Chapter 5 MJ
MJ slipped into her small suite of rooms as the lovely late afternoon settled over Snowberry Lodge.
With her two full-time employees taking the week off, today had been a bear.
Not only was the lodge at capacity, she’d had two check-outs followed by two check-ins, countless food requests, the occasional emergency, and they were still in full Christmas mode.
Her sister decided to end the day with another snowmobile ride with Jack, but MJ just wanted to rest.
She slipped into her comfy chair, feet up on the ottoman, head back, happy to be in the little corner of the world that she called home. Technically, she “lived” at Starling House with her Gracie, Benny, and Red. At least, she had a room there and many of her belongings.
But she hadn’t slept there since George died. The empty bed in their old room was just too lonely.
So, she’d migrated to this sizeable suite right off the kitchen.
It only made sense to stay here. She often rose at five A.M. to get breakfasts going and once in a while, a guest needed something in the middle of the night.
George used to trudge down to the lodge when that happened, but with him gone and Cindy living fifteen minutes away at her townhouse, MJ had to step in.
So this was her home now, and that was just fine.
Just as she got comfy, she heard footsteps in the kitchen and held her breath, hoping they weren’t followed by the ding of the small bell she kept on the counter for guests to contact her. They were welcome to the fridge and pantry, but sometimes they needed—
She almost grunted at the sound of the bell.
They needed her.
Pushing up, she smoothed out her slacks and straightened her sweater, stepping out to see a man in a ski jacket, gloves dangling from the zipper. “I hate to bother you, but we have a problem,” he announced.
“How can I help you, Mr. Kingsley?” she asked, grateful that she hadn’t lost her keen eye and the skill that allowed her to remember every guest’s face and name. “The kitchen’s always open.”
“That’s kind of you, but we’re actually headed out into Park City for the evening, but we, uh, noticed a leak in the bathroom. Toilet keeps running and there’s water on the bathroom floor.” He cringed in apology. “I’d hate to see it cause any damage.”
And so would she. MJ’s heart dropped, knowing exactly which bathroom he meant, in one of their largest rooms called the Aspen Suite, directly over the dining area. And the Kingsley family of four couldn’t easily be moved to another room—not that the Snowberry Lodge had a single vacancy right now.
That was a good problem to have. A leaky toilet? Not so much.
“We’ll get it all fixed up while you’re gone,” she assured him cheerfully, despite the fact that an emergency evening plumber would not be easy to find the day after Christmas. “You don’t mind if someone enters your suite?”
“Not if you don’t care that my kids’ suitcases look like bombs went off.”
She just laughed. “Not a bit. Thank you for letting me know. Have a wonderful time in Park City.”
When he left, MJ exhaled. Of course this happened while Pedro was on vacation. Should she call Red? Her dad knew his way around a plumbing problem, but he’d looked so tired when he stopped in this morning, she didn’t want to bother him.
First, she’d assess how bad it was, she decided, heading to the mudroom for her toolbox.
In the coat closet, she reached for the red metal case that had gotten her through a few such emergencies.
The thing weighed a ton and she couldn’t carry it upstairs, but she dragged it out, flipped it open, and crouched down to get the tools she might need without hauling the monster up the stairs.
The back door clicked and creaked and she looked up, a wrench in one hand, a screwdriver in the other.
“Looks like you’re about to do battle.” Matt stepped inside, mostly in silhouette with the waning light behind him. He wasn’t in his usual lodge-casual flannel but a trim, olive-green sweater over a collared shirt and dark slacks.
“Just part of the glamour of lodge ownership,” she said, pushing to a stand, grateful for the hand he offered to help her up. “A leaky toilet waits for no woman.”
He chuckled, a warm, rolling sound that she’d gotten quite used to hearing.
“Are you on your own today? No Jack? Pedro? Red?”
“Jack is out on that snowmobile you gave us.” She slipped into a huge smile. “Unless I dreamed that.”
“Nope. Real deal.”
She just shook her head, the very idea of it still leaving her speechless. “Pedro and Nina have the week off, Red’s at home, and I…” She wiggled the wrench. “Am tackling toilets.”
With a chuckle, he reached over, flipped the toolbox closed and snapped the latches. In one smooth move, he scooped it up by the handle.
“Which room?”
