I round the corner of the van where Dean unloads my massive suitcase with ease, and pulls out his own duffel bag from the trunk. I reach for the handle of my bag, but he yanks it out of reach before I can grab it. He leads the way while I follow a few short paces behind.
A stone and gravel path lined with dormant bushes covered in snow leads to the regal front door. Dean pushes it open, and it leads into a cozy main foyer. There are bookcases stacked with books, a fire going in the acid-washed brick fireplace but a massive, crystal chandelier steals the show. I’m totally, earnestly enraptured. I knew this place was luxurious, but I didn’t realize just how much so.
My credit card statement is going to kill me next month.
“Madeline,” Dean gets my attention. “Would you check us in please?”
“Oh, yes,” I shake my head back onto this plane of existence, and approach the front desk where Dean is already waiting.
“Two rooms, please. Under Madeline McKinney,” I tell a young woman named Willa, stationed there.
“Of course,” Willa says, tapping away at her computer. “Let me get the keys for you.” She disappears into a back room, presumably where the keys are kept. I look around the lobby, admiring the chic and eclectic decor.
“It’s really something, huh?” I ask Dean. It’s beautiful.
“Yeah, it’s something, all right.” He looks straight over my head at the chandelier. “Tacky Too much going on.”
“Sheesh.” It’s not really that tacky, but I can see where he’d get the idea. There’s a lot of knickknacks and tchotchkes. “It’s quaint. Like a grandma’s house.” I say as Willa comes back with our keys. They’re not high-tech hotel key cards, but instead are golden metal keys.
“Your rooms are adjoining suites on the top level, the third floor. The Wi-Fi password is in the room, and the breakfast buffet is from 7am-10am. Karaoke is every night in the Monarch Restaurant at 9pm. If you have any questions, I’m here.” She tells us.
We thank her and begin walking towards the massive staircase that’s wedged in the corner of the foyer. Dean still pulls my suitcase behind him as we walk, and as we climb the stairs. He waits behind me as I unlock my room. Dean places my suitcase on the dedicated cot near the entrance for me.
“Here’s your key.” I hand it to him, careful not to touch his palm skin.
“I’ll see you later, okay?” He says to me.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you later.”
He leaves without another word. I stand at the door that adjoins our room, pondering whether or not to try opening it, not wanting to catch Dean off guard. I take in the rest ofthe room. It looks relatively clean. Instead of a duvet, there’s multiple thin quilts and blankets on top of the bed that smell freshly washed. I check under the bed, which turns up no mice or bugs or used condoms.
Satisfied, I walk over to the double doors on the far side of the room, where there’s a small balcony that looks over the bay. It doesn’t leave anything to be desired—you see the treeline, a pathway, then water for miles. There are a few boats out there, but nothing like the summertime would be.
I wander over to the bathroom, where I unzip my coat and shed it to the floor. I look at myself in the oversized mirror above the pedestal sink. I look nearly the same as I did this morning—except even more tired and bedraggled.
Turning to the shower, I turn on the water. It’s good water pressure, and I wait for it to get boiling hot before taking off my sweater, top and pants. I lock the bathroom door and take off the rest of my clothes to get in. I let the hot water run over my body and I feel instantly better, with the stains of my panic attack in the van going down the drain.
I use the provided shampoo and conditioner because it’s nicer than the ones I brought. When I get out, the towel feels like the softest thing known to man. I rest my face on the plush fabric, caressing my skin, massaging away the ache in my jaw. Once dried, I put on my favorite green sweater and the denim jeans without the stains.
Even though it’s still a little damp from my shower, I leave my hair down. It’ll dry soon enough. This place is warm. I flop onto the bed, wondering what to do next. I don’t want to bother Dean as I’m sure I’ve hit my limit for that today already. There seems to be a lull in the snow, so I decide to check out the walking path by the bay and hopefully, find a cup of tea to sip on.
Pulling on a second pair of socks, I make sure my tote bag has everything I need for an outing. Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen.Antacids. Mints. Postcards. A half-drank bottle of water. Bits and bobbles from hair ties to travel sized tissues. I think I’m all set. I put my coat on, zip it up and wrap a scarf around my neck, neglecting to put on my hat because it’s buried at the bottom of my suitcase.
I open the door to my room, key in hand, and peer around the hallway to see if Dean is out there. I can’t help but hope to run into him. Not seeing him, I lock the door and head down the hall towards the stairs. I’m disappointed that he wasn’t there, brooding in a corner like he usually is.
Downstairs, there’s complimentary coffee and tea. I pour myself a cup of hot water, selecting an herbal mint tea. I sit by the fire to let my hair finish drying, catching up on some missed social media posts. It seems like everyone is doing so much better than me; someone else is engaged, someone else has a new kid, someone else has a new job, someone else went to France. I fire off an email to my two clients for my virtual assistant business that I’ll be away for the next week and that I’ll catch up on their items when I return.
When I exit the mansion, I follow the stone path towards the bay and the docks. While it wasn’t snowing when I looked out the window before I left the room, it certainly is now. The sky is darkening with an overcast gray, and the snowflakes are fat, heavy and wet. The wind is growing stronger the closer I walk to the water.
I walk along one of the docks, and the snow is falling quite heavily now. My scarf is whipping around in the wind and my ears are burning from the cold. I try tying my scarf around my ears, but I can’t get the knot straight because it’s so windy.
I’ve almost lost my scarf entirely when I see a figure at the edge of the dock walking towards me. I’d know that pace by now. It’s Dean.
His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, scarf covering his nose and mouth, hat pulled low over his ears. The only thing I can see when he arrives are his eyes and glasses, which are covered in a dusting of snow and frost.
“Following me?” I ask when he arrives in front of me.
“Obviously,” He mutters quietly.
