Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Nat arrived at the chalet at eight the next morning, determined to put on a beautiful breakfast spread despite Ms. Holloway’s apparent disinterest in food.
The kitchen soon filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and homemade sourdough bread.
She usually baked pastries but sensing her guest preferred a lighter spread she prepared some sliced fruit, sourdough toast and an omelet with spinach, tomato and feta cheese.
As she arranged everything on the sideboard in the dining room, she kept glancing at the staircase, half-expecting Ms. Holloway to appear at any moment.
But the minutes ticked by, and the lodge remained quiet except for the soft classical music Nat had put on in the background, sensing Christmas carols may not be the best choice.
She was just considering whether to start clearing things away when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Straightening her apron and smoothing back a stray strand of hair, Nat turned to greet her guest.
Ms. Holloway appeared, already dressed in her ski gear with a puffer coat draped over her arm. She looked ready to head straight out the door, but as her gaze fell on the breakfast spread, she paused.
"Good morning, Ms. Holloway," Nat said. "I hope you slept well. Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry."
Ms. Holloway nodded absently, her eyes still on the food. Then, to Nat's surprise, she draped her coat over a nearby chair and moved towards the sideboard.
"Thank you. I suppose I could eat something," Ms. Holloway murmured, almost to herself.
"Of course. Would you like coffee? I’ll bring you a fresh cup."
"Please," Ms. Holloway said, plating some food.
Ms. Holloway looked... different this morning.
Her icy demeanor from yesterday had thawed slightly.
There was still a tension in her shoulders, a guardedness in her expression, but her eyes were clearer, less red-rimmed.
She looked as though she'd actually gotten some sleep.
As Nat poured the coffee, her mind wandered to what Zoe had told her the night before.
Ms. Holloway was gay. She tried to picture the austere woman before her in a relationship, but the image simply wouldn't form.
The idea of Ms. Holloway holding hands with another woman, sharing intimate moments, or laughing over a shared joke seemed so at odds with the cold, distant persona she presented.
Nat couldn't imagine her letting down her guard enough to fall in love, let alone express physical affection.
Nat set the coffee down beside Ms. Holloway's plate. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
Ms. Holloway shook her head. "Actually... would it be possible to get an extra coffee to go?"
"Of course," Nat replied, pleased by the request. "I'll prepare that for you right away. Black, like yesterday?"
"Yes, black is fine," Ms. Holloway said, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Thank you. And... please, call me Sofia."
Nat blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected informality. "I... of course, Ms. H-- I mean, Sofia," she stammered. "If that's what you prefer. And feel free to call me Nat. Ms. Bergman feels awfully formal."
Sofia nodded, returning her attention to her breakfast.
Nat’s mind whirled as she went to find a go-to cup.
The request to use her first name felt oddly incongruous with the cold, distant woman from yesterday.
Nat wasn't even sure if she'd be able to comfortably address this imposing woman by her first name – it felt too personal, too intimate for the frigid relationship they'd established.
Nat's musings were interrupted by the soft chime of a phone notification from the dining room. She finished preparing the to-go cup and headed back, only to stop short in the doorway.
Sofia was staring at her phone, her face a mask of barely contained emotion. Her fingers gripped the device so tightly her knuckles had gone white, and Nat could see a slight tremor in her hand. Whatever message she'd received, it had clearly shaken her.
Feeling like an intruder, Nat quickly retreated to the kitchen, giving Sofia some privacy. She busied herself by wiping down already clean counters, straining her ears for any sound from the dining room.
After a few minutes, Nat cautiously peeked out. Sofia had composed herself, her face once again a study in careful neutrality. But Nat couldn't help noticing the slight redness around her eyes, the way she blinked a little too rapidly. Something in that message had upset her deeply.
"Here's your coffee, Ms. -- Sofia," she said, stumbling over the name. "Is there anything else you need before you head out?"
Sofia looked up, and for a brief moment, Nat saw a flash of raw vulnerability in those whiskey-colored eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the now-familiar cool detachment.
"No, thank you," Sofia said, rising from her seat. "This is... sufficient."
As Sofia gathered her coat and made to leave, Nat felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to say something more, to offer some kind of comfort or connection.
But what could she possibly say to this virtual stranger who appeared so determined to keep the world at arm's length?
In the end, she settled for a simple, "I hope you have a good day on the slopes. "
Sofia paused at the door, her hand on the handle. Nat thought she might leave without acknowledging the comment, but then she turned. "What's the weather forecast for the week?" she asked.
"It's clear for the coming two days. Perfect ski conditions," Nat replied. "But they are expecting a snowstorm after that. Nothing to worry about, it happens sometimes, but the slopes will be closed for the duration of the storm."
Sofia lingered as she absorbed the information. "I heard something about that," she said, her brow furrowing. "Can you please arrange a few books for me to read? You can charge it to my card on file with the chalet."
"Of course, I can arrange that. Is there any particular type of book you prefer?”
"Fiction," Sofia replied shortly. Then, after a brief pause, she added, "Classic fiction."
"Certainly," Nat nodded, making a mental note. "I'll have a selection ready for you before the storm hits."
Sofia hesitated as if debating whether to say more. Finally, she added, "I prefer to turn my phone off from now on, and I'm not interested in TV, so I appreciate it." Then, without another word, she grabbed her coffee and headed out, leaving Nat alone in the suddenly quiet chalet.
Nat began to clear away the breakfast dishes, wracking her mind over the book request. She could drive to the bookstore in town, but what would she get?
The truth was, she wasn't much of a reader herself.
She'd always struggled with dyslexia, which was the reason she'd gravitated towards cooking and eventually becoming a chalet girl, rather than pursuing a hospitality management job that might require more paperwork and report writing.
In the kitchen, with recipes she'd memorized and techniques honed through practice, her dyslexia didn't matter.
But facing rows of books, trying to decipher unfamiliar titles and author names, always brought back memories of struggling in school, of feeling "stupid" despite knowing she wasn't. The thought of having to choose classic literature for someone as educated and sophisticated as Sofia made Nat's palms sweat.
Nat pulled out her phone and sent a voice note to her sister, who was the bookworm in their family. "Zoe," she typed, "I need your help. What are some good classic novels? I need them for my guest.”