Page 51 of The Apple Cider Orchard

‘Almost done,’ Molly said, putting the finishing touches on her final arrangement. The collection of centerpieces stood ready – each unique but harmonious with the others, capturing the essence of autumn in their blending of textures and colors.

‘They’re beautiful,’ Eva said with genuine admiration. ‘Definitely in your blood.’

Molly smiled.

‘Speaking of blood,’ her friend continued, nodding towards the stage, ‘the young lads are warming up. I know they look like kids, but they’re actually really good. You’ll come back for the session later? Mostly just ourselves before the visitor invasion tomorrow.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ Molly smiled. ‘Just need to pop back and get changed.’

‘Same. I’ll meet you back at The Orchard Pub then. Just be sure to put your dancing shoes on, missus! We go all out tonight.’

As if on cue, the first notes of a banjo spiraled into the evening air, melancholy and joyful all at once. A perfect distillation of the feeling in Molly’s heart as she stood surrounded by flowers gathered from the same fields where her grandmother had once walked, preparing to celebrate a harvest her ancestors had marked for generations before her.

No longer just a tourist, and obviously not a local – but Molly was finding a space between those extremes where she might eventually belong.

Chapter 26

The Glen Arms Hotel lobby also hummed with festival energy as Molly pushed through the heavy oak door, bringing with her the crisp scent of evening air and the faintest trace of wildflowers from her work in the square.

The antique grandfather clock in the corner had just chimed seven, its sonorous tones reverberating through the wood-paneled walls that had witnessed generations of travelers passing through. Several suitcases were stacked near the reception desk, where Anna sorted through a chaotic pile of registration cards with the efficiency of someone accustomed to managing chaos with limited resources. The proprietor’s usually immaculate dark hair had escaped its professional updo in several places, giving her a slightly frazzled appearance that contrasted with her crisp white blouse.

‘Everything OK?’ Molly asked, and Anna rolled her eyes.

‘Siobhan’s called in sick – festival flu, I suspect, since her boyfriend’s playing in the band tonight.’

Molly unwound her scarf, draping it over the coat stand by the door. ‘Need a hand?’

Relief washed over Anna’s features. ‘You’re an angel. The festival rush is well and truly underway, I’ve got six check-ins waiting already. Haven’t even had time to put out the welcome drinks.’

‘On it,’ Molly said, already moving behind the reception desk as if she belonged there. ‘What else do you need me to do?’

Anna quickly explained the check-in process – a blend of traditional hospitality and necessary modernization. Guests would first be welcomed with a small glass of apple cordial, a festival tradition dating back generations. Their details would be entered into the computer system (which was prone to freezing if you typed too quickly, Anna warned), and then they would be escorted to their rooms by staff – or in tonight’s case, by Molly.

‘Most importantly, make them feel welcome,’ she concluded. ‘Like yourself, this is the first taste of Golden Valley for most. First impressions matter.’

Molly nodded, remembering her own rain-soaked arrival twelve days ago – how the hotel had seemed both foreign and oddly familiar, how Anna’s welcome had contained that curious mix of professional warmth and personal interest that characterized Irish hospitality.

It almost felt like months had passed since then.

The lobby filled gradually with new arrivals – an older couple from Dublin who’d been attending the festival for years; a group of young women from Cork, excited for their first visit; an elderly man who announced he’d been staying in the Ash Room every festival weekend since 1978 and expected the same service his late wife had always enjoyed.

Molly moved between them with growing confidence, pouring cordial into small crystal glasses, explaining festival highlights, answering questions about local attractions. The knowledge she’d absorbed over her stay flowed easily – which paths offered the best lake views, which pub served traditional music, where to find the best soda bread in the village. Information gathered from Eva, from Jack and Patrick, her own explorations – and perhaps, in some small way, from memories passed down through her grandmother’s stories.

‘You’re a natural,’ Anna murmured as they passed each other behind the desk. ‘Are you sure you haven’t worked in hospitality before?’

‘Lots of this stuff in marketing, really,’ Molly replied. ‘Different industry, same principle – make people feel they’ve made the right choice.’

Between arrivals, she helped Anna sort welcome baskets containing local products – small jars of honey, lavender sachets for pillows. The routine established itself quickly, a rhythm of welcomes and directions and key handovers that felt surprisingly satisfying in its immediacy. Unlike her work projects that often took months to show results, here the appreciation was instant – visible in the smiles of guests as they stepped into rooms with lake views, in their exclamations over the freshly cut flowers on bedside tables, in their evident delight at the small touches that distinguished the Glen Arms from generic chain hotels.

‘You’ve a good eye for the details,’ Anna observed as Molly refreshed a slightly wilted flower arrangement in the lobby. ‘Most people wouldn’t even notice that.’

She smiled. ‘You can tell everything about a place by how they tend to the little things.’

Anna nodded. ‘My mother says the very same.’

As if summoned by her daughter’s words, Brid herself appeared in the doorway connecting the Ryan family quarters to the hotel proper. Her silver-streaked hair was arranged in its usual elegant coiffure and tonight, she wore a deep burgundy dress. She paused on the threshold, her gaze falling immediately on Molly as she led a newly arrived couple toward the staircase.

‘The Rowan Room is on the second floor, third door on your right,’ Molly was saying, her posture unconsciously mimicking Anna’s professional stance. ‘The windows face west, so you’ll catch the sunset over the lake. If you need extra pillows or have any questions, just dial zero on the room phone.’