Page 56 of Delicious (Delicious #1)
Chapter Three
Nate
W alking through the back door to Buxton Estate, memories begin to surface. The carpet is the same dark wine color, patterned with some kind of red flower, and in stunning contrast with the striped dark green and gold wallpaper, it gives it an almost regal feel. I remember being about twelve, running through this hallway and steamrolling out to the yard with another boy. I can’t see his face clearly, but my stomach does a weird swirly thing. The scent of sugar fills my nose and my stomach growls again. I should have stopped to grab a bite to eat on the way, but I was making good time, and at least now, I can grab dinner here and check out if the food is any good.
Another memory surfaces. One of me and this same boy again, sneaking treats from the kitchen. He is a little clearer now in my mind, with a mess of curly blond hair and a big dimpled smile.
I stroll up the hall, taking in the countless photos that pepper the wall on my right. They’re mostly shots of what I assume are guests of the hotel standing in front of the estate over the years, but there are a few of the grounds themselves, too, of the small vineyard alive with grapevines, and the large oak with unbroken tire swing sitting proudly in manicured lawns.
“Mom?” I pause at a portrait of a group of children sitting on the front steps of the estate. It is definitely my mother. She’s got to be barely six in the photo, though, and I’m guessing one of the boys seated around her is Jack. I pull out my phone and snap a pic, sending it off to Mom.
NATE:
You’ve barely aged a day. Xoxo.
MOM:
You’re sweet but a terrible liar. How was the drive?
NATE:
Not too bad.
MOM:
If you decide to keep the place, maybe I’ll visit in the spring.
NATE:
I’m here to find this Remigius person and convince them to sell, nothing more. I have no clue how to run a hotel.
MOM:
You had no clue how to play baseball either until you gave it a go and look how that turned out.
Yeah. Exactly, I feel like messaging back. Look how fucking messed up that turned out. All that work and all that effort and time spent on becoming the best baseball player I could be, and for what? To just have it ripped away from me when it was just getting good. I don’t send that back, though. My shoulder throbs, and I massage the muscle, hoping it will ebb the ache that seems to always be there. It doesn’t.
NATE:
Love you. See you at home in a few days.
MOM:
Love you more!
I follow the hallway, listening to the floor beneath me creak with every step until I turn the corner and freeze when I lay eyes on the back of the main door. The light from outside is cascading through the stained glass window and throwing a rainbow of colors through the space.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” a woman’s voice asks, startling me, and I turn toward her. She’s an older woman, maybe sixties, with graying curly hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She’s not wearing any makeup, but she has this classically beautiful look to her like they had in old movies. She looks familiar, but I just can’t be sure after all these years away.
“Umm, sure, yeah, it is. I saw it from the outside, but it didn’t even occur to me it would look like this on the inside.”
“There is much about this place that will surprise you, Mr. Buxton.”
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, we have been expecting you.”
Of course. I emailed a few days ago, letting them know I was coming.
“Right. I booked a room.”
“Yes, but we’ve also met before. You were probably too young to remember. My name is Seline, and I worked with your uncle for many years. So sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I say, though it doesn’t sit well. I hardly knew my uncle. I should probably give my condolences to her; she probably feels the loss more than I do. I try to remember her from when I would visit here as a child, and a fuzzy memory resurfaces of me and that same fucking boy running around her as she hangs large white sheets on the line out back. Then she’s not hanging them anymore, she’s chasing us playfully through them like they’re a maze. What is his name and why are all my memories of this place involving him?
“Seline, yes. I remember. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“I can show you to your uncle’s suite if you would like to shower and change before dinner?”
“My uncle’s what now?”
“His room. It’s much larger than the others, and given we have some bookings this weekend and were unsure how long you might be staying, we thought it would be best to set you up in there.”
“I won’t be staying too long. I’m just here to…” It’s maybe not the best idea to tell her exactly why I came. “Sort some things out.”
She nods and smiles, gesturing toward the right.
“If you’ll follow me.”
I let her lead me down toward the main stairs, but instead of going up, she slips down beside them to open a door set underneath.
