Chapter 8 #4
So not only had Henry called in the hospitality big guns, but Griff had too?
I glanced over at him. He was leaning against his car, preoccupied with his phone.
His Camaro was even more hideous in the sunlight.
I drained the coffers for this car, he’d said after buying it a couple of months ago.
Bring on the cater-waiter tips this summer!
Griff was also strapped for cash.
“I’ll be right there, guys!” he called. “Just asking Aunt Lynn a question.”
“We’ve aborted Airbnb, Keeler!” Henry called. “Here-to-Stay checks more boxes, and won’t feature a visit from the police.”
As long as “Monica Barbour” doesn’t get caught, I thought.
“Of course I’m cutting you guys in,” I told Ellie, squaring my shoulders. “I haven’t done the math yet, but…”
Do you take Monopoly money? Because I need every nickel and dime!
“Thanks, Audrey.” Ellie smiled as I held back an eye roll. “Just tell us what to do.”
Even as eager as I was to snap photos of the carriage house and slap them online, I suggested we walk through the upstairs apartment to see what we were dealing with; my mom visited every now and again to run the water and flush the toilet, but it’d been a while for me.
My reasons for visiting the carriage house started and ended with my hot shop.
The building’s base was the original stonework, while the second floor was the same stately white with black shutters as the main house.
Its brick chimney added some exterior charm, as did the small front and back balconies.
Griff and I charged up the winding stairs to the apartment, Henry and Ellie on our heels.
“You should hang up a wreath,” Griff suggested once I unlocked the door.
“The ones at your house are always really welcoming.”
“Good idea,” I said, bemused. Griff had noticed our seasonal wreaths? “I’ll raid my mom’s office later. She has a whole stash.”
Ellie sighed when we stepped inside, and I totally understood; the apartment was beautiful.
All the walls were painted bright white, to “lighten up the space” and highlight various accents, like the wood beams running along the ceiling.
The living room, while snug, felt airy, with a white couch, glass coffee table, and teak armchairs with pale-blue cushions with white scalloped edges.
The brick fireplace had been whitewashed; two framed watercolors of ships casually rested on the mantel, along with a pair of antique candlesticks and a small cut-glass fishbowl filled with matchbooks from seaside restaurants.
We stood on a rope area rug. Tastefully nautical, I remembered my mom calling the concept, to which I’d replied, As opposed to what? Gift shop nautical?
That had made her laugh.
“Well, this is awesome,” Griff said after we’d toured the living room, bathroom, bedroom, and cozy kitchen. Everything was neat as a pin. “Looks like we have nothing to do!”
“Are you kidding?” I asked at the same time as Henry.
“Jinx!” I exclaimed, and when Henry opened his mouth, I snapped my fingers. “Not until someone says your name.”
Griff chuckled and offered me a fist bump. “Nice.”
I accepted, but after our knuckles knocked, I said, “The place might look neat, but it needs to be vacuumed, Swiffered, and dusted before we take photos.”
Henry raised his hand.
“Yes, you can Swiffer,” I told him.
He rolled his eyes but leaned over to kiss my cheek. One of his hands went to my waist—I felt its warmth through my shirt. Per our terms and conditions, this was all aboveboard. And after “practicing” last night, I had a hunch we were going to make a more convincing couple.
Griff pretended to gag, while Ellie aggressively unlocked her phone.
Mission accomplished.
The cleaning supplies were stored in the hall closet.
Ellie volunteered Griff to vacuum, and while the Dyson—at the top of my mom’s Christmas list last year!
—was in the main house, the Dirt Devil did well enough.
Henry grabbed the Swiffer wipes. Ellie was a meticulous duster and wiped down the kitchen countertops.
“You assess the big picture,” she suggested.
“Make sure everything works and that everything is where you want it.”
I tested the TV, lights, air conditioning, even the heat. Then I went through the kitchen cabinets to see how well stocked they were—someone might want to cook—and made a list of things to buy. Some basics in the fridge might be a nice touch.
It’s almost like my mom designed this place as a getaway, I couldn’t help but think.
