Lost Journals

Jon gazed into the fire. The light illuminated the beautiful bone structure of his face: high cheek bones, well-defined brow, and patrician nose. I could imagine his ancestors as the Lords of England being waited on by my peasant, Irish ancestors.

He stood, took my glass, and placed it with his on the bar. “You must be tired,” he said. “You should find ample toiletries in your bathroom. I’ll give some pajamas.”

Jon led me up the oak stairs into an expansive hallway. We passed an open door leading into a book lined study, another open door revealed a small room littered with exercise paraphernalia. At the end of the hall, Jon opened a door to reveal a palatial bedroom. At first I though it was the master bedroom, but by his body language I could tell it was my room. A large oak four poster sat prominently in the middle of the room. It was adorned with a white down comforter and enough matching pillows to cushion a fall from the highest peaks of the Rockies.

Photo: reiko-stocks