The Roche Hotel (Sweet Romantic Comedy): Season Two Page 4

  The Roche Hotel #17

  Snowplows Are a Girl’s Best Friend

  Snow is piled up in mini-mountains all across the parking lot. Thank God for snow plows. I’m standing at the window in Room 10, watching our hero plowman clear the path to freedom so I can get away from Nick for a few hours. Henry’s sleeping peacefully on his back, one hand up over his head. His clothes are scattered across the floor with mine.

  I didn’t think it could be possible for him to look any more handsome, but he’s plumb beautiful. If a modern Michelangelo had needed a model for David, he’d have hired Henry. Of course the hotel’s David is now headless, though I did see Jerry with a caulking gun and a tube of industrial strength glue before I retired for the night. David may be resurrected after all.

  At least Nick had offered to man the front desk so I could get some sleep. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think that was a chivalrous gesture, but Nick doesn’t do chivalrous. Nick does what benefits Nick. He’s a brownnoser, all right, and entirely too ambitious. He’ll be gunning for Richard’s job before long. He wants me back, too, not because he loves me, that much I know. But, because he thinks I belong to Henry.

  The joke’s on him, because I’m not even sure where I belong yet. After last night’s text from Henry’s ex, I’m still uneasy, not to mention self-conscious. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to cut back on the donuts.

  A pair of arms slides around my waist, startling a gasp from me.

  “Man, I’m glad to see him,” Henry says sleepily as he watches the miracle of snow removal.

  “No kidding.”

  “You’re up early—why don’t you sleep a little while longer?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six o’clock. Thanks for keeping me company.” He hugs me tighter and kisses my bare shoulder. “I love you.”

  The kiss and his whispered declaration stop my heart for a second. He’s told me that a couple times before. I have yet to say it back. The words sound great in my head, along with a Sound of Music frolic along a mountainside, running with wild abandon into Henry’s waiting arms. But this is reality, where my ex-husband and Henry’s ex-fiancée, a barely-making-ends-meet job and a mother in a nursing home are enough to stifle the L word until I’m sure it won’t blow up in my face.

  Thankfully the desk buzzes, or rather, Henry’s cell, saving me from the uncomfortable silence. It’s “Hermann’s Bakery” on the ID.

  Henry lets me go with a sigh and picks up the phone. “Yeah, Pop. Yeah, I’m still at the Roche. The snow plow’s come through. How’s it looking around there? OK, I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  He puts the phone down and retrieves his pants, sliding into them. Such a shame—he looks amazing in Levis, but he’s completely drool-worthy without them.

  “You sure that wasn’t Anne?” I ask as Henry slips on his shirt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I gesture him to come closer so I can button it for him…slowly.

  “Promise. I’m getting my locks changed, and she won’t set foot in my place again. I told her not to call me anymore and blocked her number.”

  “Wow, you’re hardcore.”

  He smiles as I work my way down his shirt. “You’re worth it.”

  “Thanks.” I finish with the last button and let my hands linger on his trim waist.

  “Thank you for letting me borrow your car. I’ll pick you up soon as I make my delivery rounds. You up for the bingo tournament at Shady Serenity?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Grandpa and Nina are the reigning champs.”

  “That’s nice, but I’m still not sure Mom’s ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “A serious relationship.”

  “Jane, really? They’re not spring chickens. I think they’ll be OK.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Mom isn’t herself anymore. She doesn’t know who I am half the time. How can she judge what’s best for her?”

  “You can trust her with Grandpa. He was married to my grandma for fifty-some years and loved her like crazy. He never showed interest in any other woman until he met your mom. I think he loves her.”

  He stares hard at me, and I know why. It’s not the elderly romance he’s upset about, but my reluctance to tell him what he wants to hear.

  He bends down, kisses my cheek, and says, “Not every man is a jerk. Maybe one day you’ll realize that.” Picking up his keys, he goes to the door. “Gotta run. Donuts are calling.”

  ****

  By 7:00, I’m showered, dressed, and in the lobby. Sure enough, David’s back on his pedestal with a wicked-looking scar around his neck that could rival Frankenstein’s monster. Carol’s at the front desk, talking on the phone. She waves and smiles like she knows I hibernated with Henry, or maybe it’s because she and Jerry were doing the same. The thought makes me shudder.

