And piped in through hidden speakers, almost too low to hear, was that…?
Yes. Yes, indeed. It was.
Although no one would call him an expert identifier of musical instruments, he remembered the commercials of his early youth. This particular sound he associated quite strongly with Swiss herbal cough drops and lederhosen-clad men on mountaintops, rather than tropical beaches.
The resort’s island only possessed one hill, but apparently that hill was alive with the sound of music. Alphorn music, to be precise. Also yodeling.
Weird. Oddly charming, but weird.
Behind the counter stood two of his dirndl-clad colleagues, one of them a familiar sight. Heather, a woman roughly his age who often attended gatherings at Brendan’s mainland apartment, was stationed behind the computer. Standing beside her was an unfamiliar woman, slightly older than Heather, her pale skin poreless, her tawny hair tucked into a braided crown, frowning in concentration as she ticked items off a printed list. Fiona, the spa manager, according to the engraved name badge pinned to her bodice.
“Lucas.” Heather looked up from her computer with a bright, professional smile, her warm brown skin smooth and glowing and impeccably accented by discreet makeup. “How may I help you today? Are you here to book a peel?”
A peel? Like a banana peel? Did this have something to do with the apple-scented oil for sale on the counter?
“Or an Extreme Edelweiss Microdermabrasion session?” Her arched eyebrows rose in query. “You can reserve a series of sessions at a slight savings, which can be used along with your employee discount. We actually have a last-minute cancellation for this evening, if you’d like.”
Ah.Thatkind of peel.
“Uh, no.” He scrubbed a hand over his bristly, sun-damaged cheek. “That’s not why I’m here.”
She appeared to be staring at his nose and forehead, her own brow creased. “We also have a line of Cocoa Corrective repair masks with exclusive Toblerone—”
“Thank you, Heather,” he interrupted. “But I don’t need anything for my face. I asked Brendan and Pat whether the resort sold heating pads or hot water bottles anywhere, and they thought the spa might have something I could use.”
“Oh.” After one last glance at his forehead, Heather heaved an almost imperceptible sigh and let it go. “We don’t have heating pads or hot water bottles, but we do offer heatable aromatherapy booties that could work. Our microwaveable Alpine Aromatherapy eye masks might suffice too, depending on how much area you want to cover.”
“Perfect.” He smiled at her, pleased. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“They’re in the far left corner. Second shelf from the top. Do you want me to show you?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“If you have any trouble finding them, just let me know.” Another entirely professional smile, almost blinding in its shine. “And if you change your mind, I’d be delighted to help you book an appointment. We have a variety of special packages available this week.”
Fiona left for the other end of the spa’s welcome area, her list still clutched in her hand, and disappeared through a semi-hidden doorway.
They both watched her leave and waited several seconds.
Then Heather leaned in close and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “So what do you think? Was I right?”
He nodded. “Like a Swiss chalet vomited over a Pottery Barn showroom.”
“Exactly.” She glanced around before continuing. “The café donated a bottle of génépy liqueur so I could get Fiona drunk last week and find out what the hell happened to this place. Turns out, the resort owner’s then-wife found out he was cheating a couple years ago. After pretending to forgive him, she asked to be in charge of the latest spa renovation and said she wanted it to be a surprise. He agreed.”
A mistake, that. And not the resort owner’s first or most grievous, clearly.
“The day after the reno ended, she invited him inside the new spa, where she served him divorce papers in an alphorn and told him to go blow himself.” Her brown eyes dancing with glee, Heather kissed her fingertips in homage to that particular choice.
“Ingenious.” He considered the matter further. “But now the spa is essentially one big advertisement for an Alpine ski resort, rather than an island getaway. Wasn’t she sabotaging her own alimony?”
“Airtight prenup. No alimony.”
“Ah.” That explained it.
Heather indulged in a subtle eyeroll. “At our last staff meeting, I tried to suggest a different, less chilly theme for the next renovation, but Fiona’s gotten into the cosplay aspect. Apparently that dirndl is getting her a lot of fraulein-on-fraulein action. LaTanya agreed we should choose another theme, but then she started discussing the northern lights and fjords, and I gave up.”
He gave her a fist-bump. “Keep fighting the good fight.”
