Emily was halfway through transcribing the newly booked future arrivals into the master calendar when Cassie knockedon the office door and let herself in. Daniel’s mother wore a pt-shirt that said, “Because I’m the Grandma, that’s why,” and had a legal pad under one arm. She arched an eyebrow at the state of Emily’s desk, then eased herself onto the second office chair, the one Emily tried to keep clear for moments just like this.
“You summoned me, boss?” Cassie asked.
Emily’s mouth was dry, even though she’d already drained half a carafe of coffee. She gestured to the chair. “Marnie has to go out of town for a family emergency. Are you ok with running the front desk solo this week? And—” She slid a folder across the desk, careful not to break the color-coded piles. “I want you to help Lois handle guest events too. All of them.”
Cassie flipped open the folder, thumbed through a few sheets, then peered at Emily over the rims of her readers. “Are you dying? Be honest.”
Emily let out a bark of a laugh. “No. I swear, the doctor just says no heavy lifting. I’m supposed to rest. Which I will try. But I can still keep an eye on things from here.”
Cassie grunted. “You’lltry.” She picked up a blue Post-it, scanned it, and stuck it back. “What’s really going on?”
Emily pressed the pad of her thumb into her planner, the spiral binding leaving dents on her skin. She just came out with it, which she found easy to do with Cassie. Cassie was always forthcoming, which Emily liked about her. “We’re buying the lighthouse. But I can’t do anything with it if I’m running the inn every day. I need to start stepping back. And I need you to take over anything I can’t do from this desk. I will raise your pay to the level of responsibility, for sure. Plus, I would just love having you around more.”
Cassie’s face sof tened a notch. “When do I start?”
“Now,” Emily said, then hesitated. “But—”
“But you’ll still want updates. Hourly. Maybe by the minute.” Cassie’s mouth twitched in a lopsided smile. “You gotta trust people, Emily.”
“I trust you,” Emily protested, though she heard the whine in her own voice.
Cassie stood, set her legal pad down, and reached across the desk to squeeze Emily’s shoulder, quick, businesslike, but warm. “I’ll handle it. Go be brilliant somewhere else.” She paused at the door and wagged a finger. “Butrestwhile doing it.”
When she left, Emily spent the next hour making a list of all the things she would have done herself: the flower orders, the dietary substitutions for next week’s conference, the welcome gift basket for the honeymooners in Room 3. At least three times, she caught herself about to rise and fix some small problem. Each time, she stopped, willed herself to stay put, and texted a staff member to handle it.
At ten-thirty sharp, her phone vibrated.“Incoming,”Cassie texted, followed by a string of crab emojis and laughy faces.
Emily barely had time to process it before Patricia breezed in, her perfume beating her by a full second. Her mother wore a blazer that looked expensive but had a loose thread at the cuff.
“I hear you’re in need of backup,” Patricia said, seating herself across from Emily and folding her hands with corporate precision.
Emily smirked. “You want a job too?”
“I want you to succeed,” Patricia countered. “If that means working for you, so be it. And if Cassie can do it, so can I.” She looked around the office, appraising. “You have a system?”
Emily spun the laptop to show her the master calendar. “Every task, every staff member, every guest need. Color-coded and cross-referenced. It’s all here.”
Patricia scanned the screen, brow lifting. “Impressive. Is this posted somewhere, not digital?”
Emily’s instinct was to bristle, to point out the redundancy, but she stopped herself. “That’s a good point, Mom,” she admitted. “I’ll make a printout.”
“Delegate the printing,” Patricia said.
“You want to make the copies?”
Her mother smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening with genuine pleasure. “I’d be honored.”
They got to work, Emily at her laptop, Patricia at the printer and the three-hole punch, making a master binder. An “Inn Bible” as they started to call it.
Midway through organizing the binder, Patricia said, “I’m glad you’re letting people help. I know it’s hard for you.”
Emily slid a page protector toward her. “It’s not hard. It’s excruciating.”
Patricia laughed, a rich, open sound. “You know, we all just want you alive and happy. How dare we.”
At noon, Daniel peeked in, Charlotte in arms. He took in the scene—paper in neat stacks, the two women elbow-deep in index tabs and highlighters—and smiled, hands on his hips. “This looks like the world’s nerdiest documentary.”
Emily laughed. “We’re almost done.”
