Chapter 6 Maddie #2
Jake is on the phone though, so he just starts pacing around without saying a word to me or to Margo, who is smoothing down her hair and pulling up her posture so that she looks like a dancer, or a marionette.
Something about her display sends an unexpected twinge of jealousy through me.
But that’s just silly. What do I have to be jealous about?
She’s not going to steal my job. And I have absolutely no romantic interest in Jake Stone.
None whatsoever.
“Maddie,” Dylan calls as he scampers over to me. “Are you making a spreadsheet?”
“Um, no,” I tell him, looking down at the laptop. I guess as far as Dylan knows from his dad, computers are just spreadsheet machines. “I’m writing a book.”
“What’s it about?” he asks, his little face tilting like he’s a golden retriever and I’ve got a tennis ball.
“It’s a story about Christmas—” I begin.
“Can I write another letter?” he asks suddenly, his eyes sparkling.
“Sure,” I tell him, closing my laptop and sticking it in my bag. “Be right back.”
I hop up to grab the pad of paper and pen from the counter.
Fortunately, Margo is turned partly away from me, texting furiously, which is kind of surprising. She wanted so badly to look professional when Jake walked in and now she’s all over her phone like a teen after a breakup.
But it’s none of my business. I’m just happy not to get caught swiping the stationary.
“Okay,” I tell Dylan, returning to the table. “Let’s get started.”
He smiles and takes the pen and paper from me. A moment later his brow is scrunched in concentration as he gets to work.
But he hasn’t even finished the first line of his letter when Anna from the kitchen enters the lobby with a tray and marches in our direction.
She’s wearing lipstick and earrings, which feels very much out of character for someone who seems like her only goal is to not attract attention.
And for some reason, she stops right in front of me.
“Your Quiche Lorraine, Miss Foster,” she blurts out a little too loudly. Her eyes are wide, like she’s a deer in the headlights.
“I didn’t order—” I begin.
But over at the counter, Margo is waving for my attention. When I look up she makes a cut-throat motion at me, and then mimes eating.
She’s going to kill me. And… eat me?
She points at the plate Anna is setting down and I realize she means I should stop saying it’s not mine and just chow down.
I know I should question this stroke of unbelievable good fortune.
But the quiche smells so savory and delicious that I can’t think of any reason to argue.
I still don’t have any money, so Margo is in for a disappointment if she expects me to pay for any of this, but it will be easier to deal with that on a full stomach.
“Thank you,” I tell Anna.
She sets it down in front of me and the steam coming off it smells so good that it’s all I can do not to wolf it down without waiting for it to cool off.
“And your fresh squeezed orange juice,” she tells me, setting down a glass.
I’m pretty sure the lodge only serves the stuff in a box from the grocery store, but it sure looks like heaven to me. I realize that I haven’t eaten since that grilled cheese with Dylan at lunchtime yesterday.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Anna mumbles before backing away with the tray in front of her.
What in the world is going on here?
But it doesn’t really matter. I’m going to enjoy this meal like it’s my last. I take a sip of the orange juice. It’s definitely the grocery store stuff, but it tastes amazing to me.
“What’s that?” Dylan asks, gazing suspiciously at the quiche on my plate. “Is it a pie?”
“Kind of,” I tell him. “But it’s not sweet. It’s made of eggs and bacon and cheese and things.”
“Weird,” he says, nodding.
“Would you like a bite?” I ask.
“I like pancakes,” he says, shaking his head.
I would buy him some pancakes if I could. But he doesn’t seem too worried about it. He’s already focused on his letter again.
“Hey,” Jake says, striding over from the fireplace just as I’m about to take my first bite.
“Hi,” I say, setting the fork down. It’s interesting that he doesn’t apologize for having been on the phone all that time. I get the feeling guys like him don’t do a whole lot of apologizing.
“We’ll spend today at my place,” he tells me.
I think sadly of my uneaten breakfast, but a job’s a job, and if he says it’s time to go, then it’s time.
“Okay,” I tell him, hopping up.
“No,” he says. “You didn’t eat your breakfast yet.”
“You shouldn’t have to wait for me,” I tell him.
“Then I won’t,” he says.
He waves to Margo and she scrambles out from behind the counter.
“How may I help you, Mr. Stone?” she asks in a very professional tone.
“I’d like a breakfast sandwich,” he tells her.
“Of course, sir,” she says. “What kind?”
“Ham and cheese,” he says. “That sort of thing. And pancakes for the boy.”
