5. Charlotte
— ? —
Charlotte
I was behind the desk, reorganizing the brochure rack for the third time, when the lobby doors opened. I looked up automatically, my customer service smile already forming.
Spencer Moore walked in first, mid-sentence, gesturing with one hand while he talked. I recognized him from the society columns. Old money, real estate, one of those Newport names that showed up at every gala and charity auction.
“The bones are solid,” Spencer was saying to the man beside him. “I’ve run the numbers six ways. The asking price is aggressive, but there’s room to negotiate, and if we move fast…”
The man beside him stopped walking.
My pen stopped with him.
Sutton Lynch was standing in the lobby of The Cove, fifteen feet away from me, and the world had just stopped spinning.
He looked different. That was the first thing I noticed.
There were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago, carved deep, like he hadn’t been sleeping.
His jaw was sharper than I remembered, the way it got when he wasn’t eating enough.
His hair was longer, falling across his forehead instead of pushed back the way he used to wear it.
He was wearing a suit I had never seen. Charcoal gray, expensive, cut close to his shoulders in a way that made my chest ache with the memory of touching those shoulders, of pressing my face against them, of falling asleep with my hand resting on the curve of his arm.
He hadn’t seen me yet. He was nodding at Spencer, his eyes moving around the lobby, taking in the space.
And then his eyes found the desk.
I watched the recognition hit his face. Watched his hands come out of his pockets and curl into fists at his sides.
My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat.
Six months since I stood in a wedding dress waiting for a text that never came. Six months since I drove twelve hours to Newport and told myself I would never see him again.
And now he was here. Standing in my lobby. Looking at me like I was a ghost.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The words came out of him before he could stop them.
Spencer stopped talking mid-sentence. The woman behind them, dark-haired and watchful, went very still.
I could feel Sean’s eyes on me from across the lobby. I could feel the weight of my job, my small life, everything I had built pressing down on my shoulders. I couldn’t afford a scene. I couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not here. Not now. Not with everything on the line.
I made myself breathe.
“Working,” I said. My voice came out level. “Which is more than I can say for whatever dragged you in.”
Sutton’s jaw tightened. “Working,” he repeated. “In Newport. At a hotel.”
“That’s generally what working means,” I said. “You show up somewhere and they pay you.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t act like I just walked into a random hotel and found you standing behind the desk by accident.”
“It’s not an accident,” I said. “This is where I work. You’re the one who walked in uninvited.”
“I didn’t know you were here. After the divorce you disappeared, Charlotte. You vanished without a word…”
“Sutton,” Spencer said, cutting in. His voice was light, amused, the voice of a man watching something interesting unfold. “You want to fill me in here? Because I’m getting the sense there’s a story I’m missing.”
Sutton didn’t look at him. His eyes were still on me, burning, demanding answers I wasn’t going to give.
“You two know each other?” Spencer asked, looking back and forth between us.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Sutton said.
Spencer’s eyebrows went up. The woman behind them, the dark-haired one, tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharpening.
“Well,” Spencer said. “That’s not confusing at all.”
Sean was already crossing the lobby. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, moving toward the desk with that smile on his face.
I straightened my spine. Pulled my shoulders back.
Sutton watched me do it. I saw the moment he registered what was happening. He watched me transform into a hotel employee right in front of him, and whatever he had been about to say next died in his throat.
“Is everything all right here?” Sean asked, arriving at the desk. “Gentlemen, welcome to The Cove. I’m Sean, the manager. How can we help you today?”
“A room,” Sutton said, pushing his card forward. His voice had gone flat. The anger was still there, but he had pushed it down somewhere I couldn’t see. “For the season.”
“For the season,” Sean repeated, his smile widening. He read the name, and in a cartoonish way I could see the dollar signs in his eyes. “That’s quite an extended stay. We’d be delighted to accommodate you.”
“We may not have availability for a stay that long,” I said. My voice was steady. I didn’t know how my voice was steady. “The summer months are our busiest period, and most of our premium rooms are already booked through August.”
“You have availability,” Sutton said. He wasn’t looking at Sean. He was looking at me. “I know you do.”
“Sir, I’d have to check the system to confirm…”
“Check it, then.”
“Mr. Lynch,” Sean said, smooth as silk, “I’m sure we can find something suitable. Charlotte is one of our best. She’ll take excellent care of you.”
