Chapter 12 Jake
JAKE
Dylan and I arrive at the lodge the next morning a little later than usual. I went for a quick run before showering this morning and putting on a nice suit. I may be in the middle of Mount Nowhere, but I’m still a professional, and I’m not going to take video calls in my sweats.
I park the SUV, telling myself that our delay is just giving Maddie some much-deserved time to write. But if I’m being honest, I’m mostly just afraid that I wrecked things with her last night, and I’m only putting off the inevitable moment when she tells me she doesn’t want to help out anymore.
As I hop out of the SUV and open the door for Dylan, I go over it all in my head again, everything that happened before she took off, searching for hidden signs or deeper meanings.
But I know the truth, no matter how much I want to deny it, and it’s very simple.
She read me like a book. She could tell that I wanted to kiss her and it made her uncomfortable. And she’s not wrong. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than I wanted to kiss Maddie Foster last night.
I’m ashamed of myself. She’s the best thing that’s happened to Dylan in forever, and I’m ruining it. I doubt she will even come back with us today. And what will I tell Dylan if that’s the case?
“I can’t wait to see Maddie,” he tells me, holding my hand as we climb the steps up to the porch. “We’re going to write to Santa.”
He’s so happy, and the air out here is cold and sweet. Finding Maddie was a gift, and it should have been the easiest thing in the world to keep her around. But leave it to me to mess up something this simple.
“That’s great, buddy,” I tell him. “But if she’s too busy, I can do it with you.”
“She’s too busy?” he echoes, looking devastated.
“No, no,” I tell him, backtracking. “I just meant that if we get here one of these days and she’s wrapped up in her book, then we can let her write and you and I can write to Santa together.”
“Okay,” Dylan says, like he’s throwing me a bone. I guess he thinks that scenario is pretty unlikely.
I like that he’s sure of her. Hopefully he’s right to be.
I open the door, releasing a blast of warm air and the scent of a wood fire.
The lobby isn’t exactly full, but it’s less empty than I’ve seen it. The elderly couple that was here yesterday is sitting by the fire again, chatting and smiling at each other like they’re madly in love.
A young woman is striking various poses over by the reindeer statues, a bored expression on her face, as a guy with a phone and some lighting equipment practically braids himself into a pretzel to get the perfect angle of her.
A couple and their two kids are standing by the counter, looking impatient. One of the kids is a teen scrolling her phone, but the other is a little boy, about Dylan’s age. I wonder if they’re staying here.
“I thought there was going to be a big breakfast,” the dad is saying to Margo. His tone says that he’s at the end of his rope.
“I’m so sorry for the delay, sir,” she tells him. “It will be ready in just a moment.”
Just then, Dylan lets go of my hand and darts over to Maddie, who is sitting at her usual table, her laptop in front of her.
“Hi, Maddie,” he sings out. “Are you too busy to write a letter to Santa?”
“Of course not, dill pickle,” she tells him. “I was actually hoping you and your dad might have time to eat some breakfast. Then we can go straight to your house and write our letter, and I can put it in the box when I come back here tonight.”
She glances up at me uncertainly, like maybe I’m going to deny her breakfast. I’m so relieved she isn’t quitting that I would eat a ten-course meal right now if it made her happy.
“We’d love to,” I tell her firmly.
This earns me a smile so bright I feel like I need sunglasses.
“There’s another little boy,” Dylan notices, his eyes on the family at the counter now, like he’s forgotten all about us.
“Welcome, Mr. Stone,” Margo calls out warmly. “You’re just in time to join us for breakfast.”
She heads over to the door to the dining hall and opens it up.
“Finally,” the dad of the family grumbles.
“Thank you,” the wife says softly to Margo. “Bree, Bobby, come on, let’s go.”
“Do you need to work a little more?” I ask Maddie as the family heads into the dining area.
“No, no,” she says. She’s already out of her seat and sliding the laptop into her bag.
“Can we sit near that kid?” Dylan asks hopefully.
“I don’t see why not,” Maddie tells him. “I’ll ask Margo. She’s in charge.”
