Chapter 5 Tristan
TRISTAN
Tristan’s room had even more notes.
There was a sticky note by the temperature controls suggesting comfortable settings, a note on the bed with directions to the closet if more pillows or blankets were needed, and a friendly welcome letter on the desk.
“Welcome to Mountain Crown Chalet! This is the Pine Room. The quilt was made by a local artist known fondly as Bella Rouge, and the paintings are watercolors by Terrance Olson. You can find cards of the artwork at the Heartwork Clockbeat Cafe, a thirty minute drive down the mountain.”
There was a section about turndown service that had been crossed out and Tristan raised the note to squint at it suspiciously.
Was it printed to look like handwriting?
No, there was irregular texture to the pen strokes that he could feel with his fingertips.
Apparently, the housekeeper handwrote a greeting for each guest, and either had a stash of them prepared for this purpose, or she’d written that part out of habit and then crossed it angrily out.
The rest was directions to the laundry, instructions for the checkout closet, the password for the wifi, and hours for meals, which were also crossed out, along with a phone number to contact the chalet manager at any hour if there was a problem.
The bottom was signed with a scripty H.
The bathroom had two sticky notes, asking him to turn the taps off entirely, and not flush anything but toilet paper down the toilet. Tristan peeled both notes off and stacked them on the desk with the welcome letter, strangely loath to throw them away.
He found another when he opened a drawer to unpack. “Cedar blocks have been added to your drawers to keep your clothing smelling fresh! Please leave them here when you leave!”
Everything was signed with the same flowery H.
Tristan didn’t have much to unpack. His warmest clothing was not that bulky, and he was glad that the chalet came with rental gear; it catered to tourists from hot climates who might not have suitable outerwear for an Alaskan winter.
He met Gizelle capering down the stairs with Conall coming sedately behind and stood politely aside to let the man catch up with his mate.
Should he thank him—again—for the opportunity to come on this vacation?
Tristan was grateful that the deaf man didn’t give him a glance long enough for him to speak, because he thought it might be too ingratiating.
“There’s snow!” Gizelle sang happily. Tristan knew enough of her story to understand that she had grown up trapped in her gazelle shape in a madman’s zoo, which explained why she sometimes seemed very young and impulsive… and sometimes seemed absolutely ancient.
Conall caught her before she could fling the front door open and run out just as she was. “We’ll need warmer clothing,” he cautioned her.
“This is warm clothing,” Gizelle insisted, plucking at her sweater. “I’ve never worn so much!”
“You need a hat,” Conall said gruffly. “It’s gotten even colder since we arrived. They have a checkout closet, let’s see what fits.”
“Oh, are you heading outside while it’s light?” Lydia was ensconced on the couch in a ring of pillows and Wrench adjusted a footstool for her. “I can’t believe it’s already nearly sunset!”
“I want to see the snow!” Gizelle said.
“Then you will see snow,” Conall said, in tones of great patience as he settled a hat on her head.
“I’m going to stay here in front of the fire,” Lydia announced.
“Me, too, darling!” The stairs groaned beneath Magnolia, who came down with a flourish, like she was making a royal entrance. “I think some mulled cider is called for after that ride.” She settled in a recliner and made it look like a throne.
Chef came out of the kitchen cradling a huge red pot. “They have Le Creucet!” he said rapturously. “And an induction stovetop! Mulled cider for everyone!”
“Can I help with anything?” Tristan offered. He was as curious to go outside as Gizelle, who was bouncing in place as Conall measured snow pants against her, but duty compelled him to offer.
“No, no, go and enjoy the snow before the sun sets. This kitchen is so efficiently organized that one person can do everything.”
Tristan might have suspected someone else of being reluctant to have a mere handyman in his tightly-run kitchen, but Chef was too genuine to disbelieve. Chef went back into the kitchen singing at the top of his lungs.
Tristan came out of the closet with an armful of warm clothing in his size to find that Breck and Darla had come down to join the party and that they were stripping.
“Are you taking off your clothing to go outside?” Lydia asked in disbelief.
“Why wear coats when you can wear fur?”
Darla put her clothing neatly over the back of a couch, smoothing out the wrinkles. Breck spun each article over his head and launched it into a different corner. His audience giggled and averted their eyes. Darla looked as if she appreciated the show even if she didn’t want to admit it.
They both shimmered into feline form, Breck a sleek gold and black leopard with one rune-marked wrist and Darla a beautiful black and white snow leopard with markings above one paw that matched Breck’s.
She sat daintily with her long tail wrapped around over her paws, while Breck made a show of stretching.
Tristan wished he had the guts to do the same, but he’d grown up keeping his shifting strictly secret and even a year at a tropical island working at a resort for shifters only hadn’t quite overcome his instinct to hide his inner nature.
It would be fun, his bear said wistfully. I might like snow. He snorted. I wouldn’t snow until I try it.
We’re here for ten days, Tristan reminded him. We’ll have time to go out alone later.
His bear gave a discontented rumble. Alone isn’t as much fun, he said sadly.