28. Sable
CHAPTER 28
sable
S aturday was Jazz Night at the Wildflower, and we had a fantastic band from New Orleans called Cristina and The Mix. The vocalist, Cristina, was from Mexico, but her repertoire was impressively diverse—songs in Spanish, Puerto Rican, Italian, French, and even some Patsy Cline classics. I’d heard about them before and reached out to see if there was any chance they’d perform in Aspen. As it turned out, Cristina was already booked for a private party in town, which worked out perfectly for the Wildflower.
When I first decided to introduce Jazz Night, I’d been nervous about pulling it off—finding bands, creating the right vibe, and making it feel special. Live music nights were always hit or miss. Sometimes, we’d draw a decent crowd; other times, it was just a few locals humoring my efforts to give the Wildflower a touch of New Orleans charm.
Then Alexa’s boycott campaign started, and things went from challenging to downright dismal. The nights felt so empty that I seriously considered scrapping the whole idea. But I persevered because I believed in it. I believed people wanted the kind of excitement that live music brought—a casual night out without the hassle of tickets or reservations, a consistent experience they could count on.
I wasn’t sure if it was because of the band or something else, but our tables were full. The bar was three deep with people ordering drinks, snapping photos of their cocktails, and leaning in to talk over the band’s rendition of Edith Piaf’s “La Foule.”
Everywhere I turned, someone was taking a photo or filming a video. People angled their shots to capture the soft string lights I’d hung above the bar or the gleam of Elijah’s perfectly plated dishes. A woman with a fedora and bright red lipstick posed in front of a mural of wildflowers that was a bit faded since it had been there for twenty years. The woman’s phone was propped up on a tripod while her friend adjusted the lighting.
I walked over to Casey, who was rushing behind the bar, trying to keep up with orders. “What the hell is going on?” I glanced around at the crowd.
She slid two whiskey sours across the bar. “Apparently, we’re the hottest thing in Aspen right now.”
“Come again?” She might as well have said that pigs were flying over Snowmass.
“An influencer was in Aspen last Wednesday, apparently .” She tilted her head toward a group of women snapping selfies at their table. “Posted about us. Said we were the coziest spot in Aspen for live jazz. And, thanks to the photos they posted, Elijah’s lamb lollipops are Instagram famous. They also made some big-time foodie list.”
“What list?”
“The Best Eats in Aspen that came out yesterday.” Casey grabbed a bottle of tequila to make a margarita. “Elijah’s lollipops are number two on the list. Cache Cache has something on number one.”
Cache Cache was one of those Michelin-star-quality places.
“We’re all over social media,” she added gleefully.
I had been thinking about improving our social media presence, but I didn’t have the time, skillset, or money to hire someone. So, I decided to wait a long time. But now….
“This next song is a classic salsa song written by Cheo Feliciano. “El Ratón” is about a rat that is always slipping away and is hard to catch. But it’s not about a literal rat; it’s a playful nod to Cheo’s reputation, especially when he’d disappear after shows or dodged trouble. I hope you’ll like it.”
As Cristina launched into the song about the elusive rat, the energy in the room shifted. People began to dance. They stood up and moved to the rhythm, transforming the space in front of the band into an impromptu dance floor, even though we didn’t have a designated area for it.
“Damn, Elijah is worried we’re going to run out of the lamb,” Mackenna announced as she walked by with a tray of dirty plates. “People are ordering pueblo-style lamb lollipops like it’s their last meal on Earth.”
“I’ll check on him.” I went into the kitchen and found Elijah at the pass-through, plating…what else but lamb lollipops? When he saw me, he gave me a bemused grin.
“You running out of lamb?” I asked.
He winked at me. “I don’t think so, boss. Jose just got more out of the freezer, and we’re fast thawing those suckers. Everyone who wants the second-best dish in Aspen tonight will get it.”
“So, you heard about the best of Aspen list?”
“Found out when people started ordering it like crazy. I thought they were here for the music.”
“So, this is happening because of one influencer and a best-of list?” I was baffled as I scanned my phone and checked our Instagram.
“Yup,” Mackenna said, popping the P as she took a couple of the plates waiting for her.
I clapped my hands. “Well, let’s rock this.”
“Yup,” Elijah repeated what Mackenna had said with a pop on the P.
It was the best night we’d ever had. Hell, according to Ben, this was the best night the Wildflower had ever had.
The streak continued over the following week, and this time, it wasn’t just the tourists. We had the locals coming back.
Tuesday Night Trivia, I thought, would die a slow death after the locals stopped coming because it wasn’t a tourist thing. But whatever magic Heath had worked meant the tables were packed again. Locals filled the seats, laughing and debating over trivia answers.
Oh, I wasn’t stupid. I knew this was Heath. Influencers coming to the Wildflower, the locals coming back—this wasn’t happening organically, just like the locals abandoning us had been artificially created by Alexa and her father.
“Tom said that Heath Falkner laid into him, Joe, and Daniel at the Royal Golf Course,” I heard Phillip Waits, who was a physical trainer at the gym at the Royal Ski Resort, say.
“I heard,” his friend, who I didn’t know, exclaimed. “Heath kicked their asses at golf and threatened them with Maverick Royal pulling out of their projects.”
There was other chatter.
“Juno and Alexa had a huge fight about her badmouthing Sable.”
Damn!
“Juno told Heath she doesn’t want to stay with her mother.”
Oh shit!
“ Heath gave it to Alexa, I hear, told her that there was no way they’d ever get back together.”
Oh my!
“ Juno likes Sable better and wants her and Heath back together.”
Say what?
The young woman in question came with her friends into the Wildflower right after I heard that piece of gossip. Juno waved when she saw me, making her way over to the bar where I was handing out trivia scorecards, while her friends snagged a booth near the stage.
“Hey, Sable.” She leaned against the counter.
“Juno. It’s good to see you, darlin’.”
“I’m so excited. Daddy and Mama said we could come here for Trivia Night. And we’re gonna win.” She then dropped her voice. “What are we winning?”
“Four tickets to the Snowmass Rodeo.”
“Awesome.”
“Really?” I cocked an eyebrow. I doubted Juno was into the rodeo.
“My friend Lola, she’s horse crazy. She’s going to go apeshit.”
“Cool.” I chuckled. “I’ll ask Mackenna to take care of y’all. On the house.”
“Really?” Juno’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, Sable.”
Before she walked away, she hesitated, glancing back at me. “Hey, Sable?”
“Yeah?”
She shifted, suddenly looking a little nervous. “You know Daddy’s been sending influencers here, right?”
I smiled. “Yeah, Juno, I know.”
She nodded. “He’s been talking to people, convincing them to check out the Wildflower. He, um…he feels bad about what happened. Really bad.”
“I know,” I assured her, my throat tightening.
She bit her lower lip. “He’s really sorry, Sable. He knows he messed up, and he’s trying to fix it.”
I swallowed hard. This was tricky. I didn’t want to have this conversation with my ex’s kid .
“Juno, darlin’, thank you for telling me.”
She looked up at me with her big, earnest blue eyes, her father’s eyes. “Will you give him a chance?”
I leaned down and tapped her nose. “You know that’s out of the scope for your age, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she replied cheekily. “But I was kinda…you know, hoping it would give Daddy some brownie points with you.”
“It does, Juno,” I told her honestly. “Now, why don’t you get to your table, and let’s see if you can win those rodeo tickets.”
I watched as she walked back to her friends, my chest aching.
Heath Falkner was trying to fix what he’d broken. And part of me wanted to let him. But the other part—the one that had been hurt too many times—wasn’t sure if I could take the risk.