“I’m not blushing. I’m not crushing. I’m trying to eat dinner with my two lunatic friends who came up here to visit me in my new place of work, mind you, and instead all we’re talking about is Archie Bryant’s buns!”
“Samuel,” I heard a deep voice say over my shoulder, “it seems the ladies at table fourteen haven’t gotten their bread basket yet, can you bring that right over?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Bryant!”
Because fate is a funny fucker, standing there with an amused look on his face, knowing full well when I prattled on about his buns they were not of the bread basket variety, was Archie Bryant.
Now I blushed.
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything. Smoothly taking control of the situation, the situation being Natalie and Roxie looking like this was the funniest thing ever and me looking like I’d rather be swallowed by the floorboards than still be sitting here, Archie extended his hand to Roxie.
“Roxie, good to see you, how’s Zombie Cakes coming along?”
“Good. Really good, actually.” Roxie had started Zombie Cakes last fall, a food truck out of a very cool retro Airstream trailer. Specializing in old-fashioned cakes with an updated twist, Zombie Cakes was making quite a name for itself not only in the Hudson Valley but in Manhattan as well.
“I still need to get you up here sometime for an official chat. We’d love to start featuring some of your cakes on our menu.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” she asked, beaming. “Any time!”
“And speaking of any time,” Natalie interjected, and I held my breath, not knowing what was coming next, “we gotta talk soon about getting you into my Bailey Falls campaign. Why in the world did we not photograph you when I was up here last fall? You’re way too cute not to be in those commercials—you’ve seen them, right?”
Archie nodded. “I’ve seen them, Ms. Grayson.”
“Call me Natalie.”
“Very well, Natalie. I’ve seen them, although I’m not sure the overall tone of your advertisements sends the right message to the kind of clientele we’ve tried to cultivate here at Bryant Mountain House.”
“You don’t want young hip twenty-and thirty-somethings with disposable incomes taking pictures of everything they love about this place and posting it to all of their friends, who also have disposable incomes?” Natalie asked, arching an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, in fact, that’s exactly the kind of clientele we’re looking to bring in,” I interjected, before it could go any further.
“And another thing,” Natalie went on, and I dropped my head back into my hands. So much for not going further. “When I said you’re too cute to not be featured, I meant it. You’re smoking hot so take it as a compliment, okay, Arch?”
I saw him do a double take at Natalie, undoubtedly taken aback by her say-it-when-she-thinks-it delivery, but he rallied as any good host will do. “Natalie, although I’m not sure what me being cute has to do with my resort, I do thank you for the compliment.” He turned to me. “It was a compliment, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” I said quickly, wanting to avoid another argument. “Sorry about the buns thing, I—”
“Buns thing, Ms. Morgan? What buns thing is that exactly?”
I stammered. “Um . . . I . . . uh . . .”
“Well put, Ms. Morgan. Ah yes, thank you, Samuel, very good. Ladies, enjoy your meal.” And as Archie reached down with silver tongs to place an actual bun on my plate, he turned toward me, away from my girls, with those gorgeous indigo eyes dancing, and gave me a very purposeful wink. “And your buns.”
This guy.
He knew.
He knew about the buns.
He brought me the buns.
And still . . . he winked.
Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye. Especially when what was meeting the eye was extremely good-looking.
“Flirt. Flirt. Flirt,” Natalie chanted as soon as Archie was out of earshot.
“Oh please,” I replied, picking up my warm roll and noticing instantly how perfectly it fit in my hand. Oh lordy.
“Bailey Falls strikes again,” Roxie murmured, and Natalie threw her head back and squealed.
“Okay, everyone settle down. Pick your entrée. Bailey Falls didn’t strike anything, can we all just please be adults for like a minute? Honestly, you two are children and . . . Natalie, what the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to see if he’s looking at you.” She was perched precariously on the side of her chair with her compact mirror open and angled nowhere near her face.
“Not encouraging this right now. So, Roxie, what are you going to get, the steak medallions or the salmon en papillote—that means it’s baked in parchment paper, right?”
Roxie herself could’ve been baked in parchment paper for all the attention she was paying me. “Dude, he’s not looking, he’s not looking . . .”
“Not you too. I have zero, and let me repeat, zero interest in Archie Bry—”
Roxie interrupted me. “—he looked! He totally just looked back at you, Clara!”
“He did?” I squeaked, and just then Natalie was no longer perched on her chair. The precarious became nefarious and down she tumbled to the floor, her skirt flaring up and exposing a ruby-red garter belt. Three busboys and an eighty-year-old man tumbled after her to try to be the one to help her up.
“I’ll have the steak medallions, medium rare, please,” I told Samuel, who was still standing there holding buns.
Dinner was a bit calmer after that. The service was impeccable, the food was . . . eh. Not bad, not great, but eh. I asked Roxie what she thought.
“It’s okay, tastes a bit like catering food you’d get at a midline wedding,” she replied after I noticed she mainly pushed around but didn’t finish her meal.
“I mean, it’s a bit old-fashioned, nothing new to see here. But you can’t beat this setting.” The broad expanse of windows that in daytime would be showcasing the view of the mountains mirrored back the candlelight and twinkling lights overhead. It was a cavernous room, but somehow felt cozy and intimate.
“What’s with the menu cards, why so few things to choose from?” Natalie asked as we dug into our desserts.
“They call it rotational dining, a somewhat outdated concept but fairly typical at these old resorts. The menu changes nightly, usually three to four appetizers, three to four entrées, and then a bunch of different desserts. It might repeat once during the week but only once,” I replied.
“So if you’re here for a week with your family, you could eat here every night and never get the same thing for dinner,” Roxie added.
“Exactly. But I’d be willing to bet this is the same menu they’ve been serving for a long time,” I said, thinking out loud.
“Gee, you think? I mean, Baked Alaska is always killer, but seriously, when’s the last time you saw it on a menu?” Roxie said.
“I love Baked Alaska,” Natalie replied, curving her arm around her dessert. “Don’t you dare take away my Baked Alaska.”