“But what will that mean? I mean, no, actually, that is what I mean, how will this affect us? Projects already underway, future start dates, you know I wanted to bid for the Oakmont job when this one is wrapped up, will that even be possible now?”
Barbara sighed the heavy sigh of a woman whose own world might be turned inside out and upside down. She’d worked for the firm for as long as anyone could remember, she was this firm, surely if anyone was safe it’d be her, right? “I don’t know, kiddo, I’ll tell you everything as soon as I hear it. For now, just keep your head down and do the best you can. Your work speaks for itself, but right now it needs to scream, got it?”
I did, actually. My work needed to be outstanding, above reproach, and my references when I left this hotel had better be pitch-perfect. It’s amazing, when faced with the possibility of an outside audit, how quickly you begin poking holes in your own balloon. My work was good, had always been good, and this job was no exception. Except, of course, for Archie.
“Barbara, what a mess,” I groaned, leaning my head on my hand.
“Hey, don’t get down about this, nothing’s been confirmed yet. For now, we just do our jobs and keep the lights on. It’ll be fine. Now, tell me all about the summer bookings at the Mountain House, how’re they looking?”
Barbara and I talked for a few more minutes. The conversation was strained, stilted, and unlike any we’d had before. Normally, I could count on Barbara for three things. To kick my ass, to praise me while she was kicking my ass, and to make sure I always had my true north. She was my professional compass, and she always made sure I was pointed forward and thinking ahead, making sure I made the choices in my career to keep me that way. For the first time, she seemed unsure, and that made my true-north needle bobble.
A merger? What would that mean? Would I still be able to pick which jobs I wanted? Go where I felt I was most needed? I’d worked my ass off for years to get to a certain place within this company, was that going to be undone? And what if what had happened up here in Bailey Falls came out right as a new management team was taking over? Hey, here’s our star employee, Clara Morgan, she schtupped the client, but bookings are way up so we’re overlooking that part.
I could hear Barbara in my ear, telling me not to worry until there was something to worry about.
I tried to point my compass north.
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Are you cold?”
“A little.”
“You should’ve worn a coat.”
“I wasn’t thinking, someone was kissing on my neck when I was trying to get ready and it slipped my mind.”
Archie grinned. “To be clear, I was that someone, right?”
“Right.” I laughed. We were in town, a rare thing these days as we were busier than ever at the hotel. Roxie had been after me since I arrived to come to Zombie Pickle Class, and in a weaker moment I agreed not only to come but to bring Archie.
Roxie and Natalie knew what was going on at Easter. But they’d been dying to see it in person. So down the mountain we came. And it was cold.
“I mean, it’s really cold,” I said again, swinging my arms back and forth to warm up. Roxie’s class had gotten more and more popular over the past few months, and they were nearly outgrowing their space at the diner. Parking spots close to the diner were all taken, and we’d had to walk nearly five blocks to get there on time.
“Here, take this,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and slipping it onto my shoulders.
“No. Please. I couldn’t possibly.” I said all of this deadpan while eagerly snuggling into the warmth. “You smell good, by the way.”
His laugh rang out across the tiny town square. “I smell good?”
I shrugged. “You do.” I inhaled deeply. “Yeah, you smell good.”
“What do I smell like?” he asked, sliding his arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer. I glanced around nervously, wondering how many people could see us and how quickly word could spread that the owner of Bryant Mountain House and the outsider they’d brought in to fix things were hanging all over each other downtown. But the weight of his arm, the way he tucked me into his side so easily, so casual yet so caring, made it impossible for me to concentrate on anything other than trying, in vain, to capture the scent of Archie.
“Wood.”
“Pardon me?”
“Wood. I took a woodworking class once, extra credit in high school, kind of the last hurrah of shop class before the teacher retired. We made birdhouses out of walnut. The days we cut the wood it always smelled really fresh, almost astringent-like. But the days we sanded the wood, really spent time with our hands working on it, there was a different scent, kind of . . . I don’t know. Fresh and green but a little bit warm too. Cozy. Which made sense at the time, as I was making a cozy little house for some future bird family to enjoy. You kind of smell like that.”
“I smell cozy,” he echoed.
“Plus a little mapley.”
“Walnut and maple?”
“Syrup this time, maple syrup.”
“I do love pancakes.” He wrapped his arm more firmly around my shoulders. “So you took shop in high school? Interesting.”
“I don’t want to build you a birdhouse, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“No, I was just thinking that it’s one of the first things you’ve ever mentioned when it comes to your childhood. You know, where you grew up, what kinds of things you liked to do.”
“Oh. Really?” I said, pulling the jacket tighter.
“Where are you going?”
“Hmm?”
“Get back over here.” He laughed, pulling me back into his side. I’d pulled away and hadn’t even noticed I’d done it.
“Wow, looks like quite a crowd,” I said, pointing at the diner, glad we were almost there. I didn’t want to talk about birdhouses, or shop class, or childhood anymore. I wanted to get inside, and learn to can or pickle or whatever the hell we were learning tonight.
“All these people are here for a cooking class?” Archie asked, as we watched another horde go inside.
“Roxie said it’s gotten really popular, but I had no idea.” When Roxie had first moved back to Bailey Falls, it’d started out as a bit of a joke, Chad and Logan wanting to learn how to make jam and pickles. Something about the zombie apocalypse and all the old people dying and no young, healthy people knowing how to make jam anymore. Jam being important in the aftermath and all. So she taught them. And they mentioned it to a few friends, and the next week a few more people showed up. And so on and so on, bam. Most popular cooking class in town, and more to the point, one of the most popular social activities for your local Hudson Valley hipster.
We paused just outside the door, watching the festivities inside already in full swing. It struck me suddenly that in all the time we’d spent together, I’d never once heard Archie mention spending time with friends, or even mention a friend in general. What a lonely life he must’ve had up on his mountain after his wife died.
He’s not some crazy hermit in a fantasy novel . . .