Jorja pulledinto the hotel parking lot. She loved to drive. Getting behind the wheel with an open road in front of her was her happy place. But traveling almost the full length of Europe in a single day was a little much, even for her. She parked in a spot opposite the front door and gathered her stuff. She didn’t care who was watching as she stretched. If someone had a problem with her midriff showing as she tried to work the kinks out of her back and remind her butt that it could wake up after falling asleep from sitting too long, then that was their problem, not hers.
Knocking on the McKinleys’ front door would just have to wait until tomorrow. Not that she knew where that front door was, she only had the name of the notaio who had set up and registered their business. But that was a problem for tomorrow, just like sleep was not on her immediate to-do list. All of those things would happen after she’d checked in, peed, showered, eaten,andchecked the list again, if she could do it without compromising the integrity of her laptop. Did she mention peeing? That wasthe most urgent and topped her list, the state of the last two rest stop facilities meant she’d been crossing her legs for the last fifty miles or so.
After double-checking she had everything and her car was locked, she went to check in, mentally reciting the silent prayer she did every time she stayed at a hotel.
Please God, let there not be bed bugs… because ick.
She still had nightmares from seeing the creepy crawlies on a tram in Paris. She forced herself to ignore an imaginary bite on her arm and walked through the front doors and up to the desk. Hopefully, they spoke English, or she’d be back to her magic headphones and would hope she didn’t screw up the Italian words. “Hello, I have a reservation under the name Buchanan.”
“Hello, yes. We have been waiting for you, Ms. Buchanan.” The woman behind the desk smiled at her. “May I have your passport please?”
“Of course.” She had it ready to hand over. Italy required every guest be logged, and passports or IDs were always required when checking in. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” The receptionist made a copy of her passport and handed it back to Jorja along with a key. “You are in our supreme suite on the top floor. If you don’t mind waiting for a moment, my husband will be here to carry your luggage up for you.”
“That’s okay. I can carry it.” Jorja smiled at her. “I’ve been sitting for way too long in the car and I need to walk a little.”
“It’s four flights of stairs,” the receptionist replied. She reached for something under the desk. “It is an older building.” She placed an object on the counter. “We like to offer our guests who are traveling alone an extra lock for their door. If you place this on the floor against the door where it opens and press this down,” she demonstrated how to work the device, “if someone tries to open your door, a loud alarm will sound.”
“Oh, that’s so awesome. Thank you.” What a nifty idea. Jorja traveled a lot. In all the countries she’d been to, she hadn’t ever been offered something like this. “I’ve never seen this before, except maybe on Facebook ads, and I usually just scroll past on those.”
“Me too,” the receptionist agreed. “My husband’s sister travels alone in not so nice places. He made these when he was really worried.”
“Smart. I like that idea.” Jorja picked up her laptop case and luggage. “Can I buy one?”
“You can keep that one. I have a full box of them.” The receptionist shrugged. “No need to pay; we just want everyone to feel safe when they travel somewhere. But especially here in our casa.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You are most welcome.”
Jorja smiled at her again and turned toward the stairs next to the reception desk. By the time she made it to the final set of stairs, she almost regretted not taking the offer of help with her luggage. “One more to go.” She swapped her luggage into the opposite hand to give her aching fingers a break.
No wonder Italians can eat so much pasta and not put on weight. They have fifty bajillion steps everywhere.
After making it to the top floor, she checked the number on the big blocky key ring and stopped outside the first door, unlocked it, and entered the room. She gratefully dropped her bags on the floor and nudged them out of the way with her foot so she could close the door. “Wow. The photos on Booking really didn’t do the suite justice.” She wandered across the room to the French windows and opened them, allowing the soft buzz of the traffic on the street below to filter into the room. “It almost sounds like home.” She leaned out, hoping to get a glimpse of the leaning tower, and made amental note to ask at reception if there was somewhere she could have dinner with a good view of it.
She remembered the lock the receptionist had given her and went back to figure out how to make it work. Need a way into a website, want one designed, or need a bunch of graphics for a project and she was your girl. She was more than happy to admit to herself that fiddly stuff like security locks for doors weren’t exactly her forte. But she finally figured it out, and when she pulled the door open against the stopper the alarm blared. She quickly shut the door again and thankfully the noise stopped. “Do I need to call down and tell them I was just testing it?” She glanced from the door stopper to the phone and back again. “I’m sure everyone tests—” The phone rang, and she went to answer it. “Hello?”
“Ms. Buchanan, this is reception. I heard the alarm. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m so sorry. I was testing it.”
“That’s perfectly fine,” the receptionist replied. “I just like to check to be sure.”
“I appreciate that,” Jorja replied. “Do you know if there is a place where I can eat later tonight with a view of the tower? I’d love to see it while I’m here.”
“Yes, there is,” the receptionist replied. “Friends of ours have a restaurant. I’ll book you a table. Are you meeting friends, or do you need a table for one?”
“Just for one, please.” While she didn’t typically like many people knowing her business, she figured it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Do you know if there is an American business in town called The Four X’s Group? Because if that business is here, then maybe I might need a table for more.”
“I—um—no.” The receptionist stumbled over her words. “I’ve never heard of that company. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Jorja decided to play it safe. “My mom justasked me to say hi if I happened to see them. She’s friends with the mom of the brothers who own it.”
“Oh.” The receptionist really seemed totally flustered now. “I will ask my husband if he has heard of this company.”
“Thank you.”
