Chapter 8
8
CARTER
J ust before seven, I leave my room and make my way downstairs. I’m once again greeted by the warm and cozy sitting room just off the foyer, and I take a moment to admire the place a little closer. Finer details stand out this time, telling the story of a beautiful couple who settled here many years ago. Newlyweds. Pregnant.
Eying the photos on the mantel above the fireplace, I see one of Mika standing in the town square gazebo, holding a diploma and wearing a black graduation robe. Her face carries a stiff smile only used for photos, but her eyes shine with pride.
“Hey.”
Behind me, Mika hovers in the doorway, her golden hair let down to her shoulders. I turn to look at her over my shoulder, my attention instantly falling on her outfit: a loose, lavender sundress. Before now, all I’ve seen her wear is her waitress uniform and an old sweatshirt. Neither of which showed off her curves like this dress does.
“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat.
Her shoulders sink as she notices what I’m looking at, but she smiles playfully as she approaches the mantel. “Oh, jeez. What are you gawking at?”
I chuckle. “High school graduation?” I assume.
She confirms. “High school graduation.”
“You look... smart.”
“Smart?”
“Yeah, like your head is full of knowledge, just waiting to spill out.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m high as a kite in this picture, so you’re not wrong.”
I make a shocked face. “No way!”
“Yes way.”
“Never would have pegged you the type.”
“Eh.” She waves a hand. “Everyone does it.”
“You holding right now?”
She laughs. “That, my dear guest, is not part of our standard turndown service package.”
“Upgrade me to deluxe, then.”
“I’ll make a note.” She eyes me curiously, a smile tucked into the edge of her lips. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I say.
Mika crosses the room toward the front desk. I give the photos along the mantel one more glance before following her, and she leads me back behind the desk and down a hallway.
As we go, she points out various rooms and their purposes. Her father’s office. The laundry room. The linen and supply closets. All the way to the end to the door marked Kitchen.
We walk in. As Mika beelines for the refrigerator, I stop and look around. I can instantly see it; a full kitchen staff hustling about, fixing lavish meals for Small Town tourists, baking pastries and whipping up sauces from scratch. All the appliances are here, lovingly set on the shelves along the wall, but closer inspection reveals the thin layer of dust on the surfaces. They haven’t been used in weeks.
“So, Mr. Cartwright,” Mika says as she twists around the open refrigerator door, “what do you like on your sandwich?”
“What do you have?” I ask.
“Well, I stopped by the butcher on the way back from my shift, so we are stocked. I’ve got honey ham. I’ve got smoked turkey. Salami. Bologna.”
“Turkey sounds good.”
She grabs it and sets it on the island counter behind us. “Cheese?”
“Swiss if you got it.”
“I’ve got it.” She opens a drawer and takes out a package of swiss slices. She quickly grabs a head of lettuce, a fresh tomato, bottles of mayo and mustards, and sets it all down on the counter.
“White, wheat, or rye?” she asks, her eyes narrower than before.
“Is there a wrong answer to that question?” I ask, noticing.
Mika waits for my reply.
“Wheat,” I say.
She smiles and turns to grab a loaf off the rack near the pantry door. As she does, I notice a series of notches drawn along the side of the doorframe, the top one about equal height with her. She really grew up here.
Cute.
“We’re out of white, so you chose correctly,” she says as she returns.
“What about rye?” I ask.
“We never have rye.”
“Then why did you offer it?”
She shrugs. “I like to give people options.”
“Even if they don’t exist?”
“Welcome to Small Town, my dude.”
I laugh and roll up my sleeves. After a quick wash of the hands, we both get to work assembling our sandwiches. Mika grabs a few small single serving bags of potato chips from the pantry and gestures toward the door on the opposite side that says Dining Room.
“Let’s take a walk,” I suggest before we reach a table. “I’d like to see more of the inn before I go, if you’re up to giving me another tour.”
Mika nods, keen on the idea. “Sure,” she says. “I can walk and chew at the same time.”
We exit the dining room with our sandwiches gently wrapped in napkins and enter another sitting room before reaching the front foyer. This room is meant for more lively chatter, with board games on the shelves and a record player in the corner. As we pass, I see a collection of vinyls sitting beneath it. Some old. Some new.
Along the way, I catch moments of heavy-eyed stares and silent reflection on Mika’s face, reminding me of her father earlier today. This place is full of memories. Some good. Some bad.
Mika leads me upstairs next. There, she shows me the other nine rooms, all vacant, all featuring their own themes such as Coastal Retreat and Garden Sanctuary. My personal favorite is Room 5, Rustic Cabin.
“But this...” Mika stops in front of Room 1, my room. “This is my favorite room in the inn.”
“Why?” I ask as I unlock it.
“Because it’s the fancy room.” She walks in. “Technically, it’s Victorian Elegance, but I always just called it the fancy room.”
Glancing around with new knowledge of the other rooms, I see now that she’s right. This room has a fireplace, while the others don’t. It has a four-poster bed with a matching writing desk and a loveseat couch stacked with throw pillows. The other rooms are smaller, simpler.
Mika pulls a few pillows off the couch and tosses them onto the rug in front of the fireplace. “I used to hide in here all the time when I was a kid.” She pulls a fleece blanket off the back of the loveseat and brings it down to the floor with her. “Even when it was booked up, I’d hide in the closet and hope the guests wouldn’t notice me.”