“But we have to let that family eat their meal in peace,” I add. “So maybe after breakfast you can talk with him.”
The older couple heads in and we wait for them.
“Margo, Dylan would love to be seated near the family with the little boy,” Maddie says softly.
“Of course, Miss Foster,” Margo says with a big professional smile. “Today’s breakfast will be served family style, so the boys can sit together if they’d like.”
She enters with us, the girl and her cameraman bringing up the rear.
The room is big but cozy. Thick wooden beams cross the plaster ceiling and there’s another fireplace in here with a nice fire crackling in it.
A long oak table has been set up at the center of the room. Thankfully, the older folks are seating themselves across from the family, making it possible for Dylan to snag the seat next to them.
But that puts him beside the teen instead of the little boy.
“Hello,” Dylan says brightly to the teenage girl, not a bit intimidated.
She’s got earbuds in, and her eyebrows fly up when she realizes he’s talking to her.
“Hi,” she says, like she’s hoping it’s the end of the conversation.
“Hey there, buddy,” the mom puts in, leaning forward to smile at Dylan. “Bree, trade spots with your brother.”
“Huh?” Bree says.
“Trade chairs with your brother, Bree,” the dad sighs. “Now.”
By the time Maddie and I are seated the boys are next to each other and Dylan’s attention is completely enraptured by the small plastic dinosaurs the other boy is playing with.
The boy introduces himself as Bobby and hands him a triceratops, immediately endearing himself to Dylan, and they’re off to the races, making the animals talk to each other.
“That worked out well,” Maddie says softly to me, a sweet smile curving her lips.
“Very well,” I agree.
“Welcome,” the cook says as he enters with a flourish. “This morning’s breakfast will be Crêpes Suzette. For now, enjoy some fresh fruit and coffee. Your meal will be out shortly.”
Who makes Crêpes Suzette in an old lodge? I would have expected a buffet with heated trays of scrambled eggs and limp bacon.
The place definitely has an odd vibe, but I kind of like it for trying to transcend itself.
Don’t get attached, I remind myself. It won’t be here much longer.
“Great breakfast,” Maddie says politely.
Or maybe not just politely. The girl is definitely a passionate eater.
“How’s the book coming along?” I ask.
“Really well, actually,” she tells me, her face lighting up. “I was kind of stuck for a while, but these last few days I think I’m getting somewhere with it.”
“Have you always wanted to write?” I ask her.
“Pretty much,” she says. “I mean there was a brief time when I wanted to be in the circus.”
“Oh really?” I ask, not really sure if she’s joking or not.
“Well, we had just seen Cirque du Soleil,” she explains. “And I was eight. I begged my dad to sign me up for gymnastics so I could be the next big circus star. And as soon as he did, it became abundantly clear that wasn’t going to happen.”
I chuckle at the thought of little Maddie and her big dreams, tumbling around the mat.
“But yeah, other than that I’ve always wanted to write,” she says. “Now that I finally have the chance, I was starting to be afraid I was just going to choke.”
“Why?” I ask her, genuinely wanting to know. I started asking about the book to be nice. But she’s always got such an upbeat way of looking at things. I want to know what would make her lose faith in herself.
“It’s been a lifetime of wanting to do this,” she says, shrugging. “And losing my dad was hard. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader. I mean—well, you get it.”
She glances over at Dylan and a wave of warmth flows through me.
He’s my whole heart and she sees me as his biggest supporter, even though I don’t really see it in myself sometimes. I’m so new to all of this.
Then it hits me what she said.
“You lost your dad?” I ask.
“Almost a year ago now,” she says, nodding. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it.”
“I hadn’t heard,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry.”
I’ve been so busy wallowing in my own scandal that I didn’t even hear that Ellis Foster died. I wonder what else I’ve missed.
“He had a wonderful life,” she says, shrugging. “I know he doesn’t regret a moment of it. And he’s with my mom now. I know how much he missed her.”
The pain in her eyes makes me want to pull her into my arms.