  Henry’s already delivered fresh donuts—bless him—but I hesitate over the donut case until my stomach growls, demanding its daily dose of fried carbs. I take one chocolate iced and vow to not have seconds. With my donut and coffee in hand, I step into the office. Nick is sitting at the desk. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, but manages to pierce me with an I-know-what-you-did-last-night look.

  “Sleep well, babe?” The question slithers from his mouth and buzzes in my ear like a wayward fly.

  “Very,” I answer with a smile. “Thanks for manning the desk. Hopefully all was quiet.”

  “Some of our guests were noisy.”

  My cheeks burn hot, because I know what he is implying, though I’m sure Henry and I were quiet. I take a bite of donut and swallow it down with coffee so hot it burns my esophagus.

  “He can’t take care of you like I can.”

  “He’s doing just fine, thank you.” I probably have icing on my teeth, but I grin wickedly anyway.

  “I got you something.” He pulls a key from his pocket and dangles the Mercedes keychain in front of me like a kitty’s jingle ball.

  “What the heck is that?”

  “Keys,” he says slowly as though I’ve never seen such a thing before. “To your new car.”

  “My what?!”

  “Your car is a clunker. You can have mine. I’m getting a company car.”

  “A company car? How can Richard afford that?” I’ve never wanted to throw lava-hot coffee on anyone so badly in my life. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care.”

  I try to make my escape to the lobby to wait for Henry to pick me up, but Nick jumps in front of me, blocking the doorway.

  “I should have gotten you this and more when we were married, and I’m sorry, babe.”

  If I didn’t know better…oh, crap, maybe he really is sorry. That shiny keychain in his hand tempts me to believe him. My car is basically nothing more than a glorified go-cart.

  But it runs, and it’s not tainted with Nick germs.

  “I do need a new car.” He hands me the key, but I toss it on the desk. “But I’ll pass…babe.”

  Retreating to the lobby, I wait by the door for my ride, relieved that I overcame temptation. Taking anything from Nick would be a slap in the face to Henry, and I love Henry too much to do that.

  Even if I can’t say it out loud just yet.

  Episode #18

  The British are Coming!

  I pull into the parking lot at 2:59 p.m., right on time for my night shift. Though tempted to call in sick, I decided against it. It would make me look weak, like blood in the water for my shark of an ex-husband. Witnessing my argument with Henry had been enough incentive for Nick to rev up his get-me-back plans. Of course, he’s wasting his time, but I don’t need the hassle. I need to sort out my feelings for Henry and where he fits into my life.

  At least it’s warm for a December morning, so the chances of getting snowed in again are slim. Our recent snowpocalyse is melting at an incredible rate. Tiny rivers from the shrinking snow piles make an obstacle course of tributaries across the parking lot. I step carefully over them, almost making it to the d
oor when my foot lands in a misleadingly shallow puddle.

  “Ugh.” Gritty water soaks through my knee-high stocking. I’ll have to take it off, or I’ll go nuts. Maybe no one will notice if I’m barefoot for a while behind the front desk.

  Inside, I wipe my feet and hear wheezing. No one’s in the lobby, except Carol, who has her keys in one hand and an Avon catalog in the other. I peer through the open office door. Of all the weird things I’ve seen at The Roche Hotel, I’ve never seen anyone hyperventilate. Until today.

  Poor Richard is hunched over the office desk, inflating and deflating a paper bag with each wheezy breath.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Carol.

  She fans herself with her catalog and swoops in about two inches from my face. “It all started with a phone call. Richard was mulling over some sales figures. Nick took the call, hung up, and whispered something into Richard’s ear. Whatever Nick said got him all worked up. I don’t trust that guy.”

  I gain a new respect for Carol’s judgment. Most women fawn all over Nick, with his dark hair and eyes and that over-confident swagger.

  Carol giggles. “He does have a nice butt, though.”

  My Respect-for-Carol meter dips a couple notches, but I can’t fault her for appreciating a nice butt.

