“Hmm.” Goldie looked at the room. White was fine in the main spaces, she decided. “What about the carpet?”
“I’m removing that after the paint. Less tarp to worry about that way.”
“Ah.” Out of curiosity, Goldie went to the far corner of the room. She tugged at the carpet. Joe continued to busy himself with setting up for the painting project.
“Anything interesting?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes, it’s original, I think.”
Under the burgundy floral pattern carpet was wood plank flooring. The planks were narrow and dried out, but Goldie could imagine what they looked like back in their heyday before she was even born.
“This is gorgeous, it needs restoration, but it’sgorgeous. Once this hideous carpet is off, you’ll be able to sand it, refinish, heck, even match what’s here, but you’re under no circumstances to cover this with a carpet. Whoever did it the first time should be arrested.”
“I’d love to restore the whole place, but Libby isn’t made of money. Dean said that with all she’s got on her plate, she’s strapped pretty thin for cash.”
“Hmm.” Goldie hadn’t thought too much about the financial strain her friend was in. She knew they were working to bring the town to life but hadn’t considered what that cost Libby.
Goldie thought back to her fantasy about this hotel. She remembered wondering what it would be like to run this grand hotel instead of all the little cottages they managed.
She turned her attention back to Joe.
“White works, in here, but each room should be different, a theme, each one a place that transports the guests to a different place in Michigan, or many different eras? Or an homage to the old cottage rows on Lake Manitou.” Her imagination was fired up now with ideas.
Goldie walked behind the front desk counter. There was an old reservation book. She opened it. Four rooms on each floor and an attic suite. The grand dining room was set up for family-style dining. It was suited for a bed-and-breakfast, she’d decided. Not a restaurant as it had been in different eras. They could have continental breakfast available and packed lunches, but then that was it. Let the guests go to Hope’s Table. Or over to Brooklyn.
She’d been staying in the manager’s quarters and hadn’t taken the time to really explore.
“Are all the rooms open?”
“Ah, yeah, wide open. Trying to get the musty smell out.”
“Thanks.”
Goldie wandered upstairs. Each room had a private bathroom with a shower/tub combo.
She wandered in and out. The smell of fresh paint wafted into the hallways.
Goldie’s mind filled with the memory of the old cottages. Clean towels, fresh linens, and lake breezes, that was the selling point.
In one room, a TV on a stand sat, collecting dust. She ran a finger over the dusty thing.
“No televisions. Nope, not for Two Lakes. If you’re bored at the lake, you’re doing it wrong.”
That was her dad’s old saying. She said it as though it were her decision to remove TVs. She wondered if there was an old TV antenna stuck to the side of the building. That would have to come down if there. The plans started to form in her mind, and they didn’t stop.
Each room wouldn’t celebrate a region. They’d celebrate local lakes. Lake Manitou, Crystal, Devil’s, Vineyard. She’d make each room a little nod to the biggest lakes in Irish Hills. She thought botanical prints of the native plants would be a pretty option for the walls. She could name some after the old cottages. Where could she find a list? She wasn’t a decorator but had done so many houses over the years. Some of it had rubbed off. And she liked to think she knew what was tasteful.
“I think you’ve got company,” Joe said, interrupting her thoughts of how she would run Two Lakes.
Goldie walked to the main door. Was it paparazzo? Was it a fanboy who’d finally found her?
She had no makeup on, was dressed inworkout gear—not even her best workout gear—and her hair was a mess. She could not be photographed this way. That was not how to gin up interest in her as a leading lady!
A tiny old woman was helped out of a car by a man in a business suit. They looked pretty formal for Irish Hills. The woman had a lovely posture. She wore a pretty pink sweater over her shoulders and a white blouse, with tailored pants and sensible shoes. It all looked rather expensive, actually. As they approached the house, it dawned on her that the woman looked familiar.
She flung open the door.
“Aunt Emma!”
