“I’m not sure that would be safe with all the kids running around,” I said. “You like darts?”
“I do. I was pretty damn good at them back in my younger days.”
“How good?” I asked, settling into the chair beside him.
Phineas’s eyes lit up with the kind of mischief I was learning to associate with his better moods. “Professional level. Traveled all over the country for competitions. My wife and I loved getting free room and board. It’s how we got to see the country on someone else’s dime.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. I loved hearing about his past. It was so easy to look at an old person and just assume they were born old. It was hard to imagine wrinkled, stooped old men as vibrant, handsome, and even athletic.
“Your wife liked the bar scene?” I asked.
He chuckled. “She could handle herself. One time, some jackass was hitting on her, wouldn’t take no for an answer. Real persistent type, you know? So my bride—she was sharp as a tack—she challenged him to a game of darts. Winner takes all the money in his wallet.”
Phineas chuckled, lost in the memory. “Course, what the poor bastard didn’t know was that she had been playing since she was twelve years old. Her father owned a pub back in Ireland before they came over. And me? Well, I was there for a tournament that weekend.”
“Did you help her hustle him?” I asked, grinning.
“Damn right I did. We cleaned him out of every dollar he had. He slunk away with his tail between his legs.” Phineas’s smile softened. “We spent those winnings on dinner at the fanciest restaurant in the city, just because we could.”
He was quiet for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass. When he looked up at me, his expression was more serious than I’d ever seen it.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I looked at my wife that night the same way I see you look at Sylvie.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like she was the answer to a question you didn’t even know you’d been asking,” Phineas said simply. “Like everything that came before was just practice for getting to love her properly.”
I had to look away for a moment, overwhelmed by the accuracy of his observation. That was exactly how I felt about Sylvie, like everything in my life had been leading me to her, preparing me to be worthy of the love she offered so freely.
“You’re a lucky man, Kent,” Phineas continued. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
I’d never felt so grateful in my life. Not just for Sylvie, though that gratitude was enormous, but for this entire experience. For being accepted by her family and especially for having an old man who barely knew me offer wisdom about love. I found a place where I belonged simply because of who I was rather than what I could provide.
We chatted for a bit longer before I moved along to meet other people. I was loving this. I loved getting to meet new people and pick their brains. I wanted to know what they liked and didn’t like about the area. What could we do better.
It was around nine o’clock when I noticed Brom standing on the front porch, looking out at the night with a worried expression. I joined him, immediately understanding his concern.
The snow was coming down hard. Really hard. Driving back into town would be treacherous. What had been light flurries when I picked up Phineas was now a legitimate storm.
“This doesn’t look good,” Brom said, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to drive back into town tonight. Not safely, anyway. The last thing we need is someone getting hurt because they were enjoying our party.”
I looked around at the parking area, where cars were already accumulating significant snow on their windshields and hoods. Several of our dinner guests had driven up from town, expecting to head home after the party. But the roads would be dangerous now, especially for people who’d been drinking wine with dinner.
“Looks like everyone might have to stay here at the lodge tonight,” I said.
Brom nodded grimly. “Problem is, we haven’t made up half the rooms. They’ve been sitting untouched for months.”
“So, we make them up,” I said.
He turned to look at me. “Do you even know what that involves?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, sheets on a bed. Blankets? Pillows? A little mint?”
He shook his head. “Have you ever made a bed in your entire spoiled life?”
He was teasing, so I wasn’t offended. Plus, it was a valid question. “Okay, so, I wouldn’t say I’ve actuallymadea bed, but it can’t be that hard, right? I mean, I’ve seen it done.”
He smirked. “I don’t think you know what you’re in for. Not just making beds but the sheer amount of elbow grease it takes to keep a place like this running.”
