Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.
—Vincent van Gogh
Misty
I’d spent Monday and Tuesday nights consumed with worry, but thanks to Rocky coming to my rescue, I slept like a baby Wednesday night. Yeti did, too, curled up on the pillow beside me. A rumbling engine woke me just after eight o’clock Thursday morning. I opened the shutters on the back window to see Rocky maneuvering his pickup along the cliffside. A flatbed trailer bounced along behind the truck, piled high with two-by-fours, PVC pipe, and gallon cans of wood stain and sealant. The brake lights flashed and the truck rolled to a stop. Rocky slid out and let Molasses out of the rear cab. He was the first contractor I’d ever hired who’d showed up on time.
I hurriedly cleaned myself up, dressed, and fed Yeti her breakfast. My anniversary clock chimed the half hour as I scurried out of my room, out the wing exit door, and around to the back of the lodge to greet Rocky. I raised a hand in hello as I approached, then lowered it to run it over the head of Molasses, who’d ambled forward to meet me. “You’re here bright and early.”
“You don’t have much choice when the baby in the room next door goes off like an alarm clock at six a.m.” His smile said he’d forgiven the baby for rousing him.
Did Rocky have a younger wife or girlfriend who’d recently given birth? Maybe he lived in an apartment, and the baby belonged to a neighbor. Though I was curious whose baby he’d referred to, I didn’t want to seem intrusive by prying. “Coffee?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a cup. With sugar. Lots of it.”
I hustled back to my room and started a pot of coffee. Yeti finished her breakfast and climbed onto the wide windowsill to supervise Rocky’s work. I rounded up a mug and filled it with the hot brew and five packets of sugar. When I went outside to deliver it to Rocky, the strains of Bachman-Turner Overdrive singing “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” came from the phone sitting on his tailgate. Rocky sang along with the tune, not stopping when he spotted me. In fact, he pointed a section of pipe at me as he belted out the chorus. The words seemed prophetic, and I wondered—If I ain’t seen nothin’ yet, what might he show me?
He took the mug of coffee from me and in return offered a grateful nod and more off-key caterwauling. I couldn’t help but smile at his carefree confidence. He paused his singing to looked down at his dog. “Mo, fetch my flathead screwdriver.”
Molasses sauntered over to Rocky’s toolbox. He poked around with his snout for a few seconds before turning around with a screwdriver in his mouth. He carried it over.
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “What a smart dog.”
“Not really.” Rocky held up the tool. “He brought me the Phillips head.”
Even so, it was more than my cat would ever do for me. Before turning to go, I said, “I’ll leave the front door unlocked for you to take a break. If you need me, I’ll be either in the lobby or Room One.” With that, I went back inside to fix myself a chai latte. It wasn’t as good as the drinks from the fancy coffee places, but it wasn’t bad, either. As I exited my room this time, I left the door open so Yeti could venture into the lodge and explore. I’d be working at the front desk where I could make sure she didn’t escape. Not that she was likely to try. She seemed to sense the outdoors was for lower-class cats, street-walking strays and feral felines. A cat of her stature was intended to live in indoor luxury.
Planner in hand, I made my way to the registration desk and plunked my bum on one of the stools behind the counter. Several tasks filled my to-do list for today. The first was to place an ad online for an assistant. The next was to select patio furniture for the deck. Once those jobs were done, I’d tackle a more formidable mission, choosing a new name for the lodge. I knocked out the first two items in short order, scoring durable aluminum deck furniture half off in an end-of-season sale. Now, to name my lodge …
Two hours later, Yeti was lying languorously on the registration counter and I was still scribbling on a legal pad, mulling over names for the inn, when Rocky came through the door. He scratched Yeti under the cheek. “Gorgeous cat.” As if realizing he’d paid her a compliment, the shameless feline launched into a purr and pressed her head into his hand. She seemed to like his rough touch, too. Rocky eyed me. “You look perplexed. What’s up?”
“I’ve been brainstorming names for the lodge, but I haven’t come up with one that feels quite right.” I handed him the pad so he could read over the ideas I’d had so far.
