11. Lacie
LACIE
I rounded on Jared. “That’s going a bit far, don’t you think? Is that what you were doing when you came in for the top hat? Getting the receptionist in on it, too? Good one.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “I don’t have anything to do with this. I’m just as confused as you are.”
“Okay,” I said on an exhale, trying to stay calm. I braced my hands on the end of the reception desk. “Joke’s over. I’m in Room 11, and I’d like a working key, please.”
Junie frowned. “I’m so sorry. There’s clearly been some kind of mistake. Grace Eastland just checked in today. She’s in Room 11. You and your husband are in Room 9.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “He’s not my husband,” I said through gritted teeth.
“But you checked in together yesterday,” Junie said, turning her attention to her computer.
“We arrived together, but that doesn’t mean we’re together .” I was ready to lose it. “Remember? You thought we were married then, and I corrected you. The reservations were under my name. My very single-status name. Lacie Sorensen.”
“Hmm, I’m not remembering any Sorensens this year.” Junie clicked through a few things. She then turned her screen so that Jared and I could see its contents. “See? There you are right here. Jared and Lacie Kingston.”
She pointed to where our information was displayed.
I leaned in for a better look. Sure enough, our customer information displayed us as a couple.
Jared and Lacie Kingston. Not Jared Kingston and Lacie Sorensen.
Mr. and Mrs. Room 9.
The strength drained from my knees. I clung to the desk. Jared scowled at the screen as if daring it to shape up and display the correct information or he’d punch its lights out.
“This is impossible,” he said, and his voice drifted to me as if from a great distance.
I was blanking out. Blinking. Staring. Gaping.
“Check it again, please,” I said. “Refresh the screen.”
Junie complied, but the same information popped up that was there before.
“We’re not married,” I said. “No matter what the snowmen around here say.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t seem to grasp anything. What was going on?
Jared tugged my arm. Robotically, as if stirring through water, I joined him up the stairs.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Checking something,” he said.
Soon, he stood before Room 9 and lifted his key to the knob.
It worked. It fit in the lock and everything.
Traitorous, sadistic key.
He opened the door and plunged into the room. I followed, but it was like someone else controlled my movements. I made it far enough in to close the door behind me only to stop.
Jared’s boring, black suitcase was settled on the end of the bed, flayed open with his belongings scattered—messy and haphazard like he always was.
And there, nestled snugly and zipped closed as a guest’s suitcase should be—as I’d left it in my room—my purple suitcase sat on the floor by the bed. It was in the exact spot in which I’d left it.
Just in a different room.
“Impossible,” I breathed. “How did this get in here?”
I dove for the suitcase and unzipped, prying it open. My belongings were gone. They’d been placed in my closet to keep them from wrinkling.
This was my bag, though. The organizer that created the boxes within—I was careful enough to recognize this sorting anywhere.
I sent a desperate glance to the bed. My own pillow was situated on the right-hand side. My purple-corded phone charger was plugged into the wall.
Frenzy bubbled up into my lungs. I dashed to the bathroom. There was my purple toiletry bag—in the exact spot I’d left it in the other room.
With trembling fingers, I yanked my beanie off and raked them into my hairline, staring, attempting to find something that made sense.
Who staged this? Had it been Jared? If so, how could he know exactly where I’d left things?
He was as disorderly as they came, and even if he paid this much attention to where I’d left things, he could never have replicated them this exactly.
“Did you bring your stuff in here?” he asked from behind me, peering over my shoulder into the tiny bathroom.
My voice was high-pitched. “When would I have? How could I have? I haven’t even been to your room since we arrived. I was trying to give you some space!”
He pulled at his neck and exhaled loudly. “What is going on?”
“Hang on.” I pushed past him toward the closet.
To my surprise, every article of clothing sat precisely where I’d placed it in the other room. I dove for my purse hanging from the peg where I’d hung it in my room the night before.
I fumbled for my wallet. The case slipped from my fingers a few times before I managed a strong enough hold on it to retrieve my driver’s license.
The sight made my mind go blank.
“Jare?” I called loudly.
My body wasn’t my own. My fingers had no grip. Nothing braced beneath my feet, and the entire room whirled. I leaned against the doorjamb, barely aware that Jared had joined my side and took the card from my grasp.
With his brow furrowed, he examined my driver’s license. Then, as if needing a closer look, he brought the slim card directly in front of his face.
“No way,” he said.
I knew what it said, but I looked again anyway.
Lacie Kingston.
Lacie FREAKING Kingston.
“How—how can your driver’s license change? Did you have a fake one made before we left?”
I’d heard that falsified, caring tone before. Infuriated, I slapped the card against his muscular shoulder.
Jared was the master of pranks. One time, he’d brought me caramel-dipped onions instead of the caramel-dipped apples he knew I loved.