“Coffee, sir?” one of the kitchen workers asks softly. She’s about an inch from my ear and I almost elbow her in the solar plexus out of sheer instinct.
“Yes, please,” I say, frowning at my own foolishness.
I can see Maddie smiling out of the corner of my eye and I glance over to see that she’s clearly trying not to laugh.
And you know what? If a little jump scare is what it takes for her to smile again, I don’t mind so much.
You’re thinking about her like that again, a little voice in the back of my head tries to remind me. Slow your roll.
She pours coffee for Maddie too, just a half cup, and the older couple passes a pitcher of milk across the table.
Maddie fills the rest of her cup with milk—enough to practically turn her coffee white.
“A little coffee with your milk?” I tease her.
“Nope,” she replies, scooping a heaping spoonful of sugar from the chipped bowl and dumping it into her milky excuse for a coffee. “A little coffee and milk with my sugar.”
I watch her stir it around before taking a sip of my own. It’s black and bitter and hot as lava, just how I like it.
Everyone else seems to be absorbed in their conversations, including Dylan and his new friend. This is probably as good a time as any to clear the air, if it needs clearing.
“Is everything okay?” I hear myself ask.
“What do you mean?” she asks me.
“Well, last night you left without saying goodbye,” I hedge.
“Oh,” she says, then closes her mouth again.
“I’m sorry if I said anything, or made you feel…”
I’m not really sure how to finish.
“It’s the money,” she whispers. “The money you gave me.”
I blink at her for a moment in total shock. I thought I’d been more than generous, and I was also getting the impression that Maddie wasn’t as hung up on money as I first expected her to be.
“It’s not enough?” I ask her, wondering exactly how much she’s used to carrying around.
“It’s too much,” she says, looking at me like I’m bananas. “It’s way too much. It’s… indecent.”
Indecent?
Suddenly the puzzle pieces of last night rearrange themselves and I’m looking at everything from her point of view.
I picture myself drooling over her in front of the fire pit like an animal, and then pressing all that cash into her hand. I can’t blame her for worrying that I was trying to pay for something that isn’t for sale.
No wonder she ran.
I’m disgusted with myself.
“Maddie, I’m so sorry,” I tell her. I’m not a man who apologizes, but those words just fall out of my mouth at the idea that I’ve hurt this woman.
“My intention was only to be generous with you because you’re being so generous with us—with your time, and with your energy.
There is nothing going on with us. Nothing at all. ”
Her eyes are on mine, and she’s dead serious all of a sudden, that hazel gaze sinking into me like maybe she can really read my intentions.
“Thank you,” she says after a moment. “But it’s still too much.”
“If you knew how much it would have cost me not to have you there yesterday, you would demand more,” I confide honestly. “I know I should have planned better and called a nanny service or something instead of ripping you away from your book. Believe me, it makes me feel better to pay you decently.”
I hold my breath, hoping she takes my words at face value. I do honestly mean them.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if she’s going to leave, or maybe slap me or toss a drink in my face. I’d deserve it. Then she laughs, and the sound of it is like clear, sparkling water on a parched throat.
“Your Crêpes Suzette, sir,” the cook says importantly, setting a plate in front of me and lighting it.
The sauce surrounding the dish erupts with a flame so enormous that I barely avoid getting my eyebrows singed.
The lady across the table lets out a little scream that turns into a giggle, and a few of the others join in.
“Wow,” Maddie murmurs.
Even just a week ago, that would have been enough for me to have half the kitchen staff fired, but somehow, I find myself chuckling instead.
Between Maddie’s company, the coziness of the room, and Dylan’s happiness with his seatmate, I find that I don’t even mind that this Crêpes Suzette sort of looks like a short stack of burned diner pancakes.
There’s a lightness in my chest that I can’t identify at first.
Am I actually happy?
I steal a glance at Maddie, who is wisely pulling her chair back and telling Dylan to do the same as the cook sets down her plate.
If I’m happy, it has everything to do with this remarkable young woman.
Please don’t let her break our hearts…