  “I have to run. Jerry’s taking me to the opera tonight. It’s all in French, though, so he’ll have to translate for me.”

  “Jerry knows French?”

  “Oh, yes, he’s fluent in several languages. He looks nice in a tux, too. Well, good luck, Jane.”

  “Thanks. Have fun with Jerry.”

  Carol hurries to her car, while I try to picture our sasquatch maintenance man in a tux or anything other than blue coveralls. Hopefully, she’ll get pictures.

  I venture to the office door. Susan is standing over Richard, patting his back. “Richie, honey, calm down. What on earth happened?”

  Nick grins, fists at his hips like he’s been promoted to superhero.

  “Prince,” Richard wheezes. “Here. Prince.”

  Susan’s jaw drops. “Really? Wow, I didn’t know you were a fan. We’ll get concert tickets, Richie, just calm down.”

  “No, not Prince the singer,” Nick says. “The prince. Prince Harry.”

  “Oh.” She blinks a few times as the information sinks in. “Why, that’s wonderful! I heard he was in town, but…why would he come here?”

  “Why not? We’re the best hotel in town.”

  Susan and Richard both give him a “Yeah, right” look.

  “It’s true. Look at all the improvements we’ve made.” He catches sight of me and winks. “I mean, you had the smarts to hire Jane and me. We have a week, and I have an idea. Why don’t we decorate with a Tudor theme? Costumes for everyone. Tapestries, a minstrel, candles and torches.”

  “We can’t have open flames,” Richard says, finally breathing at a normal rate.

  “Fine, we’ll improvise. We’ve got Jane Seymour already. I can be Henry.”

  Oh no, he didn’t! Tossing my purse onto the filing cabinet, I’m about to fly into Nick with all the reasons he can NOT be Henry.

  But, Susan beats me to it. “No, I think we should ask Henry Hermann to be Henry the Sixth.”

  “Eighth, darling,” Richard says.

  “Right. Henry made a fabulous king at the Halloween party. He and Jane were so cute together.”

  My Respect-for-Susan meter just pegged out.

  Nick’s face turns a boiling shade of red. I expect steam to spew from his ears.

  “Fine,” he hisses. “If he’s willing to do it, why not?”

  “Oh, he’ll be willing,” I say, hoping Henry doesn’t prove me wrong. “I’ll have him rent the costumes this afternoon.”

  “Great,” Richard says, dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handful of tissues. “Jane, I’m putting you in charge of decoration.”

  “Um…ok.” He must think my English Literature degree qualifies me for such an undertaking. I’ve never even been to Britain, contrary to Richard, who happens to be British. I’m also not sure why a Tudor theme would fit the Windsor dynasty. But, I don’t get paid for asking questions.

  ****

  In just a week, The Roche has been transformed into a Tudor manor. Sort of. I did the best I could with a $200 budget. Battery-powered lanterns with flame-shaped bulbs flicker on the tables and front desk. Old Oriental rugs from a garage sale hang on the wall to serve as tapestries. Hopefully Prince Harry won’t notice the cigarette burns.

  Henry and I are in costume as Henry VIII and Jane Seymour, of course. Then there’s our royal court, comprised of Richard, Susan, Carol and even Mrs. Roche, though she missed the mark by a few centuries. She looks more like Laura Ingalls in her prairie dress and bonnet than a Tudor era woman. Nick has adopted the role of minstrel and looks rather ridiculous in short pants, white tights and a hat with a drooping feather. He molests a poor lute, plucking the strings with vengeance while glaring at Henry and me.

  Henry plays the part well, lifting his plastic stein of root beer. “I do believe our minstrel’s bark is worse than his bite.”

  At 4:50 p.m., we wait on the sidewalk to welcome the royal visitor. Prince Harry should arrive any minute. We’ve been watching his motorcade on the breaking news reports, travelling from a kids’ hospital to a military base and a golf course just a mile away.

  “I forgot how itchy this thing is,” Henry whispers, scratching at his ruffed collar.

  Adjusting it for him, I decide to throw in a bit of trivia. “Did you know Prince Harry’s first name is actually Henry? Harry’s his nickname.”

