Sixty-three nights.
I read it again to make sure my grandma’s words aren’t playing tricks on me. I do the math. Two months at our seasonal summer rates would cover the B&B’s expenses into the fall. It would give me enough to pay the late bills and make some repairs, not just duct tape and buckets. The relief is overwhelming, but I keep my face neutral.
“Everything okay?” he asks, but the concern isn’t genuine.
“Great.” I pull up the screen. “To confirm, you’re staying until August 3?”
“This was a mistake.” Carter shakes his head.
“It’s not.” I keep my voice even because if this man walks out that door, so does the money. “I’ll quickly enter you into the system, five minutes max.”
“You have three.” He drops the bags, leather slaps against the floor, and pulls out his wallet. He slides his ID and credit card across the counter. “The seconds are ticking.”
I start typing. He turns his back to me and stares out the windows at the water while I work. Just by his demeanor, I know he’s the kind of guy who snaps his fingers and people jump.
My grandmother wrote P&Q next to his name, meaning he needs to be left alone. The tension in his shoulders and the exhaustion on his face tell me this is an escape trip.
At the final screen, the total for his reservation populates.
$31,437 plus tax.
My fingers tremble over the keyboard, and I curl them into my palms so he won’t see. Carter Banks handed me a lifeline and has no idea.
“You’re in the Captain’s Room. Faces the ocean, king-size bed, best view in the house on the top floor with a covered balcony.”
I grab a key ring with a mermaid on it from the wall and slide the key across the counter. His hand reaches for it at the same time, and our fingers brush. The contact sends a jolt through me, and I pull away, but so does he. Up close, his blue eyes have flecks of gray in them. He holds my gaze long enough to make my heart race.
“Anything else?” he asks.
“Please review the terms. No smoking, no pets, no wild parties. Click agree and sign on the next screen.”
I flip the tablet around, and he handles it with several quick motions and a scribble with his finger. I slide his card, and I’m given an instant approval. Part of me wants to kiss that green confirmation banner that pops up.
“That’s it, Mr. Banks. Thanks for choosing Seaside.” I offer him one of our welcome booklets. “Local restaurants and businesses are inside, and there’s a cell number you can text if you need anything at all. Happy to help.”
He glances down at his watch, and I notice it’s a Patek Philippe. It’s a brand I recognize that starts at six figures. Guys like him stay at the Grand Palm with it’s rooftop pools and concierge service, not a B&B with peeling wallpaper and a grandmother who takes reservations during morning mimosas. Carter Banks is running from something, and he chose the end of the earth to disappear. He notices me staring at it and shoves his hand in his pocket.
“Breakfast is between seven and nine, and the kitchen is free for your use at any time.”
He nods once.
“If you need anything, I’m usually?—”
“I won’t.”
He picks up his bags and walks toward the stairs without a second glance. The stairs creak under his weight, and then he’s gone.
I’m partially offended by how he acted toward me, but when I glance at the confirmation screen, I don’t seem to care anymore.
$31,437.
That number fixes the bathroom pipes, pays the back taxes, catches up the electrical bill, and maybe gives me enough to rehire one person so I’m not stripping beds and running the desk alone until September. Ten minutes ago, I was wondering how to tell Josie we could lose this place by October, and then trouble with blue eyes and an attitude problem changed it all.
The pipes rattle, which means Carter Banks is running the sink in the Captain’s Room. He’ll be here until August, walking through my lobby and existing in my space all summer. I need to stay out of his way and him out of mine.
But I can’t deny the flutter I felt when our fingers brushed, and I can still smell his cologne in the air. This grumpy stranger with an expensive watch means nothing. I don’t get to trust that feeling anymore. Not after Adam.
The confirmation screen is still glowing on the laptop. I open the expense spreadsheet and plug in the new numbers. They’re not fatal.
