Excuse yourself

“I’ll leave you to it,” you say, taking a step back toward the double doors. “I’ll be downstairs at the main desk if you need anything at all. Once you’re ready, I can grab your bags and drop them off at your cabin.”

Jean gives a faint, noncommittal nod, his charcoal moving in long, rhythmic strokes across the paper. Lily smiles over the rim of her tea mug, her unbuttoned pink striped silk shirt shifting slightly as she gives you a warm nod. “Thanks, Mark.”

You head downstairs, the quiet scrape of Jean’s charcoal fading behind you as you reach the ground level. The main lodge is quiet, saved only for the steady, heavy drumming of rain against the roof and the crackle of the wood-burning stove near the front desk. Sitting down behind the counter, you pull out a stack of guest ledgers and supply invoices, settling into the routine istrative paperwork.

Roughly thirty minutes in peaceful solitude.

Then, the soft bare-foot padding of steps echoes down the wooden staircase. You look up to see Lily coming down, her movement lively and light on the treads. She has kept on the pink striped silk set, the buttoned shirt still resting loosely open over her torso, fluttering with each step as she rounds the landing.

“Hey, Mark,” she says, leaning her forearms over the edge of the front desk and resting her chin on her hands. She sighs, a dramatic, playful little breath. “Jean is completely in the zone. I spoke to him twice and I don’t think he even realized I was in the room.”

“Occupational hazard with artists,” you remark, sliding a ledger aside.

“Tell me about it,” she chuckles, pushing herself off the desk and looking around the open lounge. “I’m bored out of my mind. Is there a TV around here?”

“Not here in the lobby,” you reply, shaking your head slightly. “We keep the main lodge quiet. There’s a flat screen over in your cabin, though.”

Lily turns her head toward the massive glass front doors, watching the relentless downpour turn the gravel driveway into a muddy creek. She shivers exaggeratedly, crossing her arms over her chest, a gesture that presses her open striped shirt slightly tighter against her sides.

“Ugh, no way,” she says, laughing softly. “I am not walking back out into that torrential flood just to watch cable. I just got dry.”

You gesture with your pen toward the stone fireplace across the room. Beside it stands a tall, built-in oak bookcase packed tight with rows of worn hardcovers, paperbacks, and stacked board games.

“If you’re stuck inside, check out the bookcase by the fire,” you suggest. “There’s a bit of everything over there, novels, local history, cards, and some classic board games.”

Lily’s eyes light up as she looks toward the warm glow of the hearth. “Oh, perfect,” she says, padding over in her bare feet toward the shelves.