She drew back. “Oh, I couldn’t let you—”
“You think you can beat that toilet with kindness and a good attitude? If so, there’s no one better than you. If not, I’m your man.”
Her man? Her heart did something no sixty-two-year-old heart ought to do, but surely that was just because he was offering to help. Especially since he was staying in their most expensive cabin and wearing…Ralph Lauren.
“Thank you, Matt, but that optimism says I can find the problem. You’re dressed for a nice dinner, not plumbing.”
He glanced down. “Too much? I never know. Anyway, how do plumbers dress?”
“In overalls. Dirty T-shirts. Maybe a baseball cap over a bald head.”
He looked a little wistful, as if he’d prefer overalls to Lauren.
“Guess you’ve been around the wrong plumbers.
” Lifting the toolbox like it weighed nothing, he headed toward the door.
“Show me the way, Mary Jane.” At her surprised expression, he shrugged.
“I heard Cindy call you that the other day. I like it. Really suits you, you know?”
Once again, her chest felt…unusual. But she had to remember all that she and Cindy and Jack had talked about last night. Yes, Cindy did sometimes playfully call her by her given name. Or had he…been researching how to con a widow?
“Which room?” he asked again.
“I’m sorry, Matt. I simply couldn’t let you—”
He leaned an inch closer. “Would you feel better if I scared up a pair of work pants and boots? I am a plumber, MJ. Licensed, certified, and capable of fixing anything involving a toilet, pipe, or drain.”
Her jaw dropped. “You are?”
“Yeah, and based on your image of the whole profession, I take it as a compliment that you’re surprised. I’m retired, but plumbing isn’t fast-moving technology, unless you have one of those ten-thousand-dollar Japanese toilets that run on an app. Has anything so stupid ever been invented?”
She laughed, remembering that before Cindy had planted seeds of doubt, she’d thoroughly enjoyed this man’s unique sense of humor.
“Does this look like a place that would have a ten-thousand-dollar toilet?” she countered.
He just smiled and led her out of the kitchen with the lightest touch on her back. “Bring the wrench. I guarantee we’ll need it. And do you want to grab towels for the floor?”
A…plumber. A plumber? She processed that news as she reached up to the rag bin, grabbing a handful of cleaning towels. Then she walked him through the dining area, past the living room, and up the wide staircase to the second floor.
The whole time, she only had one thought: Matt Walker was a plumber. A charming, tanned, well-dressed, generous plumber.
Did that make her trust him more…or less? She’d heard they did well, but enough to afford an expensive cabin for weeks on end? Enough to gift near-strangers a costly snowmobile?
She wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. Well, if he could fix a toilet, then maybe.
“I haven’t been up to this part of the lodge,” he said as they reached the top of the stairs. “It’s spacious.”
“This floor has five rooms, and there are three more downstairs,” she told him. “One huge space in the attic, but we stopped using it a long time ago. And it’s like any other older woman—don’t look too close, you’ll see the cracks and flaws.”
“I remember you said this was originally your grandfather’s house,” he said, looking at the moldings and framed art as they walked down a wide hall, their feet soft on the Oriental runner that covered the plank floors.
“My grandparents, Owen and Irene Starling, ran this place as a horse farm and this was their original home. When Park City started shifting away from mining and the skiers discovered our amazing mountains, they turned this into an inn and built another smaller house on the property, where Cindy and I grew up.”
“The history is beautiful,” he mused.
“Snowberry Lodge is part of our family DNA,” she said, tapping on the door at the end of the hall before bringing out the master key. “They’ve left to go into town, but warned me the kids are a bit messy.”
She stepped in first, with Matt right behind her.
“Messy is an understatement,” Matt joked as they walked into a room that looked like the kids had a war with their clothes. The king bed was made, and the parents had obviously made use of the dresser and closets.
But the young ones, who were using the bunks at the far end of the room, hadn’t bothered putting their clothes away.
Still, the mess didn’t detract from what was one of MJ’s favorite suites in the lodge.
A corner room with a big bay window overlooking the tops of snow-draped pines, it offered a mountain view almost as breathtaking as the one Matt had in Cabin Five. This suite had a fireplace, too, and an en suite that featured a massive Jacuzzi-style tub. And a leaking toilet, it seemed.
“Nice,” Matt said as they entered the bathroom.
“It is, but so outdated. And the floor is wet.” She started laying the old towels she’d brought, gauging the damage, which wasn’t much yet.
