Chapter 13 Sarah #2
I picked it up, took a small bite, and immediately closed my eyes. Oh. Wow. “That’s… really good,” I said around a mouthful.
Dottie preened. “I know.”
The bell at the front desk rang.
Once. Clear. Sharp. Real.
Oh shit. Shit. Shit.
I swallowed, my heart jumping into my throat. “That’s them.”
Dottie waved me off. “Go. I’ve got this. You handle the smiling and the keys and the pretending you slept.”
I nodded, already backing toward the door. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”
She smiled at me, softer this time. “You’re doing fine, Sarah.”
With that dose of confidence and pancake bite, I straightened my shoulders, wiped my hands on my pants, and headed back toward the front of the inn, the smell of breakfast following me like backup.
The bell rang again. Hang on to your butts. I’m coming.
It was game on.
I pasted on my best Welcome to my inn, I am calm and capable and not one inconvenience away from screaming into a pillow smile and stepped into the lobby.
They were already standing at the front desk.
Mid-forties. Coordinated outfits. Cashmere-looking.
The kind of couple who looked like they’d never argued about money but absolutely argued about thread count.
He wore loafers without socks. She wore a scarf indoors with the faint expression of someone who’d been promised magic and was already preparing to be disappointed.
“Good morning,” I said brightly, slipping in behind the desk. “Welcome to Hartwell Inn.”
The woman barely glanced at me. Her eyes swept the room like she was assessing a set piece. “We’re the Harringtons. We’re here for a romantic weekend,” she said, stressing romantic like it was a legally binding contract. “We’re celebrating an anniversary. We’ll need room 304.”
I blinked once. “I’m sorry, 304 is…”
“That’s the one with the bay view,” she continued. “I booked it specifically.”
I checked the ledger, even though I already knew. Yup, 304 was booked. Had been booked. And not by them.
“304 is currently occupied,” I said gently. “But I do have you booked in 302, which also has a lovely view…”
Her mouth tightened. “We didn’t come all this way for also.”
The man shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting toward the windows. “Honey…”
She cut him off with a look. “We were very clear.”
Of course you were. Crystal. Like a manifesto.
I disliked this woman and her face. I disliked her voice and her stupid perfect hair and eyebrows. But this was a business. And I was a professional. Or at least, I could fake it in short bursts.
“I do have you booked in 302,” I said, pleasant and steady. “It’s the only sea-view room currently available. It’s what you agreed.”
Her lips pressed together. “I don’t remember.”
“I understand,” I said. Not really. “The only other option with immediate availability is a ground-floor room.”
There it was. The pause. The internal calculation. The horror. A ground floor with no views.
Her mouth tightened. “Fine. We’ll take 302. I hope this place lives up to the reviews.”
Ouch.
But there it was. Victory, small and deeply satisfying.
“Wonderful,” I said, smiling. Inside my head, I imagined sticking out my leg and tripping her, watching her go down spread-eagle on the floor. It was quite satisfying.
Her posture relaxed immediately. Amazing how people softened when they thought they were winning.
“And our luggage,” she added, snapping her fingers at me. “It should be brought up.”
Yup. I hated the bitch. “Yes. Of course.” I smiled again. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable in the dining room while I take care of that?”
I gestured toward the back just as Dottie appeared like a benevolent kitchen witch, already holding a coffee pot.
“Morning,” Dottie said cheerfully. “Coffee?”
The woman’s eyes lit up. “I hope it’s strong and not watered down.”
Dottie looked at me and smiled. “It is.”
They were ushered to a round table with four chairs, Dottie already pouring like this was a performance she’d rehearsed.
I turned toward the front door. Their suitcases sat just inside the entryway, plural, large, black, and hard-sided.
The kind of luggage you used when you planned to be away for a while or dispose of evidence.
“Awesome,” I said. “Nothing like surprise homicide cardio before breakfast.”
