Her mouth curved. “Your registration.”
I laughed softly. “I didn’t realize I’d been noticed.”
Sasha’s gaze flicked over me—quick, assessing, unapologetically honest. “You stand out,” she said simply. “Even in a crowd.”
Something warm and unexpected settled in my chest.
“What about creative or … community-focused work?” I asked. “I have a counseling background. I want something that actually helps people. But something a little different.”
Sasha’s brows lifted, recognition sparking. “Oh.”
“Oh?” I echoed.
“You’re the Charleston Harbor Hero,” she said, like it was obvious. “The dinner cruise. That was you, right?”
Heat rushed up my neck. “Yeah. That was me.”
She smiled—wide and genuine this time. “Then community work makes perfect sense. Nonprofits, outreach programs, city initiatives—Charleston runs on them. And people would recognize your name. You’d walk into those spaces with instant credibility.”
I let that land. Not ego—alignment.
“Charleston loves a woman who shows up,” Sasha added. “Especially one who doesn’t do it for attention.”
I exhaled, something inside me clicking into place. “That’s … actually exactly what I want. That’s helpful.”
“I’m helpful,” Sasha said, deadpan, then softened into a grin. “What else?”
I hesitated again because this part felt more intimate, more revealing than the job question.
“Does The Palmetto Rose do extended stays?” I asked. “Like … weekly. Monthly. That kind of thing.”
Sasha’s eyebrows lifted—not judgment, just interest. “We do. Limited availability, but yes. We have long-stay suites on the third floor. Kitchenette. Laundry access. If you want, I can have our owner, Isabel, email you rates.”
My heart steadied even more, like it approved of me thinking in steps instead of fantasies.
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
Sasha’s smile turned knowing in a way that made me feel seen and not embarrassed about it. “Okay. Verify your email?”
I gave it to her, and she checked my records with quick efficiency.
“Now,” she said, looking up, “do you want my unsolicited life advice?”
I laughed. “I’d love it.”
She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice the way women did when they were about to hand you something real. “Don’t move here for a man unless you’re sure.”
My breath caught, not because she’d hurt my feelings, but because she’d hit the nerve.
I didn’t flinch.
I didn’t bristle.
I just met her eyes.
“I’m not moving here for a man,” I said. And it was the truth. “I’m moving here for me. But … there is a man.”
Sasha’s gaze held mine for a beat longer, then she nodded like that answer mattered. Like it passed some internal test. “Okay. Good. That’s the only way it works.”
