Page 35 of The Legend of Lovers Hollow
Morgan is back here where he belongs, and even though it’s still early days for us, it’s going well. It would be nice to have a little time off so we can spend it really getting to know each other, but there’s so much to do with the hotel.
I glance around the room and feel the happiness fill me. I’m surrounded by the people I adore and brilliant new guests, and we’ve got an exciting weekend ahead of us. We’re going to do this, I just know we are. The Ashton-Drake is going to be saved, I feel it right down to my bones.
“I think it’s going well so far.” Wally walks up next to me, holding an empty tray. “Everyone is so nice.”
“I’ve never had a mingle with cocoa and cookies before,” Warren says from the other side of me. “Usually, a mingle means cocktails, bad decisions, and a whole lot of post-dawn regret.”
Wally snorts quietly. “What should I do now, Ellis?”
“You can go see if Dilys wants you to stack the dirty mugs for her in the dishwasher,” I reply, and he frowns.
“But she doesn’t talk. How am I supposed to know her answer?”
“If she glares at you, it’s a definite no, a frown is a maybe, and if she ignores you, go ahead.”
He shoots me a puzzled look. “Is there a difference between a glare and a frown?”
“Spend an hour with my brother, and you’ll be an expert,” Warren says dryly, and I nudge him with my shoulder.
“Morgan is just perfect the way he is,” I state with great conviction.
“I know.” He nods as his gaze sweeps the room. “But not many people recognise that.”
“I, er, I guess I’ll go help Dilys then,” our newest member of staff says, his tone a little hesitant.
“You’ll get used to Dilys,” I assure him. “She’s really not that complicated. You’ll be able to read her like a book before you know it.”
“Okay, then.” He takes a fortifying breath as if bracing himself.
We watch as he crosses the room towards the bar, but halfway there, he somehow manages to trip over his own feet, smack himself in the face with his serving tray, and end up in a heap in front of John the Maid.
John gives an exasperated sigh. With one hand, he reaches down and effortlessly lifts Wally to his feet without so much as rattling the full tray of cookies he has in the other.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Essie exclaims loudly at the sight of blood fountaining from Wally’s nose. “Here you go.” She hands him a dainty white handkerchief. “Best put a spot of ice on that, dear.” She indicates his nose, which seems to be rapidly swelling.
“A spot?” Martha, huffs. “More like a bucketful. I’ve never known anyone to fall over as much as you. If this carries on, we’ll have to loan you Mr Clutterbuck’s Zimmer frame.”
She glances over her shoulder to one of our other new guests, Victor Clutterbuck, our nearly ninety-year-old escape artist who’s currently hiding out here from his daughter. He’s sat hunched in one of the velvet bucket chairs with the aforementioned walking frame parked beside him. He seems to be deep in conversation with Cedric, who is sitting opposite him on one of the sofas, but it’s hard to tell as Mr Clutterbuck appears to have forgotten to put in his top set of dentures, leaving his upper lip collapsed in slightly and bottom lip sticking out, which gives him a somewhat belligerent pout.
“I’m fine. It’s juss my dose,” Wally says, gingerly pressing Essie’s now wrecked hankie to his nose and soaking it in blood.
I really hope she wasn’t expecting to get that back.
“I’ll take that.” Rosie makes her way over to John and takes the cookie tray. “Do you want to take him somewhere quiet so he can ice his nose?” She looks at Wally and winces at how quickly the area under his eyes is starting to swell.
He nods and, without a word, scoops Wally up into his arms bridal-style.
“Jodn, pud me down. I’m too heavy,” Wally protests, clearly a little self-conscious at the extra padding he’s carrying. I think he looks perfect though, so cuddly and cute.
“Please,” he scoffs. “I’ve carried packs heavier than you while running a full assault course in tactical gear.”
Hmmm, funny how John the Maid doesn’t correct Wally when he calls him just John.
Wally stares up at him, his mouth slightly agape, and something like stars in his eyes.
“Uh-oh.” Warren chuckles beside me. “Looks like someone’s got a crush on GI John the Iron Maid.”
I snort loudly, then blush when several people turn to look at me. “Behave,” I whisper to Warren out of the corner of my mouth, trying to look professional but failing miserably as the smile tugs at my lips.