It was so cheerful, so damn coastal Connecticut.
Perfect for Here-to-Stay. Monica, this was lovely, my aunt Kim had said the last time she and Uncle Scott visited.
My mom had offered them the carriage house rather than a guest room.
It felt like we were on a little vacation.
“Who has the latest iPhone?” I asked after cleaning had concluded, everything now sparkling as the sun streamed through the windows. “It’s photo shoot time!”
Griff did, but Henry, after teaching himself to take professional photos for Golightly Glass, had the best eye. “Just don’t look at my camera roll,” Griff said before handing over his phone.
“TMI,” I said, as Ellie wrinkled her nose.
“No, no, nothing like that!” He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a lot of photos of Pheebs, that’s all.”
Phoebe was the Keelers’ pug. She dutifully attended all Essex Harbor High football games and even made it into the team yearbook photo.
I smiled and shook my head, then looked at Henry. “Okay, Henry—”
His full name slipped out before I could stop myself; jinx broken, he raised his hands in the air and cheered. “Freedom!”
My spine almost straightened when Ellie giggled. “Movie, TV show, or late-night interview?” she asked.
What? I thought, before remembering it was a game. Their game. While Henry and I spoke in movie quotes, he and Ellie did trivia.
Henry winked at Ellie. “Movie.”
“Hmm…” She put a finger to her lips, as if flirting with him.
Wait, was she flirting with him?
“Braveheart!” I blurted before we could really find out. “Mel Gibson’s Braveheart.” I smiled and gestured to the door. “Should we take exteriors first? Before we lose the light?”
Henry smiled. “Didn’t we decide I was the professional photographer?”
I flashed him the middle finger, and he sweetly kissed my cheek before the four of us went outside. If Ellie had been purposefully flirting with Henry, she didn’t try again.
Griff and Ellie stayed until we were unanimous on the final photos…
and agreed on their percentage per night.
Ellie happily fled to meet Chase, and Griff’s mom called to ask him to pick up a chicken roaster and salad stuff for dinner.
“You’ve got this, lovebirds!” Griff patted both me and Henry on the shoulders on his way out.
He gave mine a subtle but undeniable squeeze.
“Shoot me the link to the final product, all right?”
“Of course,” I told him, unable to hide my smile.
Charlotte texted Henry that our dinner would be ready and waiting in the oven whenever we wanted to come over. “You don’t have to host me,” I said, but Henry shook his head.
“Hepburn, my mom knows you can’t cook.”
I acquiesced; a frozen pizza couldn’t compete with whatever Charlotte had made.
On Here-to-Stay, Henry and I input Essex Harbor, Connecticut for our location, and noted our four-guest capacity. I thought of the narrow bunk room, the two tiny beds with their light-blue-and-white striped comforters with red piping. It was so adorable, but…
“Actually, make it two people,” I told Henry. “Families need not apply.” A family sounded like potential chaos, and I thought of Aunt Kim and Uncle Scott again. “A two-person stay suggests a dreamy getaway.”
“It also suggests more sex,” he commented.
“I will murder you if you put that in the description,” I said, then gestured to the candles on the mantel. “In the living room, with the candlestick.”
“Fine,” he said. “If only because I’d prefer my death to be a little more original than Clue.” He smirked at me. “Perhaps you should provide complimentary condoms?”
I groaned. “Henry!”
“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded, refocusing on his laptop. “Back to work…”
No lie, my heart had sped up by the time we finished step two—the title, photos, and description.
Rather than perusing Here-to-Stay for inspiration, I pulled up a YouTube clip from The Holiday, where Cameron Diaz reads about Kate Winslet’s quaint and cozy and cute Rosehill Cottage.
“We need to name the carriage house,” I said. “It’ll up the charm.”
“Fair Winds… ?” Henry suggested after we spent a few minutes dreaming up some duds.
“Oh, I’m driving up to Fair Winds this weekend,” I tried out, my heart flipping when Henry laughed. It did sound catchy. “Fair Winds” was a perfect shout-out to Fairfield County and the fresh, salty air that rolled off the Sound.
