Chapter One
Rerouted
Thursday, December 19th
Kyree Johnson eased his twelve-year-old, silver Toyota Camry to a stop behind a line of luxury SUVs and sedans outside Hotel Andreas, an elegant stone, steel, and glass structure decorated for the season with lights, elaborate red ribbons, and festive wreaths. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting as guests poured in and out of the vehicles ahead of him––children bundled in puffy coats, parents juggling shopping bags, college students with skis and snowboards, and couples dressed for dinner. The Doorman greeted everyone who passed through the revolving doors with a wide, welcoming smile, while the Bell Attendant directed bellhops and valets in a well-choreographed dance.
As he watched a party emerge from several town cars ahead––in polished shoes, tailored suits, and beautiful dresses—Kyree suddenly felt underdressed and completely out of place in his black sweatpants and grey Princeton hoodie.
In fairness, he hadn’t planned on staying at Hotel Andreas tonight––or any other night. As a kid with humble beginnings from North Philly, Kyree had only ever dreamed of setting foot inside a hotel like this one. Now, at twenty-six, and with a high paying job as a robotics engineer for New Blue Horizon—a Boston-based, eco-conscious marine research institute––he might be able to swing for a night or two in one of their standard rooms. But the Rose Premier Suite? Not a chance.
Luckily for him, tonight’s stay was on Michelle.
Kyree drew his lips in and thought back to the day his family met Michelle LaCrosse and her brother, Robert Carter––the children of his grandfather’s long–lost half-sister, Violet. The two families had come together in a tearful reunion in Philadelphia four years ago and had since developed a strong bond. Moving to Boston for work had put him in proximity to Robert, who lived in Manchester-by-the-Sea with his wife Yasmine and their children. And Michelle. God, Michelle was something else. Fierce and funny, living a beautifully chaotic life with her husband, Erik, and their crew of kids.
Kyree had visited her a handful of times at their Granite Falls home—a sprawling estate on Mount Reservoir that overlooked the town––and he loved when his little cousins called him “Uncle Ky.”
He should have been with them by now, but an hour ago, while driving up Route 93, Michelle had called, her voice tight, explaining that something had happened, that Erik was having a meltdown, and that it would be best for everyone if he stayed elsewhere tonight.
“I already told them to expect you at our suite. I’ll text you in the morning when things calm down,” she’d said before quickly ending the call as Erik erupted in the background.
He’d wanted to ask what was wrong, to offer help, but the sheer exhaustion in her voice had stopped him. Whatever was happening, Michelle needed time and space to deal with it. In the meantime, he would fully enjoy his all-expenses-paid night in one of the most prestigious hotels in the world.
It would be the second time he’d have the pleasure of staying in the LaCrosse’s private, four-bedroom suite with a breathtaking view of the White Mountains as a backdrop. He and his family had stay once before, during their first visit to Granite Falls. They’d all been blown away by the opulence and grandeur that had greeted them when they’d walked into the living room, furnished with light grey sofas and upholstered chairs, brushed gold lamps, and heavy taupe drapes drawn across expansive windows, and an adjacent dining room that could host sixteen guests at its massive, live-edge walnut table.
As grateful as he was to spend the night in such luxury again, Kyree wished he was in Saint Lucia right now with his parents and siblings, feeling sand between his toes, eating the fresh, tropical fruits of his labor, and soaking up the Caribbean sun instead of watching snow pile up on his hood.
He could picture his parents now––both relaxing on beach chairs, his mom sipping something with an umbrella in it, and his dad beside her, fast asleep. His younger brother, Dequan, was probably snorkeling close to shore, and his sister Aaliyah, curled up in the shade with the latest viral book about social justice issues.
Kyree exhaled slowly and lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. Dark-brown eyes, lightly shadowed by fatigue from working overtime all week, stared back at him from beneath thick eyebrows. He pushed back his hoodie, revealing his freshly cut, textured black hair, and a sharp jawline, covered by a neatly trimmed beard––a face so close to his father’s that looking at his reflection sometimes felt like looking at Dwayne Johnson himself.
Since he couldn’t or—more accurately—wouldn’t be with his family in Saint Lucia for Christmas, a week in Granite Falls with his cousin and her family was the perfect alternative.
The Lexus ahead of him pulled forward, and Kyree followed, finally reaching the luxury hotel’s glass portico. As a valet with a slight build and a bushy red beard approached, he popped his trunk and stepped out of the car into a blast of cold, biting air. Kyree tightened his wool scarf as a uniformed bellhop retrieved his duffle and two large shopping bags from his trunk and set them onto a brass trolley.
“I’m sorry about the wait, sir,” the valet said, stopping next to Kyree, a puff of white air accompanying his words.
“Is it always like this, Charlie?” he asked, reading the gold name tag on the valet’s bright red parka.
“It is. The last two weeks of the year are always crazy.” He handed Kyree a ticket. “If you would please follow John into the lobby,” he added, sliding behind the wheel of Kyree’s Camry.
Kyree put the ticket into his coat pocket, walked around his car, and followed the bellhop to the entrance, his tobacco leather boots crunching on the salt-dusted pavement.
The moment he stepped inside, warmth and opulence enveloped him. The lobby, with its polished marble floor, soared three stories high. A twenty-foot Christmas tree dominated the space, covered in white lights and gold ornaments that sparkled beneath the chandeliers. Stone accent walls rose alongside floor-to-ceiling windows, while columns wrapped in evergreen garland and gold velvet ribbons, and a vaulted ceiling completed the grand scale of the lobby.
The atmosphere was just as busy inside as it was out in the near-freezing New Hampshire night, Kyree thought, trailing behind John toward the reception desk––a stunning, fifteen-foot-long expanse of white marble with gold veining. Behind the counter, backlit panels of tinted glass created a soft amber glow. He approached an available receptionist who looked about forty, with kind, expectant eyes.
“Welcome to Hotel Andreas.” Her smile was practiced but warm. “My name is Miranda and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. May I have your name, please?” Her pink manicured fingers hovered over the slim brushed-metal keyboard on her desk.
He rested one hand lightly on the cool marble. “I’m Kyree, but the reservation should be under Michelle LaCrosse.”
“Oh! Mr. Johnson, welcome!”
Kyree hid his amusement at the way Miranda’s eyes widened and her tone grew even more obliging at the mention of Michelle, though he was already used to people’s deferential responses when her husband’s family name was mentioned.
“Mrs. LaCrosse phoned to let us know you’d be joining us for the night. Let me just check with housekeeping to confirm the suite is ready for you. One moment, please.”
As she made her call, he slipped one hand into his pocket and surveyed the bustling lobby. Guests filtered back and forth through archways, while others clustered on leather sofas arranged in intimate groupings––talking, reading, sipping wine or hot beverages, or snacking on roasted nuts as traditional Christmas music played.
