Page 18 of Counting Down To You

“Now it’s some abstract nonsense,” the gray-haired sister sniffs.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say immediately—without any clue what I’ll be able to do.

“Would you?” The blond sister beams up at me. “It was very soothing, that other painting.”

“Absolutely,” I say. I’ll look in all the other rooms, see if there’s a painting matching the right description and swap them. “And what about today—do you both have plans to be on the slopes all day?”

“We’ll be back around midafternoon, I expect,” the blond one says. Her smile turns a little sly as she looks at her sister. “Louisa will need her afternoon nap before dinner.” Louisa! Okay, so the gray-haired one is Louisa. Which means this must be Betty.

Louisa huffs. “We’ll be aiming for dinner around six-thirty. I don’t like to go to sleep on a full stomach. Most people eat later around here we’ve learned, but you’ll make sure our table’s available?”

“Of course.”

“Oh!” Betty puts her coffee cup down for emphasis. “Last year we had these gorgeous appetizers on our first night, do you remember Lou?” Louisa frowns. “You do remember,” Betty insists. “They weren’t on the menu. But they were these mini eclairs I think, not sweet, I want to say they had goat cheese in them?”

“Yes,” Louisa says with a nod. “That’s right. Oh, they had the best texture. And they were pink, I think? We’d love some of them when we get back from our ski?”

“I’ll check with the kitchen now,” I say, following the only solid piece of advice I’ve been given about this job: keep the guests happy.

“Thanks, angel,” says Betty.

I leave them as one of the waiters appears with two plates, one with a fresh fruit salad, the other with smoked salmon on the thinnest toast I’ve ever seen. I’m trying to stay calm as I push the door open to the kitchen, but my face must be telling a whole other story.

“What is it?” Elodie demands from her position by the plating area. It’s all white-tiled in here, with stainless-steel surfaces that quite literally gleam. There are only two chefs at work, one looking over curiously from behind the plating area, the other stirring something on a stove at the back.

I focus on Elodie, who is wearing just as much jewelry as yesterday, the studs in her ears glinting under the bright light. “The Carmichaels want eclairs for later,” I say, though rather than it coming out as a confident demand, it sounds like a pathetic whisper.

Get a bloody grip, Ali. We’re talking about eclairs here.

Elodie’s perfectly shaped eyebrows pull together. “Eclairs?” She glances at the chef behind the plating area. He has red hair and a wooden spoon sticks out of the top pocket of his white jacket. “Well, I’m sure we can—”

“Not just eclairs. They had these specific eclairs last year. Mini eclairs,” I correct. “They were savory, possibly with goat cheese and maybe pink.” I hold up my hands in apology. “That’s all I’ve got. But they want them when they get back from skiing today.”

Elodie purses her lips, glances at the chef again.

“Could be the beetroot and goat cheese?” he suggests. “We haven’t done them this year, but didn’t Marco go wild on the eclairs last year for a bit?”

Elodie nods slowly. “You’re right. I’ll check with him.” She smiles at me. “We will sort it. You make sure you tell us when they’re back, and we’ll plate them up ready for when they’ve showered and changed.”

My breath whooshes out of me. “Thank you.”

Elodie laughs a little. “It’s what we’re here for, chérie.” So far, she seems to be one of the only French people working at a French hotel, although several people can speak it.

The red-haired chef grins at me. “You must be new here.”

I start to pull a hand through my hair, remember I put it up, and stop myself. “That obvious?”

“Yes, but also—you’re clearly new here.” He grins again. “You coming to Loop later?”

“Loop?”

“It’s a bar. We’re all going after the dinner shift. Well, most of us. It’s Charlotte’s birthday. Her twenty-first, in fact.” Ah, Charlotte, with the curly hair and the lack of tact. So, I was right about her age, then. “There’s live music and everything tonight. Should be a blast. I can take you, if you like?”

Before I have a chance to think of an easy way to say no to that, Elodie picks up a tea towel and throws it at him. He catches it one-handed. “Leave her alone, Nick. You don’t need to hit on everyone who walks through the door.”

“I’m not hitting on her. I’m being friendly.” He gives her a sly look. “You’d know the difference if you got out a bit.”

Elodie makes a tch sound at the back of her throat, one that would definitely not sound as impressive if I tried it. “Well, this is Brooks’s girl. Be a little more careful, n’est-ce pas?”