Begin Again: A Charlotte Bloom Short Story by Amanda Richardson Page A
Authors: Amanda Richardson
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happened to prefer darker material. Real life couldn’t always be summed up in a happily ever after. Usually, you were sent to prison, wounded in battle, or you died from disease. Lowering your expectations meant that nothing could harm you emotionally.
I read for a few hours before heading back to Parc-Le-Bouveret. Dinner would be served at seven, and it was almost six. I was never late to dinner. Helen and George, the owners of the Parc, had taken me under their wings eight years ago, so I wanted to respect them by doing my job well and showing up for nightly dinners on time. When I got back, I put Nigel into his stall and went straight to my room to shower. It might’ve been an outdated custom, but I always tried to look nice for dinner.
I threw on a clean white sweater and dark jeans. I quickly glanced in the mirror before heading down. My beard had grown out significantly over the last few days, and I fancied my hair low maintenance, so that usually meant it was messy beyond control. I looked a lot like my late father: tall, muscular, olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I ran my hand through my hair once. It was no use. It had a mind of its own.
Helen and George were in the dining room. They were sitting together and laughing. I sat down between Henry and Katie. The three of us always sat together. Katie was the cook and housecleaner, and she was cute – just not my type. I’d known her for years, and she was like a sister to me now. Besides, I’d never been that attracted to British women. I liked American women. And I’d had a fling with a French woman at university. That’d been fun. A few guests joined us shortly thereafter, and the wine began to flow freely.
This was how it played out most nights. Helen, George, Henry, Katie, sometimes Mary, and I would sit on one end, and the guests would sit on the other end. We weren’t separated, per se, but over the years, we’d all come to notice that though most guests were friendly, they didn’t want to sit and chat with strangers at dinner. Just as Helen announced that she would be serving the main course, I heard the dining room door creak open.
A beautiful, redheaded woman entered shyly, quickly taking a seat on the other side of the table. She was alone. Her smile was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen.
"I’m sorry I’m late. I fell asleep." Her voice was light and airy. She had big, hazel eyes. I heard someone giggle and she brought her hands up to her face to disguise her red cheeks. I couldn’t stop staring.
"No worries, dear. We know you had a long trip from Los Angeles. I made a little extra for you, just in case, so I hope you’re fine with Welsh rarebit, which is like our version of grilled cheese…” Helen continued talking, but I looked down at my wine glass, distracted.
Los Angeles. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. I looked up again. She met my eyes and smiled. Holy. Fuck. I was sure I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. I quickly looked down, shaking my head at myself. Why was I acting like such an idiot all of a sudden? We’d had our fair share of single, beautiful American women at the Parc. Why her? She was nothing special.
I heard Tommy and George strike up a conversation with her – the woman whose name I still did not know. I tried to focus solely on eating.
"Everyone, this is Charlotte. She joins us from Los Angeles." George said this loudly, and I watched her reaction while I ate. Again, her eyes met mine, and I looked away. George started introducing people, starting with the guests. Finally, he got to me.
"Near the end of the table, we have the maid and cook, Katie, the night manager, Henry, and the groom, Alec." George gestured to me, and I saw her eyes light up with interest.
"The groom?"
"I tend to the horses,” I answered gruffly.
"Oh. Got it." She smiled at me again. Fuck. If she kept doing that…
I purposely ate my dinner slowly. People began to trickle out. I wanted to be alone
I read for a few hours before heading back to Parc-Le-Bouveret. Dinner would be served at seven, and it was almost six. I was never late to dinner. Helen and George, the owners of the Parc, had taken me under their wings eight years ago, so I wanted to respect them by doing my job well and showing up for nightly dinners on time. When I got back, I put Nigel into his stall and went straight to my room to shower. It might’ve been an outdated custom, but I always tried to look nice for dinner.
I threw on a clean white sweater and dark jeans. I quickly glanced in the mirror before heading down. My beard had grown out significantly over the last few days, and I fancied my hair low maintenance, so that usually meant it was messy beyond control. I looked a lot like my late father: tall, muscular, olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. I ran my hand through my hair once. It was no use. It had a mind of its own.
Helen and George were in the dining room. They were sitting together and laughing. I sat down between Henry and Katie. The three of us always sat together. Katie was the cook and housecleaner, and she was cute – just not my type. I’d known her for years, and she was like a sister to me now. Besides, I’d never been that attracted to British women. I liked American women. And I’d had a fling with a French woman at university. That’d been fun. A few guests joined us shortly thereafter, and the wine began to flow freely.
This was how it played out most nights. Helen, George, Henry, Katie, sometimes Mary, and I would sit on one end, and the guests would sit on the other end. We weren’t separated, per se, but over the years, we’d all come to notice that though most guests were friendly, they didn’t want to sit and chat with strangers at dinner. Just as Helen announced that she would be serving the main course, I heard the dining room door creak open.
A beautiful, redheaded woman entered shyly, quickly taking a seat on the other side of the table. She was alone. Her smile was the cutest damn thing I’d ever seen.
"I’m sorry I’m late. I fell asleep." Her voice was light and airy. She had big, hazel eyes. I heard someone giggle and she brought her hands up to her face to disguise her red cheeks. I couldn’t stop staring.
"No worries, dear. We know you had a long trip from Los Angeles. I made a little extra for you, just in case, so I hope you’re fine with Welsh rarebit, which is like our version of grilled cheese…” Helen continued talking, but I looked down at my wine glass, distracted.
Los Angeles. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. I looked up again. She met my eyes and smiled. Holy. Fuck. I was sure I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my entire life. I quickly looked down, shaking my head at myself. Why was I acting like such an idiot all of a sudden? We’d had our fair share of single, beautiful American women at the Parc. Why her? She was nothing special.
I heard Tommy and George strike up a conversation with her – the woman whose name I still did not know. I tried to focus solely on eating.
"Everyone, this is Charlotte. She joins us from Los Angeles." George said this loudly, and I watched her reaction while I ate. Again, her eyes met mine, and I looked away. George started introducing people, starting with the guests. Finally, he got to me.
"Near the end of the table, we have the maid and cook, Katie, the night manager, Henry, and the groom, Alec." George gestured to me, and I saw her eyes light up with interest.
"The groom?"
"I tend to the horses,” I answered gruffly.
"Oh. Got it." She smiled at me again. Fuck. If she kept doing that…
I purposely ate my dinner slowly. People began to trickle out. I wanted to be alone
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