Chapter 2
Two
Nothing had prepared Reese Devereux for the reality of taking over management of The Stone’s Throw Inn.
It was only ten a.m., and she’d already watched Hallie, her guide during the transition period, put out more fires than she could fathom a business sustaining.
And Hallie had told her this was a light morning!
Reese had done her research. Pored over every how-to guide on management best practices. Hell, she’d built an app that helped small hotels and inns manage their day-to-day operations seamlessly.
Building a website. Accepting and managing reservations. Check-ins. Cleaning. Dining Room reservations. Special requests. Guest engagement.
Reese was realizing—with stomach-churning clarity as she watched Hallie’s fingers move more quickly across the front desk’s keyboard than seemed possible—that she only understood these things in theory.
The practical application was, however, a completely different story.
Even when they were building her app, she and her ex-partner, Megan, had visited dozens of properties to ensure they understood the nuances of the trade.
The difference was, they got to leave at the end of the day with a significant amount of insight but no real responsibility on paper except to fix any bugs in the software.
She wasn’t prepared for Greg and Candace, both employees, to be in a lovers’ spat, Candace refusing to work a shift if Greg was scheduled, too.
And how did one person use twelve towels in a single night? They were probably better off being burned than put through the industrial-size washers that lived in the basement.
Let her not forget Mr. Ketterman, who, apparently, always stayed with his wife in a specific room, the name of which escaped Reese at the moment.
Only, he’d forgotten to book the room for his anniversary next weekend, and now it was suddenly Hallie’s—and, by extension, Reese’s—problem that it wasn’t available.
“I understand, Mr. Ketterman,” she heard Hallie say with a calmness in her voice that was hypnotizing, nodding along as she added, “I don’t want you to be in hot water with the missus either.”
Sympathy for someone’s poor planning had not been on Reese’s bingo card today. She was all about operational efficiency but hadn’t considered that it would be the guest at fault, which didn’t feel like their problem to fix.
Still, The Stone’s Throw was a small location, with loyal guests who had come back year after year. She knew from Hallie pulling up Mr. Ketterman’s customer profile that he and his wife had stayed here on their anniversary for the last twenty-nine years, like clockwork.
Reese should really add a repeat booking feature to the software.
Stop it , she chided herself, looking again at Bruce Ketterman’s profile, which she’d already scanned a half-dozen times.
The hotel management software that she’d spent years pouring her heart into was no longer hers. Instead, she now had what may be a multimillion-dollar mistake on her hands .
Hallie continued to give affirmative sounds as Mr. Ketterman prattled on. “How about this, Mr. Ketterman?”
Blessed, blessed silence through the phone, for the first time in minutes.
“It’s your thirtieth anniversary, right?
” Hallie nodded when his voice filtered through the receiver, but Reese already knew she wasn’t wrong.
Scanning the screen, Hallie pointed to a room that wasn’t blacked out as already reserved.
“We have a nicer suite available next weekend. I’ll give it to you at the same rate as your usual room.
We’ll make sure it’s decked out beautifully when you arrive.
You can let Mrs. Ketterman know that life with her is always new and exciting, and you wanted to give her an experience that signals a positive start to the next thirty years. ”
Hallie hummed again, nodding along, a smile blooming as she listened to him. “Yes, exactly. Traditions are amazing, but show her that you still want to woo her! That you’re not a man who’s going to rest on your laurels when it comes to love!”
Less than a minute later, Hallie had his information updated into the reservation for the suite, had applied a promo code to give him the other room’s rate, and she’d added a note for housekeeping regarding the special occasion.
Reese was beyond impressed.
“I’m thinking a charcuterie board and a bottle of champagne for next week,” she said to herself as much as to Reese when she hung up the phone.
“You’re good,” Reese said. “More than good. I’m a little intimidated right now, and that doesn’t usually happen.”
Hallie laughed and adjusted the metal name tag attached to her chest so that it was perfectly straight. “Here at The Stone’s Throw Inn, we aim to please.” She looked back down at her computer. “Let me just finalize this reservation, and we can keep going.”
