“Which I am.”
“Not for two days, you’re not,” Stacey says, one hand perched on her hip.
“Stace, when you had your fall, I had to practically get a restraining order for you to stay home. You enjoy me being bedridden way too much.”
“Damn right I do.” Stacey dries her hands on her thighs and smiles. “Alright, you kids need anything else before I head out?”
We send Stacey on her way, and Max relaxes onto the sofa next to me. I pull my knees into my chest to give him some more room, and my left side pulses with an aching discomfort.
“Easy,” Max says.
“How was today?”
“Not bad. Stacey did a great job of doling out tasks. Kind of hard without a solid list, though. You should have the daily routines documented for events like this.”
“Events like this are incredibly rare.”
“But not impossible, obviously.”
“I know,” I say, connecting the dots of the beauty marks on my thigh. A guide to running The Mirage would have been helpful two years ago, and I couldn’t believe that my mom never wrote one. I scoured through her files—a chaotic mix of invoices and personal reminders—but never found anything comprehensive. I’ve had that task on my list ever since, but something else always takes precedence.
“It’s usually just me and Stacey, and we know what we’re doing.”
“I never understood how much work goes into running this place. Making sure the rooms are totally cleaned, refilling used-up items, laundry, answering phone calls—all of it. A few of those things on their own, no big deal. But all together? And then there’s, you know,you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You, I don’t know…you welcome people here in a special way. Make them feel like they’re staying with their cool cousin or something, not just paying for a few nights at a hotel.”
His pride is unmistakable, and it makes me fidget with the hem of my shorts. He’s so supportive, even when half the time I’m not doing this job right, and the other half it drains me completely.
“Sorry you got roped into being a hotelier,” I say.
“I don’t mind. Here.” He taps the armrest to his left and motions for me to stretch out my legs. I do, strapping him in like a seatbelt with my shins. He lifts the foot I didn’t injure and starts massaging the arch, thumbs rubbing relaxation right into my soles.
“Oh my god.” My head tilts back. “That’s so nice.”
A satisfied smile creeps onto his face. “Has it been miserable sitting inside all day while everybody does your bidding?”
“I fucking hate it.”
Max lets out a loud laugh. “Most people would consider it a vacation.”
“I hate vacations.”
“Only you, Daisy.”
“I do!” I switch feet for him. “Gentle on this one, please.”
His hands glide over my foot in a way that feels too good for a soothing foot rub between friends.ButI can’t get used to this—not in a friendly way, or in a more-than-friendly way. Max won’t stay here forever.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. It’s, um, it’s just difficult to sit here while my hotel is out there, waiting for me.”
“It’s not going anywhere.”
My usual end-of-day tasks nag at me. “Did you remember to dust the lobby?”