He read the list out loud. “Summit Guesthouse. Tranquility Lodge. Serenity Inn.” His lip quirked. “Hope you don’t mind me saying, but these names sound a little uppity.”
While I hadn’t liked the other contractor attempting to force his opinions on me earlier, Rocky made a good sounding board. Besides, I agreed with him. I wanted the inn to sound friendly and accessible, not snooty. “Are there any you like?”
He continued down the list. “Treetop Lodge. The Hawk Nest. The Buck and Bear. That’s getting closer.” He finished the list and frowned, like me not finding any of them suitable.
I raised my palms. “What’s a good name for a mountaintop lodge?”
“You just said it.”
“I did?”
“Mountaintop Lodge. It’s simple, straightforward. That’s what you’re going for, right?”
“Exactly.” I slapped a palm to my forehead. “I was overthinking it, but you nailed it.”
“Didn’t need a hammer, neither.”
He handed the pad back to me and shot me a wink. Heat rushed through me. I wasn’t sure if it was a blush or a hot flash. Either way, I fanned myself with the pad as he strode across the lobby, motioning for me to follow him to the cracked window. I gazed out to see that he’d already laid a length of pipe to divert the water.
“The channel drain’s installed, too,” he said. “I’ll start on the deck after a lunch break.”
“How about I treat you to lunch at the Greasy Griddle? I owe you for helping me name the lodge.” Though the quiet inn was peaceful, I had to admit I’d felt a little lonely since moving here. I was used to having a husband and son around, and now all I had was Yeti.
To my disappointment, Rocky declined. “That’s a nice offer, but I packed a lunch.”
My heart fell, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to get chummy with the guy, anyway. After all, he was working for me. Better to remain professional and keep him at arm’s length.
That afternoon, I contacted the web designer to have the inn’s domain and website updated with the new name. With those changes in progress, I turned my attention to signage. Fortunately, I wouldn’t incur any expense having old signs removed. The only sign designating the lodge as The Ridgeview Inn was a freestanding wooden one on sawhorse-style legs that stood next to the parking lot. I wrangled it into the storage shed and ordered a new sign online, opting to spell Mountaintop Lodge in a playful rustic font that resembled twigs. The new brand was really coming together.
Now that the place was nearly ready for guests, it was time to find some. As I searched for specific groups online, I hit paydirt. According to a post on the website for the Third Eye Studio & Spa in Charlotte, they were searching for a new retreat venue after an ashram in Asheville had turned to ash, the fire caused by unattended incense. I was on my phone in an instant. After extolling the virtues of my lodge, including its magnificent mountain views, I’d convinced the owner, a woman named Sasha Ducharme-Carlisle, to move the retreat to my inn.
“I can only sleep on a down pillow,” she said. “Do you have down pillows?”
“No,” I said. “Some people are allergic to down, so we provide hypoallergenic bed linens instead.” Besides, geese needed their feathers for their own use, and my own experience with down pillows involved being repeatedly poked with tiny quills that pierced the pillowcase. Not exactly conducive to a good night’s sleep.
She sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to bring my own pillow, then.”
At least our pillows had not been a deal breaker. “Your group will love it here.”
“We’d better,” Sasha shot back. “The reputation of my studio relies on it.”
While I’d like to think it was my marketing savvy that convinced her to give the Mountaintop Lodge a try, it was more likely her desperation. Where else would she find a place her group could have all to themselves on such short order? “See you soon!” I said before hanging up the phone. They’d arrive in just ten days. I’d better get ready for them!
Rocky was banging nails out back Friday morning as I waited at the desk for a woman named Brynn O’Reilly to arrive for her job interview. She’d been the most experienced person to apply for the assistant position, and her references gave her rave reviews. What appeared to be a first-generation Prius pulled up in front of the lodge. Though the vehicle was old, the exterior was spotless. The chrome and glass gleamed, and the hubcaps bore no road dirt or grease. That’s a good sign. A willowy woman climbed out. Her thick, wavy red hair cascaded over her shoulders and down the back of her loose-fitting bohemian-print dress. She glanced about as if assessing the lodge as she walked to the door.
