It's been years since June Bell shared a stolen moment with her girlhood crush, Kase McCasker. It's been just as long since Kase's father nixed the sale of the McCasker farm to expand the grounds of the Bell's grand hotel. Now that Kase is back home...
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Falls Edge has a way of making a person feel small. Human. A tiny speck between a majestic panorama of clouds and the valley floor. The mountains take up the middle ground and stare down on us—silent, imposing, arms wide in all their wonder. I've spent my life wrapped in these arms, year after year being a humble little speck, serving martinis and Old Fashioneds to the country's elite on the veranda that stretches from one end of the red-roofed Falls Edge Hotel to the other. And no matter how many women in pearls and white pants snip at me for this or that, all I can ever feel is blessed that of all places, this is where I call home.
Hundreds of thousands of patrons have passed through the hotel over the years. Presidents have lain in its beds. Captains of industry have graced its bars and ballrooms. And I've been working the veranda serving these patrons every summer since I turned thirteen and Daddy decided I needed to start being a part of the family business. Now I help him with the books, cover shifts between my classes at the local college, and put out fires on our busy weekends. I can't imagine doing it all on my own, but one day the hotel will be mine, the same way it was once my mother's.
For now, though, we're booked full and the veranda is at capacity. Every white wicker couch and lounge chair is occupied by an eager customer, and I'm doing all I can to keep up and smile while I do.
Pellegrino. Two glasses. Dirty martini. Straight up. No olives. Shirley Temple. Extra cherries.
I silently chant the last requests in my head as I pass through the wide double doors into Eve's, the bar named after the hotel's original owner.
"McCasker, what the hell are you doing here?" My father's tone is less than courteous.
I peek around the corner just as Edwin McCasker passes through the front doors. The old oak floors creak under his boots. Daddy circles the reception desk like he means to turn him around and send him back to the other side of the valley. But Edwin doesn't seem affected. He walks into the lobby, all dirty jeans and matching denim work shirt. His eyes are clever, a searing blue, and his smile has always melted any animosity my father would rather I hold toward him.
"Gerald Bell. Always a pleasure." Edwin nods in my direction and shoots me that smile. His hands are tucked casually into his jeans. "June."
I bite my lip to keep from returning his smile. Daddy stands in front of him, arms crossed as tightly as his navy blazer will allow. He's a few inches shorter and infinitely more high-strung than the man in front of him.
"I said, what are you doing here?" My father's tone is hushed now. No guests seem to have noticed his earlier outburst.
"I thought I'd stop by. See how the better half lives."
My father scoffs. "The better half. I've earned every dime and put damn near all of it back into making this a better place for our guests and our town. We're not fat and happy hogs up here. If you haven't noticed—and I know you haven't because you're an ignorant fool—that we're employing half the damn town here. No thanks to you."