  “Not much of a nickname,” he says, then kisses my cheek. “Hey, since you’re off tomorrow, how about you, me, and The Tudors on Netflix?”

  “You really know how to charm a girl.”

  “Oh, please.” Nick rolls his eyes. “I offer you a Mercedes, and you’re more impressed by soap operas with the Donut Guy?”

  “That should tell you something, don’t you think?” Henry downs the rest of his root beer and looks like he’s about ready to whack Nick upside the head with his plastic stein.

  “Settle down, boys.” I put my hand on his chest to keep the king from throttling the minstrel.

  A yellow cab pulls into the lot and stops in front of us.

  “Does the prince travel in a cab?” Susan asks.

  Nick shuffles his feet and scratches the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous. “Maybe he’s slumming it, trying to blend in.”

  The cab door opens, Richard starts wheezing again, and Nick bangs out a noisy tune on the lute. A red head emerges from the car. But the man it’s attached to isn’t Prince Harry, unless TV makes him look a lot more handsome than he really is. This man has a bulbous nose, sparse beard, and a very round belly. He actually looks more like Henry VIII instead of a modern-day royal.

  He pays the cabby and turns around, startled to see our costumed welcoming party.

  “What’s all this now?” he says in a decidedly Irish accent.

  “We’re awaiting Prince Harry’s arrival,” Richard wheezes.

  “Prince Harry?” The man starts laughing. “I think you’ve been duped.”

  “How so?” Richard says, sliding a skeptical eye toward Nick.

  “The name’s Harry Prince. Not a lick of royalty here, just a tired fellow who’d like to check in if you don’t mind. I do apologize, however, for the mix-up. My staff can be real jokesters. They like to make prank reservations, claiming that the real prince is coming. Causes a stir every time.”

  We all stare at Nick, who’s turned dinner-napkin pale. He plays a final chord on the lute, then BOING! A string breaks, bouncing pitifully down to his pantaloons. Everything’s quiet, until Henry cracks up with bellowing laughter. I can’t help but laugh too, not just because Nick’s proven himself an idiot, but after today, I doubt he’ll be promoted to manager any time soon.

  Episode #19

  All’s Fair in Love & TV

  At
7:15 a.m., Henry picks me up from work. We head to Shady Serenity Retirement Home to be with Mom and Grandpa for breakfast and Christmas Bingo. Today, the cafeteria would be serving blueberry scones that could serve as doorstops, so I decide to treat Mom to something soft and greasy instead.

  Henry and I are contemplating the breakfast menu at the McDonald’s drive thru when the cashier’s voice crackles to life over the intercom. Despite the upcoming holiday, he doesn’t sound the least bit jolly.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” he says in a tired monotone. “Welcome to McDonald’s. Can I interest you in our jingle bell berry parfait?”

  “What’s that?” Henry asks.

  “Um, it’s like yogurt and berries. I think there’s red and green sprinkles or somethin’. You want one?”

  “Sounds…good. But, no thanks.”

  Twenty minutes later, we pull into the parking lot at Shady Serenity with McMuffins, sausage biscuits, and coffee. A few snowflakes flurry from the clouds.

  “Wonder what the two lovebirds are up to this morning?” Henry asks, picking up the coffee tray.

  He means Mom and Julius, his grandpa, of course. I jerk up the food bags and get out of the car.

  Henry meets me on the sidewalk. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you worried about the lovebirds?”

  “Don’t call them that.”

  “Why not? They deserve to be happy.”

  “Never mind. Let’s deliver breakfast before Mom chips a tooth on the scones.”

  Mom and Julius are already in the dining room, holding hands on top of the table. Julius says something that makes Mom smile and laugh. She really does seem happy with him, but it still makes me uneasy.

  “Hey, Gramps!” Henry hugs Julius and plops a McMuffin in front of him. “Brought ya something you can chew.”

  “Appreciate that. I cracked a set of dentures last week on those darn scones.” He turns to Mom. “Hey Nina, aren’t Jane and Henry nice, thinking of us and our teeth?”

  Mom smiles at me, but she has that faraway look in her eyes. That means she recognizes my face, but it would take a few minutes for her to fully remember me. Does she even know Julius, or does he have to charm her all over again each day?