I follow her lead once again, sitting down as she turns on the fireplace, lighting the space with a pleasant orange glow. “Were you ever caught?” I ask.
“Once,” she says. “My mother pulled me aside and told me that our guests deserve their privacy and I’m only allowed to go into the rooms when no one’s booked them.” She chuckles. “Later, I realized she was just scared of me hearing people having S-E-X.”
I laugh. “Your mother sounds like a sweet lady.”
“She was, yeah.” Mika looks at the fire with another one of those long, pensive stares. “She passed two summers ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
She nods gratefully. “Brain aneurysm. In her sleep. Quiet and peaceful, so.. I guess it could have been worse.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Since then, things have been...” Mika goes quiet, hesitating. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She exhales hard, shedding a bit of the stiffness in her posture. “Forget I brought it up.”
“No, go ahead.”
“I don’t want to be a downer.”
“You’re not. I want to know.”
Mika presses her lips together for a moment, then nods. “It’s been kind of rough since then,” she says. “You know, Mama, she... always knew what to do. How to make things work. How to fix things. This place was her project, her life. Without her, it feels... empty. In a way.”
I nod, understanding.
“Things were fine the first year,” Mika continues. “Hard, but we got by. Then, Papa got sick. Just the flu, thankfully, but at his age, it did a real number on his lungs. A lot of what he did fell on me, and then things started breaking all at once and...” She sighs, her eyes on the fire. “Now, I work constantly trying to keep this place above water.”
“That’s a lot for just one person.”
“I can handle it,” she says, the words shaky and rehearsed. “I’m young and determined. Spunky, I believe is the word.”
I smile. “It’s... a word, sure.”
“Full of pep,” she says. “If I can just get us to summer wedding season...” She looks around the room. “Then I can turn this around. At least, I hope so.”
Mika looks down, her words failing. She takes a moment, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, they shimmer with tears.
“Mika,” I say.
“Sorry.” She wipes her eye, catching a tear as it falls. “I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay.” I shift closer to her as another tear runs down her cheek. I reach out as she looks up, and I gently wipe it away from my thumb.
“Thanks,” she whispers as I pull my hand back. “Papa… he wants to sell the inn.”
I blink. “Really?”
“He says it’s time.” She sniffs once. “He wants to move on and... say goodbye,” she adds, the words a struggle. “And I know that’s probably for the best. Especially for him. And I can only spread myself so far. I know that. But I’m... not ready. This inn is my home. I’ve never known anything else. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.”
I remember what her father said about her, his wish for her. “I’m just a stranger here, but maybe he’s right. Maybe it is time for you to branch off, make your own life.”
Mika chuckles. “You sound like Papa.”
“I talked to him today.”
Her eyes widen. “What’d he say?” she asks suspiciously.
“Just that he wants you to get out of your head sometimes. Follow your heart.”
“Easier said than done.”
“That’s what I said.” I admire her once more, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. “He loves you very much.”
Mika nods as her eyes shimmer once more. “Yeah. I love him, too.”
“Goodbye isn’t always forever,” I say. “Sometimes, we have to move forward to really appreciate where we’ve been.”
Her brow arches. “Such wise words for a mergers and acquisitions man.”
I grin. “I’ve met a lot of people. Many of them clung to places just like this.”
She nods. “But they said goodbye?”
“Not all of them, but some of them. Yeah.”
“They seem happy about it?”
“Not at first. With time.”
“What do you think I should do?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m just a guy passing through.”
“That you are,” she says as she runs her fingers through her hair, gathering it to hang over one shoulder. She gives it a cursory sniff and grunts before letting it fall.
“What?” I ask.
“No matter how much I wash it, I can never get that diner smell to go away,” she says. “Sorry about that.”
I reach out again, gently taking hold of her wrist. “All I can smell is this,” I say, as I pull her hand close and smell her wrist.
“You know, I can lend you the bottle if you really want it,” she jokes.
My nose tingles with the pleasant scent. “Might take you up on that.”
Mika chuckles, then studies me for a moment. “Why did you stay another night, Carter?” she asks.
I release her wrist. She takes it back, settling it in her lap. “It’s like I told you,” I say. “The mechanic needed another day with my car.”
“Right, so you said, but...” Her eyes narrow as her smirk grows. “Fran told Tish that Greg told Monk that your car was fixed this morning. But you told the mechanic you’d get it tomorrow, so… why did you really stay in Small Town another night?”
I fix my jaw, caught. “I guess...” I say, finding the right words. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet, either.”
“To the inn?” she asks. “Or to the town?”
“To you.”
Mika looks down, her cheeks pink. She goes quiet for a moment, reacting to the words. Truthfully, even I’m not sure how to respond to that. I just met this woman. This stranger in a strange town. But I can’t shake the feeling that I was meant to be here, that we were always meant to be here together.
But I’m leaving tomorrow. I have to.
Tonight is all we have left.
When I reach out again, my fingertips gentle against her chin, she looks up and meets my eyes. She tilts her head as I do, staying fixed in place as I lean in and kiss her softly on the lips.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
I stay close. “Saying goodbye.”
Her eyes shift, a touch of sadness in her gaze. For a moment, I think she might pull away, but as I feel her hand touch mine on her face, she leans in and kisses me back.