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Sam and Louisa eye Noelle warily, perched on the edges of the sofa cushions. Noelle takes their coats and hangs them on the rack by the door.
Once the fire’s going, I set about making an Italian-style hot chocolate, figuring someone with the last name Valentino might appreciate the attention to detail.
Noelle runs upstairs to grab them some clean blankets off the spare beds. I hand Sam and Louisa each a steaming mug of hot chocolate, so thick it’s practically pudding.
Louisaoohsandahhsover how cozy the room feels and how nice the tree is. Once they taste the hot chocolate, the concerns they came in with melt away. They’re all smiles as they snuggle by the fire.
"We'll let you know about the water-heater situation as soon as the owner calls with an update," Noelle says.
Back at the front desk, I rest my hands on Noelle’s waist and pull her close for a kiss.
"You're really good at this,” I tell her. “I guarantee, if you weren’t here, that couple would’ve packed their bags and driven off half an hour ago.”
She smiles. “I just really like helping people solve problems. And don’t sell yourself short. That hot chocolate looked amazing.”
“Good thing there’s plenty more where that came from.”
She grins as I hand her the cup of hot chocolate I saved just for her.
We hang out at the front desk, watching the snow fall outside, occasionally checking back to see if the cozy couple needs a refill or another log on the fire. I park my hand on Noelle’s back, under her sweater, still in awe of her people skills. I’m about to suggest she change her major to hospitality when another guest calls for dinner recommendations. Noelle jumps on the front desk’s computer, happy to perform a Google search any guest could easily do on their smartphone.
My dad calls about forty minutes later with news about the water heater.
“I’m in the middle of draining the tank,” he says. “I can replace the inner coil, but it’s gonna take a while for the water to empty.”
Noelle passes the message along to Sam and Louisa, who say it shouldn’t be a problem since they have dinner reservations in the next town over. However, an hour later, the snowfall doesn’t appear to be slowing down.
If anything, it’s only gotten heavier.
“I don’t know if we should risk it,” Louisa says. “The car only has all-season tires.”
“I guess we could try ordering take-out,” Sam says. “Though it’s not exactly the Christmas Eve we planned for.”
Noelle shoots me a curious expression, then asks under her breath, “Could you cook for them?”
“In theory, yeah,” I say. “My dad has a chest freezer where he keeps meat and veggies. I could probably have a first course ready in an hour.”
“Do it,” she says. “I’ll pitch it to them.”
I head to the basement just as Noelle begins to suggest they stay in for dinner. My dad doesn’t cook much on his own, but he lets Frida store root vegetables and canned goods on the shelves. I find a sack of potatoes and some onions, plus a few packets of ground beef in the freezer. I scour the kitchen cupboards for seasonings and other ingredients. Dried rosemary, jars of chicken and beef bullion, canned pumpkin. I’d prefer cream to the half n’ half in the fridge, but I know I can use cream cheese in a pinch.
Noelle sets the dining table for two, complete with candles and my Gram’s old fabric napkins that I wasn’t even aware my dad still had.
In an hour, I’ve prepared pumpkin soup with caramelized onion relish and homemade potato crisps. Thirty minutes after that, Noelle is laying down plates of meatloaf with roasted carrots, mashed potatoes and a creamy red-wine reduction. For dessert, I decide to skip the chocolate and whip up a few individual no-bake pumpkin cheesecakes with a granola-almond crust.
My dad steps through the front door at the same time the phone rings in the lobby. Noelle runs out to answer it.
“That might’ve been the best meatloaf I’ve ever had,” Sam says, laying down his fork.
Louisa nods. “It’s certainly the best meal we’ve had on this trip.”
“Hot water heater’s fixed,” my dad says, eyeing their empty plates with interest. “Looks like my crew took good care of you.”
“They were wonderful,” Louisa says. “The young woman at the front desk, Noelle was it? She was so polite and accommodating. Don’t let that one slip through your fingers, young man.”
I smile, my face a few degrees hotter than the rest of me. “No, ma’am.”
“I have to say,” Sam says, “I was doubtful when the young lady suggested you were gonna cook for us. But you surprised me, and that’s not an easy thing to do.” Sam reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a business card. “I own a few restaurants on the West Coast. In fact, I just opened a new one in Los Angeles. If you ever need a job, call me.”
