“I like the sound of whiskey,” Arthur said. “The water of life, as the Irish say. Makes me miss Ireland.”
“We were lucky to be there during the first part of the pandemic,” Clara said. “Let me catch you up on the family news. First, the happy news… Caitlyn and Beau will be coming back to her place in the Big Apple briefly, and they’re hoping to visit your shop for the opening.”
He imagined Clara had planted the suggestion, but he was glad for it. He couldn’t wait to see her niece and nephew by marriage. They had become close on a trip to Provence last year. “If Beau brings his guitar with him, we can have another Spanish guitar session.”
Teaching the country singer how to play Spanish guitar had reawakened Clifton’s own interest in the instrument. He couldn’t wait to perform on music nights in the Chocolate Bar. Someday.
“I look forward to seeing them,” he responded, eager to share the news with Alice.
Clara led him through updates about the rest of the Merriam family, except for Quinn and Francesca, since Alice spoke with her former boss and dear friend at least weekly. Trevor and Becca were well in Ireland, although her inn was still closed to guests due to the virus. Connor and Louisa had their hands full in Chicago with the homeless shelter and the recent unrest in the city.
The rest of the nieces and nephews were back with Clara and Arthur in Dare Valley, the small town in Colorado that Clifton had called home for almost a year. J.T. and Caroline had resumed their work with the Merriam Art Museum, he was happy to hear. Flynn and Annie were dealing with the ups and downs of the girls going back to school, alongside launching their new business initiatives in Merriam Enterprises, he in tech and she in skincare. Lastly, Michaela and Boyd were stateside due to travel restrictions, hard at work on a potential vaccine for Covid-19 from the Life Giver flower from Kenya.
Clifton hoped there would be good news on the vaccine front. The world needed it badly.
But it was the news about Clara’s brother, Shawn, and his wife, Assumpta, that was most upsetting. The fires in California had ravaged most of their land, but somehow missed the house, thank God.
“The West Coast is having an unimaginable time with the fires, beyond everything else,” he said gravely.
Clara nodded. “They’re going to come to Dare Valley for a while.”
“Do musical beds with their kids here,” Arthur said. “Be good for them. The uncertainty out there isn’t good for anyone’s physical or emotional health.”
“No, I don’t imagine it would be,” Clifton responded.
He heard someone call out, “Hello?”
“Excuse me. I seem to have a visitor to the shop. We will resume our talk at a later date.” He bowed formally, making Arthur laugh, but old habits died hard.
“Glad you already have customers well in advance of your opening,” Clara said. “I wish we could be there, Clifton, but Arthur and I have talked about the dangers of traveling. I’m not sure when we’ll make it.”
“Your safety is the most important consideration. I trust you will be here in spirit. Now, I must go see to our guest.”
She blew him a kiss. “Go!”
The connection ended, and he put his mask on as he walked into the shop’s main room.
A young Hispanic woman who looked to be in her mid to late twenties was standing inside the door wearing a black skirt and white dress shirt along with a white mask.
“May I help you?” Clifton asked.
She jumped, and he was sorry to have startled her. Fatigue and worry lined what should have been youthful brown-gold eyes. “I understand you’re planning to open, and I was wondering if you were hiring. I used to work here as a hostess and then later as a cook with Mama Gia and her sister, Mrs. Alessa, God rest her soul. Here’s my résumé.” She held out a sheet of paper but didn’t hand it over. “She’s one of my references. I’ll do anything you need, including cleaning. I’m a hard worker.”
Clifton was used to sizing up people immediately, and this woman’s character struck him as inviolate. “My name is Clifton Hargreaves, and I am the co-proprietor of this shop. What is your name?”
She seemed to stand taller as she said, “Maria Sanchez.”
“Un placer,” he answered in Spanish, bringing a spark of fire into her eyes.
“You speak Spanish?” she asked in English.
“Yes,” he answered in English, taking her lead, “as does Alice Bailey, my partner here at the House of Hope & Chocolate.”
“That is wonderful, but I speak English. I worked very hard on it in school. I am a U.S. citizen, sir.”
With tensions about immigration being what they were, he could understand her need to impart that information. He only nodded. “The loss of Two Sisters has affected many people.”
She blinked back tears. “I was very happy here. It was my first job. I started when I was just sixteen. I was here twelve years, and now it is gone. I got another job in Mt. Kisco as a hostess, but they also closed last week.”
Clifton nodded again, feeling the pull to do something for this woman. “Run me through your experience in more detail,” he said even though he and Alice didn’t have the budget for an extra person.
Her words were halting at first, as if she was uncomfortable talking about her experience, but then her spine straightened. There was a dignity here, one he recognized both as a butler and a human being. Being in service to others did not mean a person was a servant. He knew the difference, but not everyone did. Maria clearly understood it, however.
“I am good with people and I love to cook,” she said after guiding him through the more detailed aspects of her past employment.
“What are some of your favorite things to cook?” he asked, watching as her eyes sparked again.
She had a fire in her soul for cooking, something he and Alice also shared.
“My family is from Mexico originally,” she said, meeting his gaze directly. “I love to grind the corn and make my own tortillas. Then there are the tamales and posole, which is—”
“A kind of meat stew with chilis and hominy,” he finished, smiling under his mask. “I am a great fan of traditional Mexican food. I used to think about traveling to Oaxaca for a cooking class to learn the twelve types of mole.”
She gasped. “My family is from Oaxaca! You want to learn how to make mole? I would teach you.”
He put his hand to his heart. “It would be an honor, Maria.”
She patted her chest as well. “The pleasure would be mine, Mr. Hargreaves. I must admit I only know limited recipes with chocolate, but it is from Mexico, and my heart will know it. You have to have fire to cook. Not only for the meat, corn, and chilis. But in the heart, because you cook from here. Mama Gia knew that. It’s why she closed Two Sisters.”
There were tears in her eyes as she gazed around the space, as if cataloguing the changes and reminiscing about the old design.
“Even though she survived the virus, she said that when the heart of the kitchen dies, so does the restaurant. A part of her died when she lost her hermana gemela. They took their first steps together. Learned how to make tomato sauce and pasta together. They raised their children together. They were the best of friends their whole life. It was a joy to see them together every day.”