Another time, he’d rolled my car window down and had sprinkled broken glass on the street just outside my car door, holding a broom handle and apologizing profusely. I’d been livid, ready to drive to the dealership, only to have Jared start the car and roll up the unbroken window.
He’d staged the whole thing.
Yet another time, he’d rigged the wires for my car horn, connecting them to my turn signal so that every time I signaled, my horn honked. It had scared me to death and made me laugh outrageously all at once.
I’d gotten him back with a potato to the exhaust pipe after that one. Luckily, he’d caught sight of the potato before he’d started his car.
I hadn’t realized how much damage it would do.
“Seriously?” He gawked at me as though I’d accused him of taunting small children. “Wyatt just broke up with you. Tia would hate that I’m here at all. My coming here was as impromptu as you can get. When would I have ever had the chance to even do anything like this?”
I searched his face. This was usually the time his “Sucker!” smile broke through and he confessed the truth of his antics, but his expression remained bizarrely disgruntled.
“Good point,” I said.
Although, even if my brain accepted his defensive proclamation, that didn’t mean my heart got the memo. It thumped so hard, it hit my sternum.
I began pacing as though motion was necessary to get my thoughts where they belonged.
“If anything, I’d think you were the one who planted all this,” he said.
I sprung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You keep acting like I’m the one at fault here, but this is your trip, my friend. This is all you. How do I know you didn’t plan this as some kind of…I don’ t know, trick?
“For all I know, you staged all this with Junie. You planted the fake ID. You found some way to sneak your stuff in here.
“All that Mr. and Mrs. Sorensen—Mr. and Mrs. Kingston stuff. Are you trying to tell me something?”
I clenched my hands into fists. “I’m not making this up.”
That would mean I’d faked the breakup with Wyatt, and I couldn’t believe Jared thought I’d make up something so painful for the sole purpose of getting his attention.
Didn’t he know me at all?
“You know I’m with Tia. But if you had any idea how hard that fact has been for me since we left Texas, I don’t think you’d be acting this way.”
The statement startled me more than a full-body waxing strip. My mouth dropped open. “What does that mean?”
“If you wanted to be with me, you could have just said something. Preferably before I started dating someone else. I would have been open to it, Lace.”
My indignation rose. “I didn’t plan this! I was in Room 11. ”
“Then how do you explain what’s going on here?”
“I have no idea.” I couldn’t stand this anymore.
I hated arguing with him. I hated the accusatory statements and the glare he was giving me. I hated that my beautiful trip that had been so perfect in my head was turning out to be the opposite of flawless.
I swiveled, heading for the door before Jared could see the tears welling in my eyes.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To get a room of my own.”
I didn’t mean to slam the door—that was beyond discourteous to the other guests here—but it happened anyway. Nothing like a good door slam to punctuate a dramatic and angry exit from a room, especially after an argument.
Nothing I could do about it now.
I marched down the stairs again, remembering all the factors that I’d been keeping tabs on to mention in my review of Harper’s Inn once I left. A review I intended to post on my website in an article that would allow me to also make this trip a tax write-off.
Everything had been so positive up to this point. My mental review had been glowing.
Now, it shriveled to ashes and insults with every step I took.
Junie’s perkiness wasn’t at its usual level once I made it to the front desk.
“Sounds like things are a little heated between you two. How long have you been married?” Junie asked.
She’d heard us all the way down here?
Her tone was kind, and I knew she was probably just trying to help. So I curbed the frustration rattling my lid.
“We’re not ,” I said, exasperated but trying to keep my voice calm. “We’re not married. My name is Lacie Sorensen, and Jared and I had our own rooms when we got here.
“Can I please get a room of my own? Even if number 11 is no longer available—because you gave it to another guest, which, if that’s the case, is terrible customer service—I’ll take anything you have.”
I cursed myself for letting the unkind mention slip out.
Junie chewed her lip. “I can assure you, we never overbook rooms. I would never give your room to another guest. Room 11 was, in fact, vacant when the other guest moved into it.”
“How is that possible?” I asked. “I was in it!”
“I’m not sure what’s going on here, and any other time I’d be happy to accommodate your request, but we really are fully booked. And we have been for months.
“Most of our rooms sell out at least a year in advance, especially for the holidays—and Boone would kill me if he knew I let another woman stay in his room?—”
Boone? Who was he? I didn’t know why she possibly thought giving me a random man’s room was a solution. Was she really suitable enough to deal with reservations and customer service?
I didn’t have the patience for this right now. Frustration roiled beneath my skin.
I didn’t mean to be rude—I really didn’t. But I also believed in being treated properly when I was a guest somewhere, and this was uncalled for.
The customer was always right. That was how customer service worked.
“You’re saying you don’t have any empty rooms?”
“Not at Christmastime, no,” Junie replied.
