6
Faith
Mitch
Maxine peels out of my parents’ driveway, but I catch up with her a few blocks away and follow her through town, laughing when she flips me the bird at a stop sign.
I gaze out the passenger window as we pull up to the inn.
The two-story house, with its white picket fence, faded burgundy siding and wilted garden out front, screams unloved, and it’s clear why it’s not doing well.
I spent many weekends here as a kid, helping my grandparents out with simple tasks, but now you couldn’t ask me to spend the night in what looks like a ratty, old, likely haunted house.
We park in the lot on the side next to three other cars, but I wonder if they belong to paying guests or staff. Considering we’re at the tail end of Oakwhite’s busy summer season, this lot should be full.
Maxine steps out of her car, glaring. “Go on. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“You’re thinking how bad it looks.”
I follow her around to the front, up the beaten stone path to the wrap-around porch. “Not bad. It just needs some TLC.”
“Tons of loving cash?” she replies, not missing a beat, and an unexpected laugh bursts from my mouth. Instantly, she spins around, scowling at me as if I’ve grown horns.
“What? That was funny.”
She purses her lips, crossing her arms. Tilting her head, she narrows her gaze. “It wasn’t that funny.”
“Are we going inside?” I ask, ignoring her tone.
“You’re really not letting this go?”
“No, I’m really not.”
She doesn’t budge when I try to walk up the path, so I go around her, earning her irritated huff. She races around me into the house and doesn’t even bother to hold the door for me.
The scent of old wood and dust welcomes us, along with a tall, young man sitting behind the desk, with honey-colored skin and the most intense hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Everything all right?” he asks Maxine, but keeps his cautious glare on me.
“Been better.” She nods my way. “Any new check-ins?” she asks him and their shared laugh says it was a joke. She rounds the counter and types something into the computer.
“Actually, I have some good news,” the guy begins, still staring at me, but speaking to Max. “The bride’s family booked rooms for September.”
Maxine’s jaw slacks. “And are they all super rich and will suddenly save this place from bankruptcy?” She aims a very reproachful glance my way.
The guy seems confused and frowns. “Um, no. But they’ve booked the whole place for the wedding.” He steals the mouse from her and clicks into the hotel’s booking system.
Maxine dips down to stare at the screen, her entire expression one of disbelief. “We’re fully booked?”
“Yep, the entire weekend. Some are even staying an extra few days.”
He takes her hand, squeezing it, and she leans in and kisses his temple.
The little show of affection seems a bit too intentional and at my expense, but it sets my teeth on edge all the same.
This kid looks like he’s in his early twenties and is freakishly good-looking.
Anyone would find the guy attractive and I don’t care if he’s with Max, but I wonder what their story is.
The guy finally grins and extends his hand over the desk. “Hey, I’m Zayne Cardoso.”
I shake his hand, hating how firm his grip is. “Mitchell Adams.” I wait for the recognition to flicker through his eyes, but he just blinks, uninterested.
“Oh, I know who you are,” he says, but nothing about his tone screams adoration. He looks at Maxine. “I thought you had the night off.”
Max shrugs, offering a tight-lipped grin. “I did. He wanted to see the place,” she answers, jerking her chin my way. “I’ll give him a quick tour and then we’re out of here.”
“Boo,” Zayne says, feigning disappointment, and sinks back into his chair.
“Well, come on.” Maxine steps out from behind the desk, waving me over. “Let’s get this over with.”
I follow her up the creaky, old, carpeted staircase. “Aren’t you dating that other guy? Fucker, was it?”
“His name is Tucker. And yes, I am. Why?”
“You and Zayne. Friends or…?”
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she answers, “but yes, Zayne’s my best friend and the part-time assistant manager.”
“That’s it? Seemed like there was more between you.”
She stops mid-step, causing me to nearly smash into her, and turns around, her lips curling into a playful grin.
“You obviously can’t read the room very well.” A short giggle slips over her pretty lips. The sort of laugh she’d use when teasing me. Lighthearted. Harmless. And it momentarily fills me with hope. “Did you seriously miss the way he was checking you out?”
“Checking me? Oh, so he’s…” A blush crawls up my neck.
“Yeah, he is.” She shakes her head and continues up the steps, but stops at the top, turning around. Eye-level with me, she says, “Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here, Mitch?”
“I’m here to see the inn.”
“You say that, but it feels like you’re checking in on me. And you don’t have to. I know what I’m doing.”