I met her there, noting the pretty pendant hanging from her neck. It was round and made of silver or pewter with a Celtic symbol on it. I introduced myself and held out my hand. She angled her head as if visually inspecting it for cleanliness before taking it in hers. I led her to a table and pulled out a chair for her. Again, she glanced around, taking everything in. She’d be expected to clean the place. She was wise to determine what she’d be getting herself into.
I’d printed out her online application and referred to it now. “I need help with both housekeeping and administrative matters, so the fact that you’ve operated your own cleaning business for the past ten years caught my eye. Can you tell me why you’d like to work here?”
“Cleaning rentals comes with a lot of uncertainty. Investment properties turn over frequently, and I’m constantly scrambling for cleaning contracts. I’d prefer a regular paycheck.”
The woman doesn’t beat around the bush. Would she mind beating a rug?
Before I could ask, she said, “I enjoy cleaning. I find it therapeutic. I’m happy to do whatever you need, inside or out. Windows, walkways, whatever. Same goes for administrative tasks. I’m very organized and good with computers. But if I’m hired, I’d have two conditions.”
“What are they?”
“I’ll only use nontoxic and organic cleaning products.”
“No problem. Send me a list of your preferred products, and I’ll order them. What else?”
“I’ll need September twenty-second off.”
I opened my planner and checked the calendar. September 22 would be a Wednesday. My calendar noted that the day would mark the autumn equinox. “No worries. In fact, how about we make Wednesdays and Thursdays your days off? There are fewer guests midweek. I’ll need you from eight to five the other days.”
She agreed to the schedule. We negotiated her hourly and overtime rates, and I saw her to the door. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Brynn. See you a week from Sunday.”
At half past five, Rocky came into the lodge. “I’m done for the day. How’d things go in here?”
“We’ll host a yoga retreat the first week of September. They booked eighteen rooms!”
“Congratulations,” he said. “I suppose I ought to put in some hours over the weekend to make sure the deck is done in time. The weather forecast for next week looks iffy.”
I’d promised the owner of the yoga studio that the deck would be ready for outdoor practices when the group arrived. I’d feel more at ease once the deck was complete and the landscape installed. Still, while I appreciated Rocky’s offer, it wasn’t fair for him to work unplanned overtime. “I don’t expect you to give up your weekend.”
“Don’t know what I’d be giving up. Didn’t have any plans.” He rested an elbow on the counter. “I could put in more hours if I didn’t have the drive to and from Boone every day. How about you let me hole up in one of the rooms until the deck’s done?”
“Won’t your wife miss you?”
“Horribly,” he said, “if I had one.” He flashed that grin again.
While I hardly knew the man and it felt odd allowing a stranger stay in what was now my home, I realized my feelings were ridiculous. I was going to be running a lodge and having strangers stay in my home every night. That was the whole point. “You’re welcome to stay.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I even brought my suitcase along this morning.”
I reached over, unlocked the key drawer, and retrieved a set. “Here you go. Room Twenty.” The room was at the end of the east wing and on the opposite side of the hall from mine, as far from my room as I could put him. Still, it felt too close for comfort. Or perhaps too far …
Rocky was hard at work by nine o’clock Saturday morning. Meanwhile, I unpacked boxes of games, puzzles, and paperbacks, and placed them on the shelves in the great room. I arranged a selection of books about the Blue Ridge Mountains on the shelf nearest the check-in desk. Guests would enjoy learning the history and geography of the area, and the books would help them decide which sights to see. The display of brochures for regional tourist traps would help with that, too. The area offered everything from zip-lining and gem mining to the annual Scottish Highland Games. The breathtaking valley view from the legendary Blowing Rock was something to behold, and the Tweetsie Railroad was a family favorite. When my boys were young, they’d insisted on riding the steam train every time we came to the mountains.