Sutton’s eyes flickered at that. I saw him register the phrase, register what it meant. I would be serving him. Checking him in. Bringing him whatever he needed, whenever he needed it. For the entire season.
He pushed his card forward. “Check me in,” he said.
It wasn’t a request. It was a command. And we both knew I couldn’t refuse it.
“Of course,” I said. “Let me see what we have available.”
I turned to the computer and started typing. My fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up the reservation system, searching for rooms.
I typed in his name. Sutton Lynch. The letters appeared on the screen, black against white, and my chest tightened at the sight of them.
“The Harbor Suite is available,” I said, keeping my eyes on the screen. “Ocean view, private balcony. It’s our largest accommodation.”
“Fine,” Sutton said.
“I’ll need to verify your information. Address?”
He gave it to me. The same address I had woken up in the mornings, and fallen asleep in his arms. I typed it in without letting my hands shake.
“Email?”
“You know my email, Charlotte.”
I looked up. His eyes were on me, dark and steady, and there was something in them that made my breath catch.
“I need it for the system,” I said.
He told me. I typed it in.
“Length of stay?”
“The season,” he said. “However long that is.”
“That would be through September,” I said. “Approximately three months.”
“Then three months.”
I finished entering the information. Printed the key card. The machine hummed and clicked, and I watched the card slide out, white plastic with the hotel logo embossed on one side.
I picked it up. Slid it across the counter toward him.
He didn’t take it.
His hand moved toward the card, then stopped. His fingers hovered over the plastic, inches from mine. For one second, one endless second, we were both touching the same key card, our fingers almost meeting, the space between us charged with everything we weren’t saying.
I could feel the heat of his skin. Could smell the familiar scent of him, cedar and something darker, the smell I used to breathe in every morning when I woke up in his bed.
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Lynch,” I said.
“Charlotte.” Just my name. Like he had been waiting months to say it.
I pulled my hand back. Turned away from him before he could say anything else.
The woman who had been standing behind Spencer stepped forward. She was tall, polished, her dark hair pulled back in a way that showed off sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes.
“Vivienne,” she said, extending her hand toward me. “I handle Mr. Lynch’s arrangements. If anything about his stay needs attention, you come to me, not him.”
I took her hand. Her grip was firm, her palm cool and dry. She held on a beat longer than necessary, her eyes moving over my face. Reading me. Cataloging me. Filing me away as something to be dealt with.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll make a note in his file.”
“You do that,” Vivienne said. She didn’t let go of my hand. “And if there are any issues, any complications, any situations that might require… discretion… I expect to be informed immediately.”
“We pride ourselves on discretion,” I said. “It won’t be a problem.”
“Good.” Vivienne released my hand. Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes had gone cold. “I trust we understand each other.”
“Perfectly,” I said.
She stepped back, positioning herself at Sutton’s elbow. The message was clear. She was a wall between us, and she intended to stay that way.
“I’ll need a room as well,” Vivienne said. “Adjoining his, if possible.”
“Let me check,” I said. I turned back to the computer and pulled up the availability. “We don’t have anything adjoining the suite, but we have a family suite on the floor. Will that work?”
“That will work fine,” Vivienne said.
I printed her key card and slid it across the counter. She picked it up without touching my fingers.
“Spencer,” Sutton said, his voice rough. “Let’s go.”
“Right behind you,” Spencer said. He was still watching me with that amused expression, like he was enjoying a show no one else could see. “Charlotte, was it? Pleasure to meet you.”
“Welcome to The Cove,” I said.
The elevator doors opened. They stepped inside. The doors closed. They were gone.
I stood behind the desk for five more seconds. Then I turned to the colleague beside me.
“Cover the desk,” I said. “I need a minute.”
I walked to the back office with steady steps. Pushed through the door. Let it close behind me.
Then I let myself fall apart.
I braced myself against the wall and pressed my forehead to the cool surface and let the tremors run through me. Sixty seconds. I would give myself exactly sixty seconds to feel this, and then I would put myself back together.
He was here. Sutton was here. In Newport. In my hotel. For the entire season.
“Hey.” A voice from behind me. One of the staff, coming back from a break. “You okay? You know that guy?”
“No,” I said. My voice was steadier than I expected. “Just a rude one. Got under my skin.”
“You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”