Reese had arrived late the night before.
Her flight from San Francisco had been delayed, but she’d made it to the inn just as the summer sun was setting.
This morning, after far too little sleep, she’d made sure to pad over to her window to watch the sun rise across the Atlantic Ocean, a sight she had sorely missed in her twelve years on the West Coast.
Northern California, at least along the shore, had its many charms—progressiveness, inclusivity, a bustling tech scene—but it was never a substitute for how captivated she felt by New England.
The West Coast was bold and vivid and jarring in its expanse.
Her little slice of Massachusetts, which she’d called home for the first eighteen years of her life, was defined by small communities littered along the coast, with lobster shacks and town squares and more antique shops than a person here for a weekend trip could ever hope to visit.
The Stone’s Throw Inn was a perfect encapsulation of all the things she had loved about growing up in Stoneport.
Set at the edge of town against the rocky shoreline, the main building was situated far enough back from the sea that the Thatcher family had created an outdoor oasis of adirondack chairs and firepits to enjoy the view.
And the sounds. God, she’d missed the sounds.
The gentle lapping of the waves as they reached the coastline.
She’d always loved how they lulled her, better than any sleep meditation app she’d found since.
The seagulls, possessing more confidence than was probably safe for them as they made their presence known with low, piercing keows.
They bobbed and weaved and shot up high in the sky, circling for fish below or an errant french fry dropped by a tourist.
“Okay, where were we?” Reese looked up to find Hallie flipping through a three-ring binder on the concierge desk. It seemed like she was looking for something specific, though what that was, Reese had no idea.
Reese had liked Hallie immediately. She was focused, thoughtful, and had a knack for problem-solving.
She wondered how Hallie felt about her parents selling the inn, if she was really as amenable about the situation as she seemed.
Basically, Hallie was training her own replacement, and, in the process, giving up a family legacy that must have defined her entire life.
Reese knew a little something about that—about feeling like decisions were made around her instead of with her and that, in the grand scheme of things, what she wanted didn’t matter all that much.
But she wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes.
The Stone’s Throw Inn was 100 percent hers.
Hers to help thrive. To accidentally tank into the pits of despair.
To plod along in survival mode as she went prematurely gray from the stress of what she was realizing was a far more difficult and nuanced job than she’d given hotel owners and managers credit for.
She touched her dark hair, paranoid that it was already happening.
Even if it were, she told herself she didn’t care. The most important thing was that not her father nor Grant nor Megan were involved in this venture. And, gray hair or not, it was a small price to pay for autonomy and control.
“So, how do you go from successful tech entrepreneur to the owner of a forty-year-old inn? Your family’s in hotels, right?”
Reese scrunched up her face before she realized she was doing it. She hated being compared to—or contrasted with, for that matter—her family, but Devereux was a big name in a small town.
Hallie closed the binder in front of her and folded her hands on top of it. Maybe she hadn’t found whatever she was looking for. “Touchy subject?”
She liked how forthright Hallie was. Clearly a person who’d grown up dealing with people her entire life, she wore her ability to navigate conversations like a second skin.
Reese was trying to soak in the unspoken teachings Hallie could provide just as much as the litany of lists and tasks that she was working to memorize.
She ran her finger across the shiny surface of the front desk, which stood chest high and provided a much-needed barrier between herself and the rest of the world.
“I’m not sure if you like or dislike my father’s hotel group, but I can say with absolute confidence that he has nothing to do with me purchasing The Stone’s Throw. ”
The Thatcher family knew that she was the one purchasing the inn, but she’d come in with an all-cash offer.
She knew they’d appreciated that she wasn’t part of a large conglomeration, and it was her goal to maintain the charm of a place that had become a part of the town’s fabric over the last four decades.
As far as business transactions went, it had been fairly straightforward. No board. No investors. No percentages of ownership. She ponied up the cash, and then the proverbial—and literal—keys were in her hands.