I was surprised how quickly I wrote a paragraph and change about Fair Winds and the town. Buzzwords like dreamy and serene for the carriage house, and picturesque and lively for Essex Harbor. I even threw in the phrase coastal grandmother living.
This place was a Nancy Meyers home meets Stars Hollow meets romance novel community, and I was going to paint it as such!
“Mission accomplished,” Henry said once he proofread the description. “Now…” He navigated to the next page. “Should anyone be able to book? Or do you want ‘jet-setters’ only? It looks like that’s the Here-to-Stay equivalent of Airbnb’s experienced guests.”
“Jet-setters,” I said without hesitation, and then, after a beat of hesitation, “I’d rather they be older, too.”
Predictably, Henry made a crack about me being reverse ageist.
“No, you know what I mean,” I said. “As a temporary landlord, I want to avoid any”—I searched for the right word—“shenanigans. This needs to stay low-key.”
The town was already wary of short-term rentals.
He nodded. “You can’t specify an age range,” he said, “but potential renters need to write you a little message upon preliminary booking, so that should help you screen people.”
“Excellent,” I said, and then it was time to crunch the numbers.
Here-to-Stay suggested $650 per night, but to quickly hook some guests, Henry and I both thought we needed to position Fair Winds as a steal.
We agreed on $450 a night, at least to start.
Right now, the math absolutely didn’t math to ten thousand, but I’d decided earlier to contribute the vast majority of my own savings toward refilling Expect the Unexpected.
Part of me felt like an idiot for not telling my parents I’d contribute my own money toward Blue Ridge, but I knew it wouldn’t have changed their minds. The financial implications had nothing to do with their decision.
Anyway, instead of ten thousand dollars, we now only needed seven.
And once Henry pledged a grand to the cause, seven became six. “Don’t worry, it’s not a donation,” he told me as my eyes stung with tears. Could anyone be more wonderful than Henry Chen? “I’m going to calculate an appropriate interest rate…”
The only step left was to submit Fair Winds to be verified.
I felt seasick even though the breakfast nook’s wicker chairs weren’t riding any waves.
In one fell click, I would officially be trying to pass myself off as my mom.
Although “Monica” had mentioned that her daughter Audrey would be handling all the scheduling.
And so I turned the laptop toward Henry. “You do it.”
“Holly, this was your idea.”
“No, it was Griff’s idea.”
“Well, he isn’t here,” Henry said. “He’s getting a chicken roaster and salad stuff.”
I groaned.
“Come on, submit it,” he encouraged. On-screen, the cursor hovered above the magic button. “The vibes are immaculate.” He sighed. “Not to mention, I’m getting hangry.”
A hangry Henry was not a fun Henry.
“All right, all right…” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Blue Ridge, I told myself. You’re doing this so you can inhale that mountain air and blow glass with the best of the best.
And so my parents wouldn’t kill me.
I counted to three.
Eins.
Zwei.
Drei.
Then I opened my eyes, bit my tongue, and double-clicked on the trackpad.
Fair Winds was officially live.
Well, it would be in twenty-four to forty-eight hours, after someone at Here-to-Stay stamped Monica Barbour as legitimate.
Henry whistled. “Congratulations.”
“How long do you think until someone requests to stay?” I asked. “You know, after we’re verified?”
“Time will tell.” He rose from his chair. “Let’s go eat.”
After staring at the screen for five more seconds, I reluctantly agreed. We locked the newly christened Fair Winds behind us, but before we reached the stairs, Henry stopped in his tracks. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Well, nothing except a tiny, insignificant detail.”
Love Actually, I recognized. Liam Neeson and his stepson’s storyline.
I nodded. “Which is… ?”
“Truly pretty big, and extremely important.”
I let out a melodramatic sigh.
“Audrey.” Henry kept his voice controlled. “Did you cancel James?”
My pulse spiked. Per my mom’s agenda, my cousin was due to arrive tomorrow. And per my phone call with James—which now felt like a week ago instead of yesterday—he was still scheduled to arrive tomorrow.
Shit.