I gave Rocky some distance over the next few days, remaining in the lobby or the west wing and avoiding the east wing altogether, so as not to make our cohabitation uncomfortable. On Monday, Brynn’s organic, nontoxic cleaning supplies arrived. I moved the leftover cleaning products to the bottom shelf in the housekeeping closet and put her products on the rolling carts.
Tuesday afternoon, I was checking emails at the desk when Rocky entered through the new French doors. “All done! Voilà.” He swept an arm to invite me to inspect his handiwork.
The French doors were precisely framed, the rhododendrons were planted, the deck was sanded and stained to a shiny smoothness, and the drainage pipe was obscured underneath it. You’d have to get down on all fours and peek through a knothole to know the pipe was there. “Everything looks perfect!”
“Aristotle said ‘Pleasure in the job puts perfection in the work.’”
“Did Aristotle build decks, too?”
“I believe he installed a pillared portico at the Acropolis.”
I wrote Rocky a check for the remaining balance. “Thanks for your hard work.” There was more I wanted to say, but I was afraid of sounding corny. His idea of adding the deck helped make this place my own, and would attract guests seeking an intimate event space. And even though I’d tried to give him space while he’d stayed here, I was sad he’d be leaving now. It had been nice to know there was someone else under the same roof. I’d be totally on my own now.
He folded the check and tucked it into his breast pocket. “I suppose I should pack up.”
He stared at me a long moment, as if he, too, were debating whether to say something, when brakes squeaked out front. We turned to see a delivery truck at the door. The driver hopped down and came to the door. “Got some patio furniture for you.”
Though he’d been poised to depart only a moment before, Rocky insisted on helping me assemble the tables and chairs. I wasn’t about to pass up his assistance. He was far more adept with tools than I, and completed four pieces to each one of mine. Still, when he inspected my workmanship, he agreed it was solid. When we finished, it was half past six.
“If you won’t let me pay you for your extra help,” I said, “at least let me buy you dinner.”
He agreed this time, and an hour later we were sitting across from each other at a booth in the Greasy Griddle, polishing off pieces of Patty’s delicious blueberry pie. When he finished, he pushed his plate back and eyed me. “What do you plan to do for maintenance at the lodge?”
“The sellers left me a list of people to call.”
“It would be better to have someone on-site in case of an emergency.”
He had a point, but I couldn’t afford a full-time maintenance worker. Rather than admit this, I said, “There won’t be enough work to keep someone busy full-time.”
“What if I took care of maintenance?” he asked. “I’d still do my side-hustle handyman jobs, but I’d make your lodge my top priority. The room could be my pay.”
Patty, who’d come over to top off our coffee mugs, liked the idea. “Seems I’m always calling Rocky to fix something here at the diner. It’d be nice to have him just across the parking lot.”
I looked from her back to Rocky. “You don’t want to go home?”
“It’s crowded,” Rocky said. “I had my house to myself until six months ago when my son-in-law lost his job. The company closed down. He and my daughter moved in until they can get back on their feet. Their baby girl, too. I love ’em to pieces, but there’s no peace or privacy.”
“The arrangement would be temporary, then?”
“That’s right. When your lodge starts filling up, I’ll skedaddle. What do you say?” He angled his head, waiting for an answer. Patty did the same.
Is this a good idea? From a business perspective, it made perfect sense. According to the financial records I’d reviewed, the previous owners had spent around two grand a month on maintenance. I had little cash left to pay for maintenance, but I did have an empty room that could serve as compensation. It could be difficult to get reliable help up here, too, so it seemed silly to pass up the offer of a hardworking handyman. Unfortunately, I’d developed a little crush on the guy. How could I not? He’d rode in after the lodge collapsed like a knight in shining armor—or at least a knight with shiny tools in his tool belt. I’d been able to mask my feelings so far, but would things get awkward if he stuck around? After a moment’s thought, I realized I had to set aside my personal feelings and put my business interests first. After all, I’d moved up here to run a mountain lodge. Besides, it would benefit Patty, too. “I say ‘enjoy your stay.’”