Chapter 6 Sarah #2
A woman sashayed in, pulling an enormous rolling suitcase behind her like it was an accessory, not luggage. She stopped just inside the doorway and took in the room, me, Dottie, the omelet, and the coffee with the casual assessment of someone who knew she was the most interesting thing in it.
She was stunning. Blonde hair styled in loose, glossy waves that looked intentional but effortless.
Her outfit was modern and sharp with tailored pants, a silk blouse that draped in all the right places, and heels that clicked confidently against the tile like punctuation.
She was voluptuous in a way that felt curated, not accidental.
Every inch of her said she owned mirrors and used them well.
Her perfect red lips pulled into a smile. “I need a room,” she announced pleasantly.
I swallowed the last of my omelet. “And you are?”
“That’s Lola, the town slut,” said Dottie with a grin on her face.
Ouch.
I waited for Lola to retaliate with something, but the gorgeous blonde just shrugged and said, “Lola Sinclair. I prefer sex goddess. Also luxury experience. Local legend.”
It was way too early for this.
Lola glanced at me—up and down, slowly. I resisted the urge to adjust my posture, my hair, and my entire existence. At least I was clean… sandpaper clean, but still.
“And you must be Edna’s niece,” inquired Lola. “Sarah, right?”
“Yes,” I said automatically. “Hi.”
“Marvelous.” She stepped closer, extending a perfectly manicured hand. “I’d like my room.”
“Your room?”
“I live here.”
I blinked. “You… live here.”
“Long-term,” she clarified. “Very long-term. Years, actually. Edna and I had an understanding.” She tapped her nose with her free hand like that was supposed to mean something.
I shook her hand, which was warm and confident and somehow intimate, like she’d already decided we were acquainted.
“She stays in the east wing, second floor,” said Dottie, running water over the pan she’d just used. Then she started scrubbing with dish soap a scrubber that wasn’t there a second ago. Did she just pull that out of her ass?
Lola waved that off. “Whichever room still has good light. And space for my clothes.” She gestured to the suitcase, which looked like it contained an entire boutique. “I’ve got more in the car.”
I glanced at Dottie. “I didn’t realize there were… residents.”
Lola laughed, low and musical. “Oh, honey. There are always residents.” She leaned against the island, crossing one leg over the other with expert ease. “Is it too early for wine?”
I stared at her. She looked like she had lots of money, if those diamond earrings and rings were any indication. “You don’t have a house or a condo?”
Lola giggled. “Why would I own property when I can change rooms and men whenever I want?”
Dottie snorted. “Told you. Town slut.”
Lola brushed her hair back, grinning. “I prefer enthusiast.”
I rubbed my temples. Hard. “Listen. I don’t know who told you the inn was open, but it’s not. I mean, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.” I glanced at Dottie. “And even if I did, I can’t pay you with money I don’t have.”
“I can help you with that,” said Lola. She reached into her quilted leather bag with the gold chain strap and pulled out a checkbook like this was 1998, scribbled something with zero hesitation, tore the check off, and slid it across the island toward me.
“Here. A year’s rent. It’s what I used to pay Edna in advance. I hate follow-up conversations.”
I stared at the check. Then stared harder.
I picked it up, my fingers suddenly numb. My legs went weak, so I grabbed the nearest stool and sat before gravity made a decision for me.
“This is…” I swallowed. “This is thirty-eight thousand dollars.” Santa’s balls. This was a crapload of cash.
Lola smiled. “Yes.”
Who the hell wrote checks for thirty-eight thousand dollars? Apparently, women who owned silk blouses, zero shame, and men on rotation.
My brain immediately began doing math without my permission.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars meant I could pay Dottie.
And not in eggs. With real money. It meant I could hire a cleaning person.
Maybe even two. It meant I could get someone to look at the boiler before it screamed again.
Fix my door. Replace a hinge. Possibly remove at least one life-size portrait.
It meant… options. Real ones.
I looked up slowly. “You’re saying you’d stay.”
Lola shrugged again. “I already live here. I just like things official. And clean. And functional.”
Dottie nodded enthusiastically. “She’s very low maintenance. Except for men and wine.”
Lola tilted her head. “Both are necessities in life.”
Yes, for the wine. A big no for the men.
I pressed my lips together, staring at the check like it might disappear if I blinked. My aunt’s voice whispered in the back of my head. Lose it quickly, or prove me wrong.
I exhaled. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Hypothetically. If… if… I were to open the inn…”
Lola’s eyes gleamed.
Dottie leaned in.
“I could keep you on,” I continued, pointing at Dottie. “And maybe bring in help. And start fixing things. Slowly. Carefully. Without the building actively trying to kill me.”
Dottie clapped her hands. “Oh, I knew it. I know someone who can help with the fixing,” she added with a twirl of her finger like it was a magical wand.
“I didn’t say yes,” I warned.
Lola waved me off. “You did. You just haven’t caught up yet.”
I looked down at the check again. Thirty-eight thousand dollars. My shoulders sagged as the exhaustion finally caught up with me.
“Fine.” I sighed. “Temporarily. We’ll call it… a trial. Or a soft open,” I added, remembering what Becca had said. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
“That’s how it starts,” said Lola with a knowing smile. “And then it gets hard, real hard.”
Before I could ask what she meant, though, a shrill ring cut through the inn, echoing from the hallway outside the kitchen.
I frowned. “Is that…”
Dottie tilted her head, listening. “That’s your phone ringing.”
My mouth fell open. “My phone?” I repeated like a simpleton.
Lola laughed, already shaking her head. “Those are bookings, darling.”
The ringing resonated again, louder this time, coming from somewhere near the front desk.
I just stood there. “Why,” I asked slowly, “would anyone be calling to book rooms at an inn that is very much not open?”
Dottie shrugged, completely unconcerned. “News travels fast.”
Lola smirked. “Especially when there’s fresh blood.”
The phone kept ringing. Ring. Ring. Ring.
My heart started pounding. “How do people even know I’m here?”
Dottie began wiping down the counter like this was a perfectly normal day. “Small town. Someone saw lights on. Someone saw Lola come back.”
Lola preened. “I am an event.”
The phone rang again, insistent now. Demanding.
I shook my head. “I don’t know how to answer it.” I typed for a living. I didn’t answer phones.
Dottie paused mid-wipe and looked at me. “You say hello.”
Right. “And then?”
“You smile,” Lola added. “Even if they can’t see it. People hear panic.”
“I am panicking.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
The ringing cut through me like a siren.
I set my coffee down, suddenly aware that my hands were shaking. “What if they ask questions? What if they want dates? Or prices? Or rooms that aren’t ready yet?” Damnit. I didn’t even know where the damn books were or the list of prices.
Dottie patted my arm. “I’ll show you. You’ll find everything at the front desk. You’ll do fine.”
The phone rang again. This was it.
This was the moment my aunt had been waiting for. The moment I either proved her right… or very, very wrong.
I stared at the kitchen. The coffee. The empty plate. The women who had apparently decided my life for me. Somehow, impossibly, against all odds, I was considering it.
Dottie beamed like she’d just won bingo.
Lola lifted an imaginary glass. “To new beginnings.”
“Okay,” I told them, but mostly myself. “Let’s do this.” I straightened my spine, took a breath, and marched toward the sound of the ringing phone.
Behind me, Lola called out, far too pleased, “Welcome to hospitality, darling.”
The phone rang one last time before I picked it up.
“Hello, Hartwell Inn, how can I help you?”
And just like that.
The inn had officially reopened.