“Jack’s room is under the stairs?” I ask as she turns the ornately decorated gold knob. You would think I would remember that. Except, there was probably no reason for me to be going into Uncle Jack’s room when I was a kid.
“It is. Was. Sorry. That will take some getting used to.”
She pushes open the door, and it’s nothing like what I was expecting. The door might be set under the stairs, but it’s just where the entry is. A coat rack built into a wall greets us, with an antique mirror speckled by age reflecting the bags under my eyes from the long drive. I thought I handled it well, but my face disagrees.
She turns right at the rack, and I follow into a wide-open space. The odd long window I had seen when parking out back is right above where a gold metal-framed bed is set up with fresh white linens and far too many pillows for a single person to ever need. But I guess they set it up for me like it’s a hotel room and hotels always have way too many pillows.
“We’ve reserved a table for you for dinner. Seating is at six.”
“Seating?”
“Yes, we have a set four-course menu. I don’t remember you having any allergies. Is that correct?”
“Nope. I’ll eat pretty much anything.”
“Good. Chef Remigius is making your uncle’s favorite dessert tonight.”
“ Chef Remigius?”
“Our dessert chef. Hmm, I expect you two will have lots to talk about after dinner service. The staff may be nervous, but I’m excited to see what you two make of this place.”
So Remigius is a chef. My uncle left half of this place to a chef on his staff. I wonder why. Could I even ask this Remigius, though? Would he tell me? Maybe it’s one of those situations where some young person cons an old guy into leaving them all his money? I let out a small laugh and shake the thought away. I’ve watched way too many movies over the last year.
“Umm, thanks, Seline. I’ll see you at six then.”
“It’s good to have you here. Your uncle would be happy you came. He always said you’d be back here one day.”
“He did, huh?”
She nods, offering that same sweet, knowing smile before leaving me to my uncle’s room.
There’s not a lot to the space. It’s simple but cozy with a large desk against the far-right wall, and around the corner of the coat rack, there’s another door leading to the bathroom. I pull my bag along with me, locking it before turning on the water.
Thankfully, the water pressure in this place is good, but I doubt the heat is continuous, so I stay just long enough for the heat to ease the ache in my shoulder, if only a little.
Showered and changed, I finger through a few papers on Uncle Jack’s desk. It’s mostly old invoices and a few past check-in diaries. Judging by these books, I don’t know how the lawyer valued this place so high. With numbers like these, they have to be barely breaking even. Or it costs less to run this place than I think. I check the time. Not long now. I should head down for dinner. The hotel was eerily quiet when I arrived, but now the halls echo with conversations and laughter.
Seline waits for me by the dining room door and smiles that easy smile of hers when she sees me.
“Right this way, Mr. Bux?—”
“Nate is fine,” I say, and she nods and leads me toward a table near the back.
“Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thank you, umm, I’m sorry, but I should have asked, what is it you do here, Seline?” I ask, gesturing to the seat opposite me for her to sit. She pauses for a moment, but then pulls out the chair and sits opposite me.
“I manage the housekeeping staff and reservations.”
“Oh, cool. So how are the reservations for this place?”
“We fill up over the spring and summer. Winter is quieter, though with the specialty desserts, even during winter, dinner is usually fully booked each night.”
“Specialty desserts?”
“It’s easier for you to see them for yourself. The first course will be delivered shortly. I should probably check on the staff,” she says, rising from her chair. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’d like to meet with Chef Remigius after dinner, if that’s okay?”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you. He’ll be excited to start planning the future of the estate.”
“He will?”
“Oh, yes. Remigius loves this place as much as Jack did. Jack saw his heart was here,” she says, letting her gaze scan the room, and it’s like she’s looking at an old friend. What if I convince them to sell and she has to leave here? What if they all have to? “I guess that’s why he left it partly to him, too, so that he would always have it. I can have Remigius meet you in your room after dinner?”
“No. I mean. Umm, here is fine. I’ll stay back when service is finished.”
“Very well. I’ll let him know now,” she says and heads behind a wooden swinging door into the kitchen. I get a glimpse of the space, and of the golden curls of a man in a white jacket before the door swings closed.