“I think we’re nice and early,” Matt said as he set down the toolbox and knelt on one of the towels in front of the toilet like he’d done it a hundred times. Which, apparently, he had.
“Running nonstop?” he asked.
She nodded, hovering near the vanity. “That’s what the guest said.”
He lifted the tank lid and peered inside. “Float valve’s not sealing. Common problem.” Without hesitation, he rolled up his sleeves.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked again, feeling awkward.
“MJ, if you knew how many of these I’ve fixed in my life…” He started to plunge his hand into the cold water. “Whoops. Better take this off first.”
He tugged at his wrist and snapped free a watch, reaching toward the sink, but the counter around it was wet and covered with their guests’ belongings.
“Can you—”
“Of course.” She took the watch from him, and the weight surprised her.
She glanced down and saw the word Rolex on the face, somehow just knowing this wasn’t a knock-off or even like the ones George used to eye in the airport duty-free cases. He’d always joked about owning a Rolex, his sign for having “made it” in the world.
She’d looked into how much a Rolex cost, longing to buy him one for his fiftieth birthday. But she gave up that idea when she saw the price tags, which were astronomical.
But this plumber owned one, the kind with the blue face and tiny diamonds, too.
While he worked, she turned the watch in her hands, tracing the smooth links. Then her eyes caught the engraving on the back: Graham Walker, with a year—this year.
Graham. Not Matthew?
Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t an old heirloom that belonged to his father, not with the current year engraved on it. Why would a plumber introduce himself under a different name? Why would a plumber own a watch that cost enough to buy a car? A luxury model.
Cindy’s warnings echoed in her head.
People who want something don’t always announce it. Sometimes they start by finding the heart and coming in that way. He already knows we’re in financial trouble.
Matt’s voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “Pass me that wrench?”
She startled, placed the watch carefully on some towels on the counter, and handed him the tool. He tightened something inside the tank, jiggled the float, and in a moment the incessant trickle stopped.
“Fixed,” he announced with satisfaction.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He rose, rinsed his hands in the sink, and dried them on the guest towel like a man who belonged. Then he picked up the watch, sliding it back on his wrist with ease.
Her mind buzzed with questions. Graham Walker? Why lie about your first name?
“How can I ever thank you?” she asked lightly, praying he wouldn’t hear the nervous edge.
His eyes warmed, then lit with something almost boyish. “Dinner.”
She blinked. “Of course I’ll make you dinner. Just name your favorite dish and I bet I can…” Her voice faded as he shook his head.
“I, uh, I actually meant I’d like to take you to a nice dinner in town, MJ,” he said, the color in his cheeks telling her that was not easy for him to ask.
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. Well, she had promised Cindy to find out more. What could be more natural than asking personal questions over dinner?
Which made it a date.
“That’s…unexpected,” she managed.
“I don’t mean to presume,” he said quickly, hands sliding into his pockets. “But I enjoy your company and if ever there was a woman who needed to relax in a nice restaurant, it’s you.”
She laughed despite herself. “That’s true.”
“And I saved you from toilet disaster.”
“So I should be treating you to dinner,” she countered.
“Having dinner with you would be my treat,” he said.
People who want something don’t always announce it. Sometimes they start by finding the heart and coming in that way.
She ignored the repeating voice in her head and looked up at him, searching his light brown eyes for any hint of subterfuge, finding nothing but kindness and warmth.
And a different name on his watch.
She had to find out more about him. “I’d like that, Matt,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
His smile lit the room. “Tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night,” she echoed.
“Then let’s finish drying this room, huh?” He looked down quickly, almost as if the exchange embarrassed him or…worried him?
She couldn’t tell, but together they finished drying the floor, and he insisted on carrying the dirty towels and the toolbox, which he did with ease.
“I’m going to go change,” he said after they’d finished putting everything away or in the laundry.
“Can I wash those…” She glanced at his expensive sweater.
“I have a dry cleaning pickup tomorrow,” he told her. “It’s all good. Mind if I choose the restaurant?”
She smiled. “Of course. But don’t go over—”
He held up his hand. “Trust me.”
With that, he gave a nod and headed back outside into the cold, leaving her standing there with his words reverberating as loudly as the washer she’d just started.
Trust me?
Could she? Maybe she’d find out tomorrow night.