“No offense, Maxine,” I begin, stepping up to stand beside her. “But if you did, this place wouldn’t be suffering as badly as you say it is.”
I watch my words hit her, but she forces another dry laugh. “This place is suffering because of those damn chain hotels popping up on the interstate. They’re like dune grass—one day there’s one, the next day there’s a whole cluster of them. We can’t compete and maintain a good overhead.”
“Ah, come on.” I tilt my head. “A wise girl once told me nothing is impossible if you set your mind to it.”
She tenses, her expression hardening. “Right. Well, that girl didn’t know the first real thing about life.”
“Maybe so, but she wasn’t wrong.”
A million thoughts swirl behind her eyes, but her lips remain sealed, and she lowers her head, spins around, her footsteps echoing with finality down the empty hallway.
I follow behind. The burgundy carpet beneath our feet has faded from decades of treads, and we definitely need to replace it. “Mind if I see the rooms?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.”
She puffs out her cheeks, then pulls out her keys and unlocks the door to room four, shoving it open.
When I step in, I’m instantly reminded of Grandmother Adams. Not surprisingly, considering the room looks the same as it did twenty years ago with dark paint and floral wallpaper, lace curtains and doilies.
But the rooms are big, and the old oak furniture is in good shape.
Considering the retro, antiquey vibe is still popular, it wouldn’t take much to give this place a quick refresh, and ideas rush to my mind.
“You need to accept this might not be worth saving,” Maxine says, her voice subdued as she leans against the door frame, twirling the keys in her hand. “The dream your family had is fading along with Bill.”
Her blue eyes glisten and she lowers her gaze. No matter how strained things are between us, there’s still a huge part of me that hates seeing Maxine so sad and hopeless. A part that despises when she’s hurting and begs to make it all better.
I peer into the tiny bathroom and am met by a floral overload—on the towels, the shower curtain, the wallpaper. Yep, definitely needs a refresh. Or a tone down.
“Since when do you believe in God?” I ask, stepping out, trying to distract her.
Maxine’s head snaps up, and she grimaces as if I’ve insulted her. “Where’s that coming from?”
“At dinner, you prayed.”
With a small eye roll, she shakes her head. “No, I lowered my head to placate Bill and Robyn. You have no idea what I was actually thinking.”
“You were placating them?” I reply with a frown.
“Why would I waste my energy arguing with them? I’m not going to instigate something when he’s—” She stops, reconsidering her words. “If praying makes them feel better about what’s happening, then who am I to judge?”
“Huh,” I say, scratching my chin.
“What?”
“That’s the most you’ve said to me since I got here.
” A slow smile tugs at my lips, but with an annoyed exhale, she steps out.
I give the room one last look over, then shut the door behind me, finding her waiting down the hall.
“I don’t get it. If you’re willing to ignore your beliefs to respect theirs, surely you can do the same about this place. ”
She spins around. “That’s what you think this is? A conflict of opinion? There’s no conflict, Mitch. The inn speaks for itself.”
“We could help it bounce back.”
“And I’m sure the right buyer could do whatever they want to it.”
“You’d sell it?” I snap, my eyes bulging.
Her hand lands on my arm with a soft thud. “Sometimes a lost cause is a lost cause.”
This time when we lock eyes, she doesn’t turn hers away in disgust. A few seconds pass, then, as if realizing what she’s doing, she squeezes her eyes shut and pulls her hand away, rushing downstairs.
I hurry after her. “This place isn’t a lost cause. As Bill said, we’re in this together.”
She stomps into the dining room at the back of the house.
“You can’t just decide to sell without my approval.”
“Oh my god, please stop pretending you give a shit,” Max exclaims, covering her face.
An older lady sits by the empty fireplace alone, reading a book. She glances up at us, curious, and I offer her a polite nod. Max notices and drops her voice, but doesn’t seem too bothered by the guest eavesdropping.
“Let’s be honest. You’re only interested in the profit.
And I hate to burst your bubble, Mitch, but there’s none to be made.
” She busies herself fixing chairs that don’t need fixing.
“So, we have two options. Either we sell and split whatever we get for it. Or you can go back to New York and let me handle everything. I’ve been doing it for years without your help, and I’ll keep doing it just fine. ”
I scowl, trying to pinpoint the exact moment Maxine’s passionate glow dimmed into something so overwhelmingly negative. Nothing used to stand in her way. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to make things happen. Even the most outlandish dreams never seemed too far-fetched.
“This isn’t like you, Max. The girl I used to know wouldn’t give up so easily.”