squeezed past the countertop, meeting with Myles’s body momentarily, each of them reacting to the close contact for a second before they continued with the job they needed to do. Darcy surreptitiously watched Myles combining stock, port, bay leaves and thyme after checking and re-checking the recipe. He was in control and rather than resenting it, she found having someone else take charge alongside her rather than instead of her gave her a sense of encouragement.

  ‘And Darcy?’ His voice stopped her before she left the room.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Make sure the fire is crackling in the lounge. It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.’

  She gasped. ‘I completely forgot.’

  Without turning round he said, ‘Like it or not, I know things about you, and I know that fireplace is part of the ambience of this Inn because you make sure it’s going for as many hours of the day as possible, even if it means a late night.’

  She shifted, uncomfortable, but he still didn’t turn round. She was waiting for a Cinderella remark, but it didn’t come. And when she made her way to the dining room she almost wished he had made a reference to the email again, because it would make it easier not to like him.

  In the dining room the tree in the corner stood tall and proud. The colours from decorations and baubles shone as the lights twinkled and Darcy shifted the smaller tables together to make one long structure. She put chairs around it until they had the right amount of place settings. She went down to the basement where the tablecloth had hung so that it didn’t crease, and back upstairs she laid it on the tables to create one piece of furniture. On top of the red tablecloth she laid a gold runner that stretched from one end to the other. She arranged a holly, pine-cone and red-berried centrepiece with a candle and then two smaller versions of the same arrangement at intervals along the Christmas table before rolling emerald-green napkins inside shimmering silver rings that she set down next to the polished heavyweight cutlery.

  Leaving everything in Myles’s capable hands back in the kitchen, Darcy went to welcome guests in the lounge, where they were congregating for pre-Christmas drinks. She relaxed in her role because she’d already seen the turkey was looking golden and succulent and ready to carve, the venison smelled delicious, potatoes were crisping up in the oven and the vegetables were ready to have garnish and finishing touches added. Guests would choose which meat they wanted, opting for both or none as they so desired, and then would get the standard fayre added to their plates. Nobody would go hungry today, Darcy thought. Not on her watch.

  She smiled. This morning she’d thought it was a disaster, but Christmas Day was beginning to really take shape.

  ‘Did Santa come?’ she asked the boys, who came running down the stairs and excitedly exploded with details of everything he’d put beneath the tree. They turned to speculation at whether he’d used the front door or whether he’d braved the chimney like he should do.

  Holly came over all smiles. ‘Thank you, Darcy. For everything.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘It looked like I was going to have a terrible Christmas but you saved me from a rat-infested apartment and a lonely meal for one.’

  ‘I’m sorry about your friend. Christmas is a hard time for anyone who has lost someone special.’

  Holly smiled humbly. ‘She wouldn’t want me wallowing. She’d tell me to stop being miserable and live my life.’ And then her eyes twinkled as her Christmas-tree earrings swung from behind her auburn hair. ‘Have a glass of champagne,’ she encouraged.

  ‘I will later, I promise.’ She swept effortlessly away to the next guest. She kept glasses of water circulating, served champagne or eggnog, and for Ian, a beer. The guests chattered amongst themselves and her smile only wavered when she was on the other side of the kitchen door and back to work. It wasn’t quite time to relax yet.

  ‘Could you finish those potatoes?’ Myles looked frantic, darting this way and that.

  ‘These?’ She indicated the bowl on the countertop.

  ‘Yep. I wasn’t sure how Rupert prepares potatoes but this is what I’d do.’ He said it as though waiting for her approval but she didn’t question him so he carried on. ‘Take the whisk, give it thirty seconds on low speed, then crank it up to medium and slowly drizzle the hot milk from the jug into the potatoes, then add the softened butter from the plate, gradually. It should go nice and fluffy and I’ll come and add some salt to taste. Or you could, it’s your call.’

  She got to work, smiling when Myles found a few seconds to turn up the music. ‘White Christmas’ came over the speakers and neither of them could help but bop to the music as they put the finishing touches to lunch.

  ‘The gravy!’ She looked around until her eyes fell on a jug.

  ‘It’s done,’ said Myles, picking up the enormous platter with the turkey on it. He’d taken off the sweater he’d had on at breakfast that morning. The heat of the kitchen wouldn’t allow for it, and even Darcy had pushed her sleeves up and opened the window further as the temperature became uncomfortable. She watched the strong, manly tendons of his arms strain under the weight of the bird.

  ‘Cranberry sauce?’ she asked, just so she could look around the kitchen rather than focusing on his physique.

  ‘Done. Why don’t you go and get changed?’

  ‘We don’t have time for that.’

  ‘Darcy, this is your day as much as anyone else’s. You’ve pulled this off. You have a few minutes to go and change and make sure you enjoy the rest of today.’

  ‘I…I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘I can think of a few ways.’ His cheeky smile was back and it almost had her.

  ‘Myles, I…’

  ‘Go on, get changed, or you’ll run out of time. I’ll take this into the dining room. I’m putting everything but the turkey and gravy onto plates. You can’t deny guests the chance to watch the carving. Just tell me where the carving knives are.’ Her face told him she had no idea and with a laugh he said, ‘I’ll find them.’

  Darcy skittered off to her apartment. She had the quickest shower she’d ever managed, dried herself and spritzed perfume. She pulled on a bottle-green velvet crush skirt with side zip pockets that finished a few inches above the knee and a black roll-neck top. She took her hair out of the bun and let it fall around her shoulders and with a bit of teasing it looked as good as it had that morning.

  With another spritz of perfume and her high-heeled black suede Mary Janes with snap fastenings on her feet, it was time. This was it. What she’d worked so hard to convince Sofia she was capable of doing. Christmas at the Inglenook Inn. And she’d done it.

  She stopped just outside the dining room, took a deep breath. Yes, she had done it, but she’d only done it with Myles’s help.

  The kitchen door behind her opened. ‘There you are.’ Myles had changed his shirt too.

  ‘How did you have
time?’ She could smell his subtle aftershave that was so familiar by now.

  ‘I’m fit. I ran up the stairs and down again.’

  ‘Shall we?’ she asked, turning back to push open the door to the dining room.

  Myles stopped her by laying a hand on her shoulder. When she turned he said, ‘One more thing, before you go in.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Their faces were inches apart. She saw him reach into his pocket and he took something out. When he opened his palm it was to show her the two diamond earrings she’d handed back to him last night.

  She looked down into his hand. And without another word she took the earrings, put one in, and then the other.

  ‘You look beautiful, Darcy,’ he said, but didn’t do anything else. He didn’t try to kiss her, he didn’t ask her to give him a chance.

  But she almost wished he would.

  *

  Christmas lunch started with Myles standing at the head of the table after Darcy had insisted she was more than happy for him to carve the turkey. Just as he was about to plunge the fork into it and run the carving knife back and forth he said, ‘I’d like to make a toast first, if I may?’

  Darcy nodded her approval.

  Myles picked up a glass of champagne and everyone followed suit with whatever they were drinking. The O’Sullivan boys were feeling very grown up with champagne glasses filled with grape juice.

  ‘I’d like to make a toast to the Inglenook Inn,’ said Myles. ‘And also to our hostess today. To Darcy.’

  Everyone charged their glasses and Darcy felt the intense appreciation in the room. ‘Thank you,’ she said modestly, but Myles hadn’t finished.

  ‘I think we can all agree that this young lady has given us all a Christmas to remember so far. She’s pulled together this lunch – with a little bit of help,’ he smiled, ‘and I’ll bet none of you would’ve known the disaster she was faced with this morning.’