chapter one
Wendy
“Iwant a refund. I’m checking out,” Mrs. Givens says.
She’s been in the Pelican Room for a few days, and she isn’t supposed to check out until Wednesday. Her flower-patterned duffel bag is swung over her shoulder with the leather strap digging into her arm.
I stand behind the front desk with my best customer-service smile locked in place. “I’m very sorry to hear that. May I ask why?”
“The ocean is too loud.” She says it with her eyebrows knit together like she’s reporting a crime. “I need peace and quiet without the constant whooshing. It’s nonstop. Are there any places on the island where it’snotlike that?”
Considering she’s dead serious, I’m forced to swallow down my laugh. The last thing I’d ever want to do is be disrespectful. “I’d personally suggest somewhere that’s not seaside. The middle of town may be the best because the buildings and tourists block most of the noise.”
The location of this place is the main selling point. It’s calledSeasideBed-and-Breakfast because of it.
“Had I known it was like this, I would’ve stayed somewhere else.”
“I completely understand.” I keep my expression neutral, and my eyes stay locked on her—a skill I perfected over years of managing difficult guests at jobs where the customer is always right, no matter what. “I’ll be happy to refund the remaining night on your reservation.”
She huffs and gives me attitude. “What about tonight?”
My teeth are clamped together so hard that my jaw aches because we can’t take another bad review on the booking apps right now. I glance at the clock on the wall and see it’s after three in the afternoon. “Unfortunately, all cancellations require a twenty-four-hour notice. It’s our policy.” I stay kind but firm in a way that comes easy to me.
“That’s ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath. “You can still rent the room tonight. You’re not even fully booked as it is.”
“I understand, but it’s been the owner’s policy since 1976. That was way before I was born.” I point to the faded yellow sign behind the desk. “I wish I could, but unfortunately, I can’t.”
Mrs. Givens shakes her head while I print her receipt and walk her through the refund process. She’s focused on anything other than me. Once I’ve finished giving her the spiel, I walk around to hold the door open for her with a grin.
“Have a good day. Sorry about the ocean loudness,” I offer with a wave.
She rolls her eyes before taking the elevator to the bottom floor.
The second I’m alone, I drop the act and return to the counter. The ocean is a constant through the open windows. It’s the same low roll I’ve heard since I was born. The whole building smells like salt and sunbaked wood and the coconut candle my grandmother likes to keep lit by the staircase even if I believe it’s a fire hazard. The last thing we need is to have this place burn to the ground.
The B&B has ninety days of operating costs left before the accounts hit zero. Once that happens, the doors will have to close. My biggest fear is losing this place.
I let out a long sigh, not even wanting to think about that.
Right now, we have three rooms booked out of eight, an electric bill that’s behind, property taxes that are months late, and a leak in the Seahorse Room’s bathroom I’ve been catching with a bucket. There is no extra money to make repairs or catch up the bills, which has added insurmountable pressure. Most days, I feel like the only one concerned about the future.
Two months ago, I was managing theW in California. It’s a worldwide hotel chain so elite that it only needs one letter. Now I’m secretly sinking my own savings into emergency repairs for my grandmother’s bed-and-breakfast. I’ve crunched the numbers four times today, waiting for them to magically change, but they never do. At least not for the better.
Since I had to let all of the staff go because we couldn’t afford them, I’m housekeeping too. Just thinking about everything I have to do this summer exhausts me. It’s only June!
I grab towels and head to the second floor to strip the Pelican Room since Mrs. Givens won’t be needing it. The third stair gives me the same groan it’s always made. Midway to the second floor, I notice the seashell wallpaper peeling at the corners. I’m tempted to rip it off because it’s a problem I can actually fix.
One thing at a time.
It’s something I’ve repeated to myself since my feet landed back on Coconut Beach Island.
In the Pelican Room, Mrs. Givens left wet towels on the floor and an empty bag of chips on the nightstand. I strip the bed and restock the bathroom, then toss everything dirty into the hallway hamper. A year ago, I was overseeing a staff of forty, helping celebrities, dignitaries, and even royalty. My college degree didn’t prepare me for this. The worst part is, I chose this.
When my little sister, Josie, called me in tears about the state of things, I didn’t hesitate packing up my life. The same week, I drove across the country because that’s what family does. Even though the B&B is currently treading water and my grandmother describes her financial ruin as things being a little tight, I have hope that I can turn it around. Hope is a dangerous emotion. Some might even call it delusional.
I carry the hamper down the hallway and hear my little sister’s voice from the lobby on the first floor.
“Wen? You up there?” Josie singsongs. She doesn’t have a volume setting below eight.
