I ate everything, including the salad dressing. I’d never tasted anything like it. I assumed the tater tots were the strange little puffy things on top of the casserole. I liked them—I liked them a lot.
I sat back, replete, but disappointed.
There was no pie.
I had really liked that pie.
I flung my napkin on the tray, wondering if maybe Alex would find me a piece when I went down to the bar. If I asked very politely, surely she wouldn’t refuse.
Taking my tray, I went downstairs to the quiet main floor. It was strange not to see anyone anywhere, and I felt as if I was snooping as I pushed open the kitchen door and slid my tray onto the counter. It was small but clean and organized. I smirked. Of course, it was organized. Alex ran it.
I looked around, but I couldn’t find any pie. There were lots of breakfast items and some containers I assumed held the “snacks” Alex had offered my first night. But no pie. Wandering back into the bar, I noticed something else.
There was no Alex. There was no one.
Grabbing the remote, I turned on the TV, finding the hockey game. I settled onto one of the sofas in the room, and after glancing around guiltily, lifted my feet to the coffee table and relaxed.
The hockey game was boring, and I started getting restless. I could hear the storm outside beginning to pick up, the wind getting stronger. Remembering that Seth said Alex was out, I began to worry. Why was she out on a night like that? She was the one who told me how bad the storms could get. Why would she leave the inn?
Maybe I had missed her. Maybe she came back while I was eating. Getting up, I tried the doors, but I found them locked. Obviously, no new guests were expected. I went back to the bar and checked the large coffee urn, but it was cold. I paced around the room, wondering about going upstairs and checking to make sure she hadn’t come back while I was eating in my room. If she wasn’t there, I was certain I could convince Seth to tell me where she was. I’d feel better knowing. But I hesitated. Alex might not want to see me, so I decided not to ask. I found a passable scotch behind the bar and poured a shot. Alex could add it to my bill. I sat back down and resumed watching the hockey game.
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and I heard the sound of fast, tiny feet. I was already grinning when a tousled head of curls appeared around the corner and Noelle’s mischievous smile beamed at me from across the room. Her green eyes, so like her mother’s, were dancing as she peeked at me, not making a sound, waiting for me to encourage her to come closer.
Without a thought, I opened my arms. An affectionate nickname rolled off my tongue, surprising me, but it suited her.
“Hey, Little Owl.”
She giggled, her little feet thumping against the hardwood floor as she rushed forward. Wearing a one-piece set of fuzzy pajamas with feet attached and clutching a container of something, she flung herself at me and I caught her, settling her on my knee.
“Are you supposed to be out of bed?”
“No.”
“Where is Seth?”
“Sweeping.”
“I see.”
“He ’posed ta be doing homewok, but he fawed asweep,” she explained. “I knocked on your doow, but you not dere. I come and find you,” she added proudly.
“What do you have there?” I asked, indicating the container.
She grinned, showing off the empty space in her mouth. She was so adorable when she smiled. “Mommy and I made cookies. I share wif you.”
I sat up straighter. Cookies? I couldn’t remember the last time I had cookies.
“What kind?”
She lifted the lid. “Suga.”
I groaned and looked in the container, my eyes widening. The cookies were all gone. I had eaten nine cookies. Nine sugar cookies. And, after raiding the refrigerator, downed two glasses of milk. Noelle had nibbled one cookie and sipped the glass of milk I poured her. She sat beside me on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, telling me all about her day in her lispy, breathless voice. I heard about pizza day, her best friend Lucy, how much she loved to “dwaw,” and her “favowite teacha, Mrs. Webba.”
I found it surprisingly easy to understand her, even with her strange speech patterns. Maybe it was because I wanted to hear what she had to say. I found her completely enchanting. She was beyond delighted when I told her how much I liked her favorite supper of Tater Tot Casserole, informing me she had “hepped Mommy make it.”
“I puts on da tots, Dywan!”
I found a blanket on the back of a chair and draped it over her. She talked nonstop, pointing at the TV and asking questions about the hockey game, which I tried to explain to her. She yawned and stretched, clearly tired, and I smiled down at her.