I crouched and grabbed the handle of the first one. It did not budge.
I tried again, engaging what I hoped were core muscles. It lifted exactly half an inch and then slammed back down with a thud that echoed through the lobby.
“Oh, come on,” I hissed. “What is in you. Rocks. Dumbbells. Bodies?”
I glanced around. No help. Maria was upstairs. Dottie was pouring coffee. Lola was… Lola. And Dust-guy was nowhere in sight.
My brain helpfully supplied an image of him lifting this suitcase with one arm while sipping coffee with the other. Muscles. Shoulders. Effortless competence. Me watching his tight ass as he climbed those steps…
I shook my head. “Nope. Not thinking about that.”
“I can do this.” I remained resolute because I had no one else to help me. I hauled the suitcase upright and tipped it onto its wheels. The stairs loomed ahead.
My arms shaking with effort, I dragged it up. Step by step. Thump. Thump. Thump.
By the second floor, my arms felt like my bones were made of Jell-O. By the third, I was sweating through my shirt, my hair sticking to my neck and breath coming out in dramatic little huffs like I was training for something Olympic.
“Who,” I gasped, hauling the thing onto the landing, “packs like this.”
I parked the suitcase outside their room, wiped my forehead, and stared at the remaining luggage downstairs in my mind’s eye.
There were two more.
I laughed, which came out slightly unhinged.
Trip two was worse. Trip three was a personal attack. By the time I wrestled the final suitcase into place, my face was on fire, my back screamed, and I smelled like panic and effort.
I stood there, my hands on my knees, breathing like I’d just escaped a burning building.
This was unsustainable. I couldn’t keep this up. I needed help. Real help. Someone full-time, someone strong, someone who could lift bodies—I mean suitcases—without breaking a sweat.
I turned and headed back down, my legs jelly-soft but feeling pretty damn good that I pulled it off. All on my own, thank you very much. Yes, it was hard. Yes, I was sweating and looked like I wrestled for a living.
But I did it. Me.
The dining room came into view. Lola sat at a table, coffee in hand, perfectly composed. Across from her sat Helen, already settled in like she owned the place, which, politically speaking, she sort of did.
I slowed.
“…Pearls & Pints is in six days,” Helen was saying, stirring her coffee. “The town is already buzzing.”
Lola smiled. “Oh, I adore a good buzz. Especially when it involves men and alcohol.”
Helen sighed. “The inn needs to be ready.”
Lola lifted her mug. “It will be. She’s scrappy.”
Helen’s gaze shifted right to me.
I stood there, red-faced, sweaty, my hair escaping its restraints.
“Oh,” said Helen pleasantly. “There you are.”
I straightened. “Hi.”
Her eyes flicked down. Then back up. “Rough morning?”
Lola smirked. “You look like you wrestled a handsome Italian all night and didn’t tap out.”
I wiped my hands on my pants. “It was a suitcase. I won.”
Helen set her cup down. “Good. Because Pearls & Pints doesn’t wait for anyone.
” She reached into her bag and slid a folded sheet across the table.
“Here’s the arrival schedule. The inn will host the welcome reception and cocktail hour.
” She tapped the page. “Light lunch on day one. Mostly seafood. Nothing messy. And absolutely no experimental anything.”
Right. No pressure. I forced a smile. “Yes. Of course.”
Lola snorted into her coffee. “Listen to her. Handing out schedules before nine a.m. That’s not planning, Helen. That’s a lifestyle.”
Helen didn’t look up. “Someone has to run things.”
Lola smiled. “And someone has to make it tolerable.”
I glanced toward the Harringtons, both of them studying the breakfast menu with faintly pinched expressions, like they weren’t thrilled with the options.
Yeah. They were going to be a problem.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind me.
I turned to find Dust-guy standing just outside the dining room, confident, relaxed, and way too put together for this hour of the morning. Also way too sexy.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
He was going to be a much bigger problem.