Second Chance at the Inn

One

Her hands went straight to her hair—wavy, the color of Swiss chocolate, maintained monthly at a cost she refused to calculate—as if any of that could outrun her fiftieth birthday next week.

Leavenworth was flooded.

The inn, too.

“Power’s still out,” The Colchuck’s manager Sebastian said. “They’re saying it could be a few days, or maybe next week.”

Next week. As in, the week before December would begin. The busiest month of the year in Leavenworth—the month that kept the inn afloat.

The Colchuck Inn had raised her. She’d learned bookkeeping before algebra. Could price a suite on instinct, no software required. And now, it was thirty feet above the river and somehow underwater anyway.

“Cancel through next week,” London said. “Full refunds. Offer to rebook at winter rates instead of December. I’ll send you a voice memo on the drive.”

“I’ll get on it,” Sebastian said before hanging up. “Be safe.”

He was headed to higher ground at his boyfriend’s in Wenatchee. Smart.

London spun once in her chair. Through the window, her neighbor's kitchen light was on. Someone making a meal like it was an ordinary day.

How had she ended up here—and not there?

Leavenworth was her whole heart. And she couldn’t stand to be there. Not now. Not with the whispers. Not with how you holding ups and let us know if there’s anything we can dos around every corner. Small towns couldn’t keep secrets. Leavenworth didn’t even try.

She hadn’t been back since Harper left. Since the papers. Since invisibility started to feel easier than being known.

But invisibility wouldn’t fix a flooded inn.

###

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Laurie said. In the background, her Chihuahua, Duke, was already barking. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Not sure. This is the absolute last thing I needed to cap off this fucking year. It just—keeps coming. My dad would know what to do.”

London was scribbling circles on a legal pad, the lines getting deeper with each pass. Her coffee cup was empty, but she tilted it toward her anyway, just to be sure.

“I’ve called five contractors in Wenatchee—three didn’t answer and the two that did were already on site at other homes in town. I’m headed out soon.”

“I heard Tumwater Canyon is washed out. Can you even get there?”

“I’ll take I-90. But goddamn it. I really needed a win this year, and we’re fully booked for Christmas. Bash said there was a foot of standing water on the main floor.”

She’d be lying if she said visions of selling the inn hadn’t been creeping in.

Sometimes. When things were hard and she was lonely and facing her past seemed like too much, she thought about it.

She’d run the numbers. More than once. The building was aging.

Town was changing. The locals were getting younger, the old guard selling out to buyers from Seattle and Spokane.

Guests wanted kitchens and hot tubs and self-check-in.

Every year, new options sprang up that offered amenities her traditional landhaus couldn’t.

And if she was honest, her competitive drive left when her wife did.

“Want me to come with you?” Duke continued barking through Laurie’s words.

“That’s sweet of you, but no.” London lifted her gaze from the yellow pad. “Bash said the town is devastated. Enchantment Park is underwater. People are roaming the streets with chainsaws. Power could be out for days, especially if it keeps raining at the rate it has been.”

And she didn’t want to be bossed by an eight-pound dog with too many opinions.

“Okay, well, please text me when you get there—I—Duke! Will you give it a break?!—I’m here for you. And I have zero plans this weekend if you want me to come over tomorrow and start hauling out wet drywall or whatever. And, I have a chainsaw if you need it.”

That was Laurie. Always willing to roll up her sleeves, butch up, and treat a catastrophe like cardio.

“Of course you do! And I may need it. Let me get over there and see what’s real and what’s social media mania, and I’ll call you tonight. And Laur—”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. You’ve been my rock through this shitshow of a year. I’m so thankful we had zero chemistry.”

“Just because I think you’re a bad kisser doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” Laurie said. “I got your back. Now go, daylight’s burning. And please be careful on Blewett. The semis drive way too fast and I need you here. Love you.”

“I will. Promise. Love you, too.”

London hung up, grabbed her keys, and was halfway to the door before she remembered she'd need clothes.

She backtracked to the bedroom, stuffed jeans and flannels into a duffel without folding them and grabbed her phone charger.

On her way out, she passed the legal pad on the counter—circles pressed so deep they'd torn through to the page beneath.

###

CHAINS REQUIRED, EXCEPT AWD, the road sign flashed, four miles before the summit of Snoqualmie Pass.

Snow was pounding down. Not drifting softly, like a snow globe.

Not fluttering romantically, like in every Hallmark movie.

Pounding, like only the Cascades could deliver.

London’s windshield wipers were set on high and not making a difference.

There wasn’t a setting for “really fucking snowing.” Her knuckles were bright white on the wheel of her blessedly all-wheel drive Subaru, and she still had at least ninety minutes of driving left.

On a sunny day, she loved this drive—evergreens blanketed in snow, mountains at every turn.

Not today. It had been raining buckets for days when it should have been snowing, and now this.

How very, very Cascades. She could only see a few feet in either direction and prayed her long history with this drive would get her to Leavenworth.

Leavenworth was a lot of things to London Mercer.

Her hometown. Where she learned to ski and mountain bike.

Where she spent long, lazy summers floating the river with her friends.

Where she came out. Where she returned after a stint in Los Angeles.

And the place where everyone thought they knew what happened.

She could already picture the looks.

The half-smiles.

The pity.

As London exited into Cle Elum, the snow eased. It was her last opportunity for a stop before Blewett Pass took her home. She killed the engine outside the coffee shop and sat for a moment.

Would Leavenworth ever be hers again?

She’d let someone in. Trusted her. Brought her into the center of her whole world.

And then.

Harper didn’t just leave. She rearranged London’s life on her way out.

“Hey, London,” the barista called as she walked in the door. “The usual?”

“Yep, and a power scone, thanks, Cath,” London waved as she beelined for the water closet.

She stopped here on every drive over the pass. Good coffee and a clean, well-lit restroom.

When she latched the door, she caught a glimpse of a stranger in the mirror.

When did she get so—old? The woman looking back resembled London.

Same light brown hair. Same emerald eyes.

Same scar above her left eyebrow earned from a bike crash in Freund Canyon when she was seventeen.

But that wasn’t her. The woman in the mirror looked like she hadn’t slept in two years.

The lines were deeper. The eyes, duller.

She didn’t recognize the person looking back.

“Shit,” London said again.

She’d face her past. Fix the inn. And no matter what, she wouldn’t go looking for Harper.