Valentine's at the Inn, Part 2

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Our story tonight is called Valentine's at the Inn, Part 2, and it continues from last week, a tale of a little romance and a lot of coziness by the lake. It's also about cinnamon and cardamom, crepe paper streamers decorating the ballroom, and the excitement of a properly planned event about to start.
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Valentines

At the Inn, Part 2 Up in the ballroom, on the second floor, things were nearly ready. It was Valentine's weekend at the Inn, and we had a nearly full house of lovebirds and sweethearts, ready to clink glasses and wander into the lonely corners of our vast rooms.
Today we'd served breakfast

in the dining room and drawing room,

with fires burning in the grates

and flowers on each table.

Chef had made our famous coffee cake,

as well as cinnamon rolls and cardamom buns.

We poured cup after cup of coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

There was a light snow falling,

the kind with tiny thin flakes, and the sun came out now and then to sparkle on the frozen lake. It was romantic.
There was no argument there, but tonight was going to top it. Our guests were encouraged to visit town for lunch.
We'd put out some soup and sandwiches in the dining room, self-service style, but we'd highlighted the excellent cafes and bistros downtown. The shops and sites that were perfect for idling away a winter afternoon.
And thankfully, most of them took us up on it, because I was a bit like a parent who needed the kids out from under my feet for a bit

so that I could set up the ballroom.

I'd had an idea, a little cheesy, maybe,

but I hoped it would prove to be both romantic and fun.

We were hosting a little grown-up prom for our guests tonight.

The ballroom was decorated with streamers and balloons, flowers and bowls of chocolates.

I was up on a ladder in the far corner behind the piano, twisting the last of the crepe paper streamers into place.

Thank you. the piano, twisting the last of the crepe paper streamers into place, while my cat Sycamore chased a red balloon under a table.
I'd been telling him about my own prom many years before, how it had been mostly a letdown, a night that had been overhyped for years and could not have lived up to all that I'd expected. That, in the end, I'd wished I'd danced more, cared less about my hair and dress, and just had fun.
Well, that's why we're having a do-over,

called a voice from the hall.

I smiled to myself as I climbed down from the ladder.

Sycamore and I had been alone at the inn for a few months now. And I'd forgotten that we could, ahem, be overheard.
Chef came through the door, their hands full of a large tray of desserts. I went over to help them set out the tarts and cakes on the buffet by the window.
Did you like your prom? I asked. They paused, smiling down at the sweets.
Oh, come on. I knew it.
You had a blast, didn't you? You probably had a line of people waiting to dance with you. What can I say? I've always been popular, they laughed, as they tucked the empty tray under an arm and headed back to the kitchens for more.
Well, tonight, everyone would have fun, would dance as much as they liked, be fed wonderful

food, celebrate, and hopefully fall even deeper in love with their person. Sycamore and I kept at it through the afternoon, and just as I was lighting the candles on the tables, I started to hear gas coming through the entryway downstairs, shoes clapping against the slate floor.
I checked my watch and realized the band would be here soon.

We closed the double doors to the ballroom as we left,

not wanting guests to come peeping till we were ready.

We followed the sweeping curved staircase down into the entryway, saying hello to guests as we passed them. The sun was setting and sending her rose-red glow through the windows.
It burnished the dark wood of the banisters and caught the silvery sparkles in Sycamore's black coat. On the central table, at the bottom of the stairs, beside the giant fern I'd kept alive for three winters now, were urns of coffee and hot tea.
guests who needed a pick-me-up were filling mugs and we wove past them

to the front office, where I'd spotted the members of the band we'd hired. There was a piano player and singer who would serenade us during dinner.

And then a drummer and guitar player

who would join in

to get folks dancing afterwards.

Sycamore loves music

and had heard the band play for our Halloween party.

He rushed toward them,

rubbing against their legs and instrument cases.

I followed and greeted them,

taking their coats

and leading them down to the library,

where they could relax and nosh on the snack plates chef had prepared for them before they took the stage.

I liked this part. Everything was coming together.

Thank you. I liked this part.
Everything was coming together.

