He turned and spotted a waiter carrying a breakfast tray, the smell of syrup wafting past. His stomach growled. Maybe her moan was more about a craving than scaring him off. But he doubted it. If he knew his wife, he’d expect some sort of elaborate scheme to get him off the property so she could start the thirty-day clock over again in her favor.
He hoped a guest would ask him about the noise so he could loudly proclaim the lighthouse must have an infestation of vermin, but no one seemed to notice. He could imagine her groan at being referred to as a pest. She’d shake the lighthouse to its foundation. Sure, he’d been foolish enough as a child to find her fictional ghost stories scary, but adult life was far too terrifying to worry about anything else.
Would he have known it was her if he hadn’t been expecting her every minute of the last week? Her father’s sudden death took everyone by surprise. Xavier Hale had been inimitable and, at times, more institution than human.
With a nod to another guest, Christopher strode back the way he came, dodging and weaving through the servers and bussers as he entered the Inn through the restaurant.
Linen-topped tables filled the walnut-paneled room. Overhead, the chandeliers sparkled. The setting was both intimate and grand, the thick carpet absorbing sounds and creating a hushed environment.
“Monsieur Lewis,” a heavily accented male voice called.
Christopher lifted his gaze, spotting the maître d’.
Dressed in a tux with slicked-back hair and a tiny mustache, Pierre Leduc was straight from central casting for a French maître d’. Holding a stack of menus, he tipped his head toward the kitchen.
A problem already? It’s barely eleven.Christopher shook off the thought. Whatever crisis arose, he could solve it. He always did. Now his wife was back, and he could make amends with the biggest outstanding issue in his life—his marriage.
He strode to the swinging door, restraining himself from whistling. He didn’t want to startle the employees with a cheery tune and good mood. Instead, he schooled his features into a calm mask and followed his longtime employee into the bustling kitchen. Chopping knives, rushing water, and time calls bounced off the walls from every direction. Add in the melting butter, frying eggs, and baking bread, and Christopher’s stomach growled again, this time louder than the other-worldly moans echoing over the water.
Pierre stopped inside the door and thrust the menus forward. “Have you looked at these?”
Christopher shook his head and then frowned at himself. “I haven’t inspected the box, no. I verified the order before we sent it to the printer.” He grabbed the stack.
Typically, he didn’t miss a single detail. The delivery had arrived in the chaos of the funeral, and he’d forgotten to check the boxes. He opened the first leather portfolio. His heart dropped. The new menus were printed off-center. He could kick himself. He’d lost a couple days of fixing a problem because his focus wavered.
“As you can see, Monsieur, the product is unacceptable,” Pierre said, sniffing.
It wasn’t the worst oversight. Most guests wouldn’t notice. But the spacing would bug Christopher. He’d know and remember every time he passed the restaurant. For the perfectionist maître d’, the menus would not pass muster, either.
Christopher had taken the resort’s business to a family-run print shop in town for years. The company, Print Your Way, was under the son’s management after the tragic loss of the father due to a short illness a year earlier. Clearly, Christopher had to keep a better watch as the printer worked through growing pains, not a totally unexpected occurrence as yet another generational hand off occurred. Add in the new boss’s side projects, drumming up interest in a lake monster and a burgeoning motivational sticker business, and it wasn’t surprising that errors happened.
Christopher nodded. “Apologies.”
Pierre tipped his head, mollified. The Frenchman took any error as a personal slight.
Christopher would fix the problem like he always did. He was a walking fire extinguisher and a compass all in one, putting out flames and guiding the lost in the right direction. His skills weren’t always appreciated, but he carried on, undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm or gratitude. “I’ll take care of this right now,” Christopher said, meeting the gaze of the maître d’. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“Of course.” Pierre nodded. “I’ll have your order of oatmeal delivered to your office.”
“Actually, can you get me the waffle special?” Christopher licked his lips. He could almost taste the syrup.
Pierre turned and snapped at a server. “Waffles for the boss.”
Christopher backed out of the busy kitchen and continued to the employee-only hallway with the spiral staircase in the corner. He jogged up the steps to the top of the building, smiling to himself once he was out of view. While he had missed something during an understandably tense few days, how much would she miss? Ashley wasn’t known for her attention to detail.
Did she intend to kick him out and take over the resort? She was kidding herself if she thought running the Inn was easy. He’d be curious to watch her try.
With his steps ringing on every metal riser, he opened a door and let himself into his top-floor office space. He had converted the attics into more guest accommodation and created an office and apartment for himself. Striding past the large partner’s desk, he dropped the stack of menus onto the inset leather top. He’d call the printer and have the situation handled in minutes. His years of experience were invaluable and made the work look simple. Every single day, he handled problems of various sizes. Amid the chaos of hospitality, he remained unflappable.
He crossed the room toward the seating area near the window overlooking the lake and the lighthouse. He probably had binoculars somewhere. Not that he’d be able to spot her inside the building.
Her official return was five days too late to claim the resort, unless he abandoned the Inn. Regardless of the details, he had no intention of leaving. He’d worked too hard for too long, sacrificing a lot along the way. But now, maybe, they could both find a different path forward. They could find a resolution to their strained situation. They could let go of each other and move on for good.
He sank into one of the leather club chairs, slumping against the back. He’d hoped she’d have arrived in time for the funeral. His mind had tricked him into thinking she had.
Xavier hadn’t left specific instructions regarding his burial but general guidelines. He detested the idea of rotting in a coffin in the ground. Instead, he had asked to be tossed in the lake with no religious rites. Christopher didn’t dump a body into the icy waters like Xavier had suggested off-hand at one point. Instead, Christopher had the man cremated and welcomed the townsfolk to the shore, giving everyone the chance to say their goodbyes without any doctrinal ceremony. As he had stood at the front, the breeze had blown off the lake, carrying a hint of his wife’s perfume past his nose. But when he had turned, he hadn’t spotted any secret mourners grieving behind the trees.
Leaning forward, he dug his elbows into his thighs. The change in posture didn’t improve his view of the lighthouse. Short of knocking on the door and letting himself inside, he wouldn’t get visual confirmation of his suspicions.