Dylan’s little head pops up from his work and he gives his dad a sunny smile that spills over onto me and instantly lights up the darkest places in my heart.
“I like pancakes,” Dylan repeats before diving back into his letter.
“Very good, sir,” Margo says, and I think I detect the tiniest bit of a British accent.
Seriously, what is going on here today?
“Go ahead,” Jake says, his deep voice commanding as he turns to me. “Eat.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I take a bite and hum around it happily, just like in the old days.
Though, admittedly, I’m a little surprised to find a mushroom in it when I’m chewing. There aren’t usually mushrooms in Quiche Lorraine. And I think the cheese is cheddar, not Gruyere.
But I won’t complain about a free quiche. My stomach is so happy that I don’t even realize how fast I’m eating until suddenly I look down and the plate is clean.
When I look up again, Jake Stone is watching me.
My cheeks heat and I inwardly curse my stupid awkward ways. He’s going to see me blushing and think I have a crush on him or something, when really it’s only that I’m embarrassed for scarfing down my food like someone was going to take it.
“How was your call?” I blurt out.
“Fine,” he says, still studying me. “Where did you run off to yesterday?”
“I had to talk with someone,” I tell him. “And I didn’t realize how late it was getting.”
It’s the truth, though it doesn’t really illuminate anything.
He nods, thankfully taking it at face value.
“Your croque monsieur, sir,” Anna says suddenly, appearing out of thin air at Jake’s shoulder.
I almost jump out of my chair, but Jake doesn’t even flinch. If the lodge does go out of business, Anna could still have a very promising career as a ninja.
“Thanks,” he says, not bothering to lean back to make it easy for her to place the plate on the table. “Coffee too, please. Black. And milk for the boy.”
The urn with the free coffee is literally right there, but he turns his attention to his plate and she has no choice but to scurry over and fix it for him.
A moment later she returns and sets the cup on the table. From the way the surface of the coffee is rippling, I can tell her hand is shaking and I feel a pang of sympathy.
“I’ll be right back with those pancakes,” she mumbles, doing the weird backing away thing again.
“Hm,” Jake says, taking a bite. “This isn’t a croque monsieur, it’s a Montecristo.”
“Smells good,” I offer.
“Pancakes,” Dylan squeaks.
Sure enough, here comes Anna again with another plate on her tray. This time she seems to be smiling genuinely. Probably because Dylan is so happy that he’s practically standing on the table. Who could resist that kind of excitement?
“Here are your pancakes, sir,” she tells him, setting down a plate and a glass of milk beside it.
His eyebrows leap up at that. But when she places the plate down, his delight at being called sir is forgotten because the pancakes really are impressive.
There are three of them—a big one at the bottom of the plate, a medium sized one in the middle, and a small one at the top.
Laid out like this, they look like a snowman, and that impression is strengthened by the whipped cream swirled on each pancake, and the blueberry eyes, strawberry nose, and syrup smile on its face.
“It’s Froggy,” he yells, looking up at me with wonder in his eyes.
“It’s pancakes, sir,” Anna says worriedly. “Just like you ordered.”
“It’s fine,” Jake says dismissively.
“Maddie, his eyes are blueberries,” Dylan sings out in delight.
Anna is already backing away worriedly. But up at the counter Margo nods with a tiny but genuine smile on her face. When she catches me looking she gives me a thumbs-up, but I have no idea why.
I grab my juice and drink most of it down as Dylan digs into his breakfast.
“I don’t normally feed him this stuff,” Jake says thoughtfully.
Does he think I’m judging him? And what’s wrong with pancakes anyway?
“He seems like a very healthy kid,” I say firmly. “But everyone deserves a treat once in a while.”
When I glance up at him, Jake has a funny little half-smile on his face.
“So, you’ll continue to work on reading and writing,” he says. When he notices me looking, his smile vanishes. “And we’ll have a set end time today, so no one has to go running off through the woods.”
“Of course,” I agree meekly.
“Also, we didn’t talk about pay,” he says, and goes on to name a daily rate that sounds great to me mainly because it’s more than the zero dollars I currently have.
“That will be fine,” I say, doing my best to play it cool.
“Do you have a car?” he asks me.
I shake my head. I used to have a car, but it was in my dad’s name.
“Do you have a driver’s license?” he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him.
How helpless does this guy think I am?
Of course, I am penniless and sleeping in a broom closet, so maybe his lack of confidence in me isn’t exactly misplaced.
“Fine,” he says. “If the two of you need to go into town you can take the SUV.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.