Identity

“I know they’re popular,” Drea began, “but I honestly don’t see why people want to climb around on ropes and swinging platforms.”

“For the same reasons they want to go down hills on a pair of skis or snowboard. It’s fun. And it would add to our warm weather Adventure revenue.”

“Used to be hiking, canoeing, kayaking were enough for that.” Peering through her reading glasses, Lydia studied the projections.

“Times change, darling of mine.”

She glanced across the table at her husband. “Yes, they do.”

“The climbing wall we put up five years ago worked. During the summer season, it’s booked solid on weekends and between forty and seventy percent of running hours weekdays. The zip line kills it. We’re going to incorporate them into an Adventure package this season. Add the climbing wall or zip line to your hiking or biking, kayaking. Complete three adventures, get fifteen percent off a purchase at Outfitters. We could add the ropes course this season if we build it in time. Or next.”

Lydia tapped a finger on the table. “Miles, you haven’t expressed an opinion one way or the other.”

“Liam should make his own case, and I think he has. He nagged me until I took a trip to White River Resort to try theirs. It’s challenging, but it’s fun, and it works.”

“White River is three times our size.”

Liam grinned. “Small but mighty, Grand.”

“Obviously, Liam votes for it.” Mick spread his hands. “Miles, I’m assuming you do?”

“I do.”

“Nell?”

“I’m an aye.”

“My darling Drea?”

As she tossed back her hair, she sent her father-in-law a flirty smile. “I’ll tell you, my darling Mick, I’ll never understand why anyone would pay to hang on to a rope, but I’ll vote yes.”

“So does legal counsel,” Rory added.

“And I’ll add my aye. Want to make it unanimous, Lydia?”

“If you don’t bend to changes, you break.” She pointed at her husband. “Don’t think for one minute you’re climbing ropes, Irish.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Yeah! I’ll get started on it with the designer and builder next week. Thanks. You never told me you went to White River.”

Miles shrugged. “Last fall. I wouldn’t have told you if I thought it sucked either. You made your case.”

“Any more new business, Liam?”

“No, Pop. I’m going to take my victory and retire from the field.”

“Drea?”

“Some seasonal changes in packages for Events. And Nell and I are working on the idea, for summer, of a midweek picnic. A set menu, every Wednesday evening, long tables by the lake, two bars, buffet-style food and carving stations, musical entertainment.”

“Picnic by the Lake.” Nell took up the theme. “I’m working with the Lodge chef on the menu—keep it simple, friendly—make sure there are kid-friendly options, vegetarian and vegan options. Basically what we do for Buffet Night in the Lodge on Sundays, but midweek and outdoors.”

“I used to camp out near the lake when we were just the Lodge.” Mick studied the cost projections, and his eyebrows shot up. “Price of these grills is a hell of a lot more than a cookstove or a skillet over a campfire.”

“Times change,” Lydia said, and he laughed.

“That’s a touché. I gotta say, I like it. The long tables, people sitting together. Makes community.”

“We’ll have firm numbers before our next meeting.”

“And the menu—which will be subject to change as needed,” Drea added. “Hospitality is coordinating with the spa on a seasonal specialty drink, beginning with lavender-infused margaritas.”

“What the hell kind of drink is that?” Mick demanded.

“The new Après manager’s idea. I think it’s a clever one. Nell’s not completely sold, but I like it,” Drea continued. “Especially since Morgan made me one.”

“She didn’t make me one.”

Drea shrugged at her daughter. “You didn’t say you wanted to try one. She also claims she can make a special drink with whatever scrub and lotion the spa highlights, and I believe her. In addition, I’ve shifted our policy in order to give her a list of events booked for six months.”

“That I agree with. It keeps staffing more structured. She carded me during her interview. I still can’t get over it.”

“What do you mean ‘carded you’?” Miles asked.

“I wanted to watch her make a drink, and she said she had to see my ID before she served me.”

Rory let out a rolling laugh. “Baby love, take it as a compliment.”

“What it was? Ballsy.” Nell shrugged. “I have to agree with that, too. I hated losing Don, but I have to say she’s better at managing staff. Opal complains she’s slower mixing and pouring—”

“Opal complains water isn’t wet enough when she’s cranky.”

“True,” she said to Liam. “And the fact is, tips are up, and so—marginally, so far—is Après revenue.”

“She’s not slow,” Miles commented.

Now Lydia angled her head. “Oh?”

“I was in there Friday night for a while. About midnight, I guess, and at that point she worked the bar solo. Good crowd in there, and the service was quick enough. I didn’t see any bump in it even when she dealt with a guy over-celebrating his divorce and his two close-to-sloppy-drunk friends. All of them pretty well smashed by the time they sat at the bar.”

Because he’d hit his limit, Miles switched from coffee to water. “She established they were guests of the resort before serving them, but in a way that didn’t put their backs up. And when divorce guy hit on her, she deflected in a way that let him keep his pride.”

“She’s Olivia Nash’s granddaughter, after all,” Mick stated.

“You were at Après when you texted me?”

“You texted me first.”

Nell opened her mouth, rethought. “Maybe.”

“Both of you should be doing something besides work on Friday at midnight.”

“They both texted me, and I was doing something besides work.”

Nell turned to her younger brother. “What’s her name?”

He just grinned.

“And with that, this meeting is adjourned.” Mick winked at his grandson. “Let’s eat.”





Chapter Ten



On her day off, Morgan bowed to pressure and sat in a chair at Styling salon.

The stylist, Renee, wore her pink-tipped golden-brown hair in a gorgeous fishtail braid. She took one look at Morgan’s hair and sighed.

“Woman, what have you been doing?”

“I just…” In defense, Morgan pushed a hand through her hair. “Snipped a little.”

“We’re going to make a deal.”

“We are?”

“If you like what I do, you never snip again.” Now she combed her fingers through Morgan’s hair. “Nice and healthy. Natural blonde, too, like your mom. You’re a lucky one. What are you looking for?”

“Simple, easy to deal with. I used to wear it a little shorter, more angled. But I was afraid to snip that much.”

“Praise Jesus.” Renee narrowed her eyes, studying Morgan in the mirror. “You’ve got a good face, strong, pretty, diamond shaped. We’re going bold and sassy.”

“Oh, well—”