No Reservations Required by Ellen Hart

Sophie felt strongly that Margie did see stars in her eyes when she looked at the hotel. She knew this was a community property state. If Bram and Sophie divorced, Bram would inherit half the hotel. And that meant that one day, Margie would be half owner herself. Bram had no other children.
    “You look pretty snappy tonight,” said Bram, nodding to Margie’s new red dress.
    Margie twirled around. “Just got home from work. Carrie and I met with this family out in Deep Haven. Very wealthy couple. They want to give their daughter a huge wedding and they hired us to do it.”
    “Congratulations,” said Bram, reaching up and squeezing his daughter’s hand.
    “This is the break we’ve been waiting for. If we do this right, it will serve as a humongous entrée to other upscale jobs.”
    Sophie detested Margie’s use of hyperbole. And yet, even the fact that she noticed it made her uncomfortable. It made her feel like a snippy schoolmarm. And that was another thing. Sophie hated the way Margie made her feel about herself. She wasn’t snippy, or nasty, or super-judgmental, or, as Margie put it once, “tight-assed.” But when she was around Margie, that’s exactly how she behaved.
    “The bride-to-be picked out these, like, hideous colors for the wedding, but between Carrie and me— and her mother—we were able to talk her into something more elegant. I mean, green just kills a person’s complexion. Makes even the youngest skin look totally cadaverous.” Margie glanced over at Sophie and saw that she was wearing a jade green sweater set. She smiled.
    Sophie thought it was more of a smirk.
    “Hey, Dad, I thought maybe we could go for a swim before dinner.”
    Dinner! thought Sophie, leaping up. “Oh Lord,” she said, seeing that she’d just incinerated the salmon.
    “Oh, honey, don’t worry about it,” said Bram, climbing off the chaise. “It’s no problem. We’ll just have the orzo salad.”
    “You really go for Italian food, don’t you?” said Margie, looking at Sophie.
    Sophie was still so upset about the burnt salmon that she didn’t pick up on Margie’s drift.
    “Speaking of Italian food,” continued Margie, “I saw that friend of yours downstairs this afternoon. It was just before I left for my meeting in Deep Haven.”
    “What friend?” asked Bram.
    “Her old boyfriend. What’s his name. Nathan?”
    Sophie turned around in time to see Bram stiffen.
    “I thought you didn’t see him anymore,” said Margie, tapping some of the ash from her cigarette over the railing.
    “I don’t,” said Sophie.
    Nathan Buckridge was Sophie’s high school sweetheart. He was also a chef with a restaurant just outside of Stillwater. He’d come back into her life shortly after she’d taken over the reins of the hotel, after an absence of some twenty-five years. She’d been dismayed, and also more than a little flattered, to find that he was still attracted to her. Actually, it was more than that. He’d asked her to marry him. The fact that she was married didn’t seem to matter. Nathan insisted that he’d found her first, and if it hadn’t been for a series of stupid mistakes, they’d be married.
    Sophie had never confessed to Bram what had really gone on between them two summers ago. It was over and done with, so, in Sophie’s mind, there was no point in discussing it. And yet, even though she’d never given Bram the details, he apparently sensed that Nathan was a threat. Bram wasn’t normally a jealous man, but when it came to Nathan Buckridge, he reacted with the part of his mind that wasn’t entirely civilized.
    “Maybe he found out my parents were home from their trip,” said Sophie, “and he wanted to say hi.”
    “I suppose they thought of him as a son once,” mused Bram.
    “Well,” said Sophie. “Yes, I think they did.”
    “Nope,” said Margie. “When I saw Henry in the hall, I asked him if he’d seen Nathan. He said he hadn’t.”
    “Ah,” said Bram. “Well then, maybe