The comfort zone that became my career—managing Tess’s business instead of investing in my own.
This trip isn’t about convenience or safety. This trip is about stepping out, taking the wheel, and actually living my life.
“You used to come in my door,” Tess pouts in my ear, and I almost miss it, caught up in my own thoughts.
“I can’t tell if you’re being dirty or serious.” I turn back to my destination.
Door two.
“Serious, but I see why you’d question it.”
Because she’s a pervert. But also sweet and kind, but shameless and wildly inappropriate. Exactly why I love her.
And her social media followers eat it up—every last awkward, cringe-inducing honest word.
“It used to be my videos you shot. Not some travel-around-the-country for random subjects. I used to be your subject.”
She’s pouting, but I know it’s only because she misses me. Not to stop me from my much-needed soul-searching plunge.
“It’s only a month. And I’m at my room.”
“That’s the door!” One of the older ladies shouts.
But amid the bags rustling, Tess in my ear, and panic disguised as irritation, it barely gets through.
I wave at the sisters watching me. Talk about attentive hospitality.
The bag slides down my arm—again. I catch it with my elbow and nearly drop the phone.
“Shit,” I curse.
“What? What happened?” And this one, refusing to let me check in without making sure I’m not murdered, might actually end up killing me.
“Nothing.” My fingers work the key free from the groove in my palm.
“The door should be open!” Again, I can’t tell who’s shouting at me anymore.
And between Tess and the hostesses, privacy is clearly not happening.
“Open the door,” Tess teases. “It’s open.”
I shift the phone higher on my shoulder as I turn the handle and push the door.
Cheers echo down the hallway.
Is it like this with every guest?
If so, they have an exhausting job.
“Thanks, ladies.” I quickly step inside and close the door behind me.
My fingers release the suitcases, and my shoulders relax, letting every last bag go. Thuds crash at my feet, but I don’t care. It’s well deserved after the shit show of a morning I’ve had.
I lean against the door and close my eyes.
“I paid you well, and I supplied unlimited coffee.” Tess is still in my ear. “Now you take video of strangers and hotel lamps.” Her espresso machine hisses.
“That lamp”—I grip the phone, lift my chin, sighing as relief spreads through my neck—“was a teapot mid-pour and the spout tilted into a stack of teacups.”
