“There are things called laundromats, Piano Man.”
I chuckled at the nickname. He’d used it for most of the seven years he’d worked for me. After my meltdown, he didn’t use it for a while, but now he was back doing it, and a part of me felt like that meant I was getting better. “Pfft, that’s for peasants,” I said with a wave of my hand. His expression had me laughing. “I hate doing laundry,” I said with a pout.
He snorted as he hefted the heavy bags and started up the stairs. “Okay, Richie Rich. Let’s get you settled in.”
The lobby of Moonlight Inn was set up like a living room with a small check-in desk in the back. A petite woman with fair skin and long brunette hair was behind the desk. She smiled when she saw us. “Welcome to Moonlight,” she said cheerfully.
I couldn’t help but return her smile. “I have a reservation. Jeremy Fitzgerald.”
“Of course, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’m Caitlin Barnes. We spoke on the phone this morning. We’re all ready for you.” She slid a key—an actual metal key—across the desk toward me. “You’re in room twenty-eight—the ocean view suite.”
“Thank you, Ms. Barnes,” I said as I took the key.
“Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said in a rush, “I forgot. The piano tuner was here earlier. The piano should be good to go.”
I’d heard that before and been caught with a badly tuned piano for my trust. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check it out,” I said. “Mr. O’Neil told my friend I could use the piano when the restaurant was closed.”
She leaned over to check the time on her computer screen. “It’s four-thirty now. The restaurant opens at five. I can have someone bring your bags up for you if you want to go straight back.”
I think I blinked a little in surprise. I really wasn’t expecting her to be so easygoing about it. A tall Black man wearing a navy-blue polo with the Moonlight Inn logo came up to the desk. He was lean and muscular, and if the hammer on his tool belt was any indication, he got those muscles from hard work. He smiled at Caitlin and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “All fixed. Need anything else?”
Caitlin’s smile brightened even further. “Mr. Fitzgerald, this is my husband, Chris.” To Chris, she said, “Would you please take Mr. Fitzgerald’s luggage up to room twenty-eight? He’s going to go check out the piano.”
I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Chris.”
He grinned and took my hand in a strong, sure grip. “Cait read up on you when she found out you were coming, so now I know a whole lot more about piano music than I ever thought I would.”
“Um, thanks, I think.” I gestured toward Tony. “This is Tony D’Angelo. He’s my driver and sometimes bodyguard, but mostly, he just mocks me.”
Tony snorted and shook Chris’s hand. “How you doin’?”
Chris’s smile broadened. “A Jersey boy, huh? Where’re you from?”
Tony pointed roughly north. “I grew up in Belmar.”
“You can probably hear his family from here,” I snarked.
“Hey!” Tony objected. “They’re just healthy family discussions.”
“That can be heard from the moon,” I muttered.
Tony nudged me. “You’re just complaining because you don’t like Jersey.”
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I adored Tony’s family. They had basically adopted me after I helped Tony’s youngest sister, Gianna, prepare for her Juilliard audition. They were some of the kindest, most generous people I knew. Tony was right. I just liked complaining about New Jersey. I cleared my throat as three pairs of eyes stared at me. “All right, so Imayhave said some…unkind things about New Jersey once in a while.”
Tony barked out a laugh. “Only every chance you got.”
“So now it’s on us to change your mind about it,” Caitlin said brightly.
Tony snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“Hey! I can be reasonable.” I saw Tony’s raised brow, and I huffed. “Mostly.”
Caitlin laughed and came out from behind the reception desk, holding a set of keys. “I’ll show you to the dining room while Chris brings up your luggage.”
“I’ll give you a hand with that,” Tony said to Chris. To me, he added, “I’ll be around. I’m going to spend a few days visiting my parents. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.” I secretly doubted I would need a ride anywhere anytime soon. Caitlin guided me to the right, across the front of the building to another hallway leading toward the back of the hotel. The dining room's entrance was through a pair of locked French doors. The wood around the beveled glass panes was stained deep, rich mahogany. When Caitlin opened the doors, I was transported back in time. The dining room was a testament to bygone Victorian splendor. The same rich mahogany that framed the doors had been carved into gorgeous crown moldings, wainscoting, and baseboards. The cream-colored table linens, the navy-and-cream damask upholstered chairs, and the sumptuously thick color-coordinated carpet gave the room a quiet elegance that I did not expect in such a small, out-of-the-way place.