I waited for her to extend some kind of complimentary service to cover the slipup.
“But I can offer you a free visit to our spa,” she said as if reading my mind. “Clearly, there’s been some kind of mix-up here, Mrs. Kingston, and I’m more than happy to make up for it however I can?—”
“I’m Miss Sorensen,” I snapped. “Miss Sorensen. Jared and I aren’t married!”
A sense of quiet settled between us. Rather than being offended, Junie seemed to consider things for a moment. Her eyes slanted toward the living room situated to her right.
A thought seemed to dawn. The corners of her mouth fought to stay where they were.
“You heard the radio play, didn’t you?” she asked.
“What?”
Understanding surfaced on Junie’s face the longer we stood there. Instead of acting insulted by my frustration and snippy comments, she smiled as if she’d just found the missing piece to a puzzle.
“The radio has been known to meddle,” Junie said. “It hasn’t happened for years, but this year, something is different. Did you hear it play?”
I shook my head. “This isn’t—this—” I couldn’t finish.
One of the appeals of Harper’s Inn was the prospect of magic. The idea was delightful, sure, but magic wasn’t real.
“Did you hear the radio play?” Junie asked again, keeping each word of her question gradual and slow.
“I—yes, it played ‘Winter Wonderland,’ but?—”
My gaze darted out the side window. The snowman Jared and I had built was visible from here, top hat and all.
“Winter Wonderland” sang of a snowman who mentioned marriage to those nearby. Jared and I had heard the snowman do the same thing—but it couldn’t possibly have pulled anything like this.
It was a snowman.
Junie smiled far too knowingly for my liking. I couldn’t accept this. The idea that Jared and I were suddenly married was impossible and inexplicable.
My earlier argument with him was all too fresh. Was it possible that the inn offered situations to keep up their claims of magic? Did they stage things like this to keep guests on their toes during their stay?
I mentally skimmed through what I’d researched and what my client had mentioned, but I couldn’t recall anything like that.
“Very funny,” I said. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Junie asked.
“Do you run background checks on your guests? Figure out the best way to interfere with their lives once they arrive?”
“I clean the rooms,” Junie said, brow furrowing and eyes shifting. “I check guests in and keep tabs on reservations. I pester my cousin, Boone, to make repairs and make sure our chef, horsemen, and staff are doing their jobs. That’s what I do here.”
“I’m surprised your ratings aren’t in the tank. This is so unprofessional,” I said, storming away.
I couldn’t talk to this woman any longer. I would schedule the first flight I could get. I would demand a refund, leave the most scathing review I could for Harper’s Inn on every outlet, and return home to spend Christmas with my parents where I should have been all along.
Nothing like a taken-too-far practical joke to completely ruin what was supposed to be a nice getaway. It was a good thing my wedding was already cancelled—I wouldn’t, in no uncertain terms, ever hold one here.
I headed toward the dining room, needing space to think, and I pulled my phone from my pocket in the meantime. I couldn’t talk to Jared about this.
Mom was the second choice. Perhaps she could offer some clarity.
She answered after the second ring.
“Lacie Lou, what are you calling me on your honeymoon for?” she said in a playfully reprimanding sort of way.
My feet stopped moving. “I—what? Mom, what are you talking about?”
Honeymoon? It wasn’t that long ago that Mom had texted to ask if I’d made it to Montana with Wyatt
Mom laughed. “Hang up right now and get your attention back to your new husband where it belongs. Though I’ll tell you, Jen and I are completely ecstatic that you two finally decided to tie the knot.
“We used to talk about this, you know, when you were babies. We joked around about how if we lived in medieval times, we would have made sure you were betrothed so you’d have gotten married regardless. And now you’re hitched, and we couldn’t be happier!
“Besties marrying each other? How much more romantic can you get than that? Especially since you two all but grew up together.”
“Mom.” I hurried to interrupt. “You think Jared and I are married?”
“I saw your dad walk you down the aisle only two days ago.” She laughed again. “What’s this about? Did you have your first fight already? You two fight like wrestlers anyway—you always have—but you’ve always made up fast, too. Whatever it is, he’ll come around.”
“Mom—”
“I’m hanging up now, Lace. Go be with your husband. Give him a kiss for me. Or maybe not—I would never kiss him like you would.” Another chuckle. “All the more reason for you to lay one on him.”
“Mom, Jared and I aren’t married.”
“Very funny. I’m hanging up now.”
“Mom!”
Silence.
I stared at my phone, at the collection of tables and chairs. Certain words from the conversation chimed in my brain, registering and making vague sense in the otherwise senselessness crowding me.
Married.
Honeymoon.
Fighting.
Kissing.
“Oh, my gosh.” I reached for the nearest chair and sank into it. Even Mom was in on it?
What was going on?