Before I'd been an innkeeper, I'd never organized anything more complicated than a brunch reservation. But now, I'd overseen weddings and parties, busy holiday weekends, and summer fates.
Tonight, I was sure, would be magical, with dinner, music, and dancing cheek to cheek. This old place had seen lots of magic over the years, and this would be another night for the books.
Valentine's

at the Inn Part 2 Up in the ballroom on the second floor, things were nearly ready. It was Valentine's weekend at the inn, and we had a nearly full house of lovebirds and sweethearts, ready to clink glasses and wander into the lonely corners of our vast rooms.
Today, we'd served breakfast in the dining room and drawing room, with fires burning in the grates and

flowers on each table. The chef had made our famous coffee cake

as well as cinnamon rolls and cardamom buns. We poured cup after cup of coffee and fresh-squeezed orange juice.
there was a light snow falling,

the kind with tiny, thin flakes,

and the sun came out now and then

to sparkle on the frozen lake.

It was romantic. There was no argument there.
But tonight was going to top it. our guests were encouraged

to was going to top it.

Our guests were encouraged to visit town for lunch. We'd put out some soup and sandwiches in the dining room, self-service style.
But we'd highlighted the excellent cafes and bistros downtown. The shops and sites that were perfect for idling away a winter afternoon.
And thankfully, most of them took us up on it, because I was a bit like a parent who needed the kids out from under my feet for a bit so that I could set up the ballroom. I'd had an idea, a little cheesy maybe, but I hoped it would prove to be both romantic and fun.
We were hosting a little grown-up prom for our guests tonight. The ballroom was decorated with streamers and balloons,

flowers,

and bowls of chocolates.

I was up on a ladder

in the far corner behind the piano, twisting the last of the crepe paper streamers into place.

While my cat, Sycamore, chased a red balloon under a table. I'd been telling him about my own prom many years before.
How it had mostly been a letdown, a night that had been overhyped for years and simply could not have lived up to all that I'd expected. That in the end,

I'd wished I'd danced more,

cared less about my hair

and my dress,

and just had fun.

Well, that's why we are having a do-over, called a voice from the hall. I smiled to myself as I climbed down from the ladder.
Sycamore and I had been alone at the inn

for a few months now, and I'd forgotten that we could, ahem, be overheard. Chef came through the door, their hands full of a large tray of desserts.
I went over to help them set out the tarts and cakes on the buffet by the window. Did you like your prom? I asked.
They paused, smiling down at the treats. Oh, come on.
I knew it. You had a blast, didn't you? You probably had a line of people waiting to dance with you.

what can I say I've always been popular

they laughed

as they tucked the empty tray

under an arm and headed back to the kitchens for more. Well, tonight, everyone would have fun, would dance as much as they liked, and be fed wonderful food, celebrate, and hopefully fall even deeper in love with their person.

Sycamore and I kept at it through the afternoon,

and just as I was lighting the candles on the tables,

I started to hear guests coming through the entryway downstairs, shoes clapping against the slate floor. I checked my watch and realized the band would be here soon.
We closed the double doors to the ballroom as we left, not wanting guests to come peeping till we were ready. We followed the sweeping curved staircase

down into the entryway,

saying hello to guests as we passed them.

The sun was setting

and sending her rose-red glow

through the windows

Thank you. The sun was setting and sending her rose-red glow through the windows.
It burnished the dark wood of the banisters and caught the silvery sparkles in Sycamore's black coat. On the central table, at the bottom of the stairs, beside the giant fern I'd kept alive for three winters now, were urns of coffee and hot tea.
Guests who needed a pick-me-up were filling mugs, and we wove past them to the front office where I'd spotted the members of the band we'd hired. There was a piano player and singer who would serenade us during dinner, and then a drummer and guitar player who would join in to get folks dancing afterwards.

Sycamore loves music and had heard this band play at our Halloween party. He rushed toward them, rubbing against their legs and instrument cases.
I followed and greeted them, taking their coats and leading them down to the library, where they could relax and nosh on the snack plates chef had prepared for them before they took the stage. I liked this part.
Everything was coming together. Before I'd been an innkeeper,

I'd never organized anything more complicated than a brunch

reservation. But now,

I'd overseen weddings and parties, busy holiday weekends, and summer fates.

tonight I was sure

would be magical

with dinner

music

and dancing cheek to would be magical, with dinner,

music,

and dancing,

cheek to cheek.

This old place had seen lots of magic

over the years,

when this would be another night

for the books.

Sweet dreams.