Behind me, footsteps come down from the third floor. Carter passes and gives Mrs. Hankers a good morning before taking the second set of stairs to the lobby. His cologne lingers, and I keep my eyes on Mrs. Hankers.
“He’sveryhandsome,” she whispers, leaning out her doorway.
“He’s trouble,” I say.
“Oh, to be young and single again.” She gives me a wink before closing her door.
I take a few seconds, then head back to the lobby. On the counter is my open notebook, and I add the new items to the bottom before I forget. Maybe now that we have some money, a few of these items will be taken care of.
When I reach for a pen, my hand knocks over the cup of coffee I poured earlier. I grab a towel from the laundry pile and soak it up before the liquid reaches my notebook. Then I think about being alone with Carter this morning.
I want him out of my head.
The Galloways in the Driftwood check out at nine. I strip their bed and scrub the bathroom, then restock the toiletries. When I’m focused, I can flip an entire room from top to bottom in an hour.
Around ten thirty, Mrs. Hankers calls the front desk because her shower is running cold. The next hour, I stay crouched in the utility closet in the kitchen, speed-watching YouTube tutorials on my phone. The pilot light on the water heater is out, and it takes several attempts before the flame catches.
There is never a dull moment, working here.
If it keeps doing this, I’ll have to call someone. The reality is, I can’t be a carpenter, plumber, electrician, manager, and housekeeper, even if I want to.
My grandfather was the handyman, and without him here, repairs have piled up faster than Gran can fix them.
When the flame stays on, I stand and brush spiderwebs off my knees. My shorts are dusty, and my ponytail is crooked, but the hot water is working. Nothing can take away the satisfaction of fixing it myself without spending a dime.
Around noon, Gran comes through the back door with Lucille strolling behind her. They’re laughing about last night’s card game, where Gran won all their laundry mat money. My grandma is in the kitchen before I can ask questions.
I want to do my best for her. The B&B is my and Josie’s inheritance, something the two of us will inherit and run when Gran is gone. Dad already said he didn’t want the responsibility, and the thought of it being sold makes me sick. Saving the place is personal.
“I need to go into town for about an hour,” I say when Gran comes out, carrying a cheese tray. “I have to pick up a few things for Mr. Banks.”
“No problem. I told him whatever he needs, we’ll be happy to help. I’m glad to see he’s settling in. That young man doesn’t have very many friends.”
I tuck my hand into my pocket, feeling the folded hundreds and thinking about how much money he gave me. Then I remember his watch. He’s elite.
“Anyway, take your time, sweetie. Lucille and I will hold down the fort,” Gran says.
I realize I was completely lost in my thoughts. Once again, Carter Banks is the reason for my distraction.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I give her a smile. “Great.”
Grandma slides playing cards from a box and starts shuffling. I grab my big sunglasses and step outside. The sun is hot against my skin, and it’s not officially summer yet.
I take the beach path instead of the sidewalk into town because I need to make a pit stop at Fallon’s surf shop. I need to talk to my best friend before I crash out over Carter.
The tide is low, and a group of kids chase each other with pool noodles while their parents sit under a striped umbrella. Two women in wide-brimmed hats walk ahead of me, stopping every few steps to pick up shells. A paddleboarder glides across the flat water close to shore.
Damn, I missed home.
Sunshine Surf sits at the end of the boardwalk with a rack of colorful rental boards out front, and a hand-painted driftwood sign hangs above the door. When I step inside, I smell the familiar scent of coconut wax. The floor is gritty with sand—something that will never change, no matter how often it gets swept. The garage doors on each side make sure of that.
Fallon stands behind the register, helping a couple pick out boards for the afternoon. I overhear her ask questions about their experience level, and she lets them loose with two soft tops in under a minute. They leave, grinning, with the rental boards under their arms. Fallon yells and tells them to wear sunscreen and stay hydrated.
She turns, and when she sees me, her expression shifts. “Damn. You look terrible.”
“Thanks a lot. I’ve had a morning from hell.”
