I knewsomething was wrong the second Henry strode into the great room and killed the noise with a single look. Not a word, not a raise of his voice, just that sharpened, clipped stillness that meant whatever he was about to say was going to ruin everyone’s day.
“Ladies,” he said, hands clasped behind his back, “I’m afraid we have a problem.”
Conversation died. Forks went still. A few girls tensed, like he was about to announce eliminations out of nowhere.
His eyes swept the room, cold as the frost on the windows. “Due to the worsening ice storm, the lodge is officially sealed in. All roads are closed and deliveries are suspended until the roads reopen.”
Someone actually gasped like he’d announced nuclear war.
Henry’s expression didn’t soften.
“Which means the pantry, freezer, and kitchen stores are all you have. Tonight’s dinner will be prepared by you.”
A chorus of complaints erupted instantly.
“But that’s not fair?—”
“We’re not chefs?—”
“I can’t eat canned food?—”
“What kind of place is this?”
Someone actually asked if she could ‘just call GrubRun.’
I tried not to laugh, or maybe scream.
Henry waited, impassive, until silence returned like it was afraid of disappointing him.
“This is not optional,” he said. “Think of it as today’s challenge. The housekeeper and kitchen staff will assist you only within reason. The rest is on you.”
He turned on his heel, challenge issued and chaos unleashed.
And with it came the unmistakable punch of dread sinking low in my stomach because I couldn’t imagine how the other contestants might try to handle things.
Just focus on one thing at a time and problem solve as you go, I told myself.
The other contestants scattered immediately, some rushing to the windows to whine about the weather, some demanding that their phones, which were confiscated at the beginning of the retreat, be returned to them because they couldn’t ‘ordergroceries properly’ without it, and one absolute genius shouting, ‘Can’t someone just drive to town?’
Drive to town in an ice storm… in Alabama. This far south, we were all woefully inexperienced in navigating icy roads.
Fucking idiot.
I walked in the opposite direction, heading straight to the kitchen.
The difference in atmosphere hit me instantly. Warmth, steam, and scents of onions and leftover stock simmering on the stove washed over me in a welcoming wave. Someone was washing mixing bowls in the giant farmhouse sink, sleeves rolled up past her elbows.
She turned as I stepped in and arched a dark eyebrow at me. She had to be in her mid-forties with a sturdy, capable build. Streaks of silver threaded through dark hair she had pulled back into a neat bun. Her dark eyes were both kind and tired in equal measure.
“Um… hi.”
I gave her a small, awkward wave.
She blinked at me, her mouth twitching with a mixture of confusion and amusement.
“Hello. I’m Lucia, the head housekeeper and cook. Can I help you with something, dear?”
The ‘dear’ wasn’t patronizing, surprisingly. It was motherly and soft and personal.
