Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I close the article I’m reading on a famous little inn in Heart’s Edge, Montana, and look up from my laptop. “What’s up?”
Her cheeks redden when she grins. “I can’t believe it, but... I may have overbooked a room. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize! I’m not even sure it’s your mistake. That spreadsheet doesn’t always save right in the cloud. That’s the point of a soft opening, right? So we can work these kinks out before we bite off more than we can chew. Do we have any other rooms?”
She looks down, fidgeting her skinny fingers together.
“Of the three you said were ready right now? No.”
I puff out my cheeks and slowly blow the tension out, trying to decide what to do. “What’s the situation?”
“I gave the key to the woman who came in earlier. Now there’s an older man at the front desk. He really wants this room. He says it’s been his for every stay the past twenty years.”
“Twenty years?” I blink at her. “Is there any chance the woman would be open to me putting her up at the new Airbnb in town?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think she’ll like it. She kept saying the windows and light here made it a perfect place to work on her scrapbooking. The new place is pretty dark and woodsy.”
“Of course.” Maybe Dad was right and I’ve taken on more than I can chew. I stand. “Where are they now?”
“He’s still waiting downstairs. I think she’s in her room on the second floor.”
Since the lady already checked in, I’ll start with the man downstairs.
He’s an older guy in flannel with a bit of a belly, wearing a worn fishing cap. He stands in the small lobby with his arms folded over his chest.
“Hi, are you the new manager?”
I give my most charming smile. “At your service.”
“Wonderful. Lottie would have never overbooked my room.”
His room? He owns it now?
“I’m sorry, sir. My grandmother left some large shoes to fill, but I’ll get there one day—”
“Oh.” His eyebrows dart up. “So you’re the famous granddaughter?”
“I don’t know about famous, but yeah. Lottie Risa was my grandmother.”
“She was awful proud of you.” He nods briskly.
I get the feeling he wonders if she should have been. “Thanks. Anyway, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience. We’re still getting set up here for the reopening and things are a bit messy.”
“No need to fret, doll. I just need my room, so if you’ll get that cleared up, I’ll buzz right out of your hair.”
I smile. “Any chance you’d be willing to take another room in town at my expense? It’s a small duplex rental owned by a friend. I’d still have breakfast sent over and would also comp you two free days in the future.”
He frowns. “Can’t you offer that to whoever you booked my room to? I’ve been staying here for years. I don’t mean to be a mule. I’m just used to my room.”
Oof.
I hold in a sigh.
“Let me see what I can come up with.”
But the woman on the second floor isn’t much more willing to budge than the man who knew my grandmother. Eventually, I’m able to sacrifice my own bedroom in the house to get her out of the room this guy keeps insisting is his personal haven.
Thank God.
I end up staying outside in the cottage that’s still undergoing some renovations.
It’s drafty, but it’s only for a few days.
I’ll survive.
Later that afternoon, I’m taking a break in Gram’s garden with a steaming latte and a blanket, scanning over a new gossip blog piece about Royal Cromwell.
In the last week or so, the news has been coming fast and furious. He was apparently a very generous man, and his charities funded the largest art education program in Seattle, putting the recipients in a difficult position with the headlines.
Cromwell’s Royal Scandal
Not one, but two previous employees have come forward accusing former Cromwell-Narada chief and Seattle art benefactor Royal Cromwell of sexual harassment during his tenure as CEO. Cromwell, who now resides in an assisted living facility due to neurological deterioration, is expected to face examinations soon to determine his fitness for trial.
Awful.
I don’t know where the truth begins or ends, but either way, Miles must be reeling.
It’s not my problem. But I can’t resist scrolling through the blog’s fine print and—
Wait.
It’s a Pacific-Resolute publication?
Of flipping course it is.
But if it’s true, the women have a right to complain and seek justice, and so far there’s nothing to indicate it’s a setup...
“Ah, there you are. Sorry I gave you such a hard time earlier.”
I glance up from my phone to find the old man with the one-room obsession.
“No problem. Did you get settled in?”
“Oh, yes. That view is always one in a million. Like I said, I’ve been coming here for decades. There were times when we looked forward to this place all year.” A whimsical smile crosses his face.