There was a knock at the door, startling Holly from her memories. Linus poked his head in. “It’s almost four o’clock. Would you like me to handle check-ins?”
“Wow, already?” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
Linus was looking at her funny. “Everything alright?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was just reviewing the books.”
“Again?”
“I know, I know.”
“And?”
“The numbers haven’t changed.”
Linus regarded her knowingly. “Which is why we do this fun exercise together weekly. Not daily.”
She followed him to the door. “I know, I know, or I’ll drive myself nuts.”
“More.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“Also, I seem to have lost track of Bruce. Have you seen him?”
“I think he’s still asleep on the porch.” Guests loved having Bruce on the porch as much as he loved being out there, but it wasn’t like him to stay out all afternoon. Holly meant to go look for him, but the lobby was already in full swing.
Four o’clock signified the start of the evening rush, with check-in hour at the desk and afternoon refreshers in the parlor. Three of the eight booked rooms would receive new guests that day. The afternoon cocktail was an Aperol spritz. As Holly strode into the lobby, the “Shore Birds” were just arriving in flowy pastel shirts, capri leggings, and blocky white sneakers—a uniform of a certain age they all seemed to share. “There’s our cocktail boy!” one of them cried, upon seeing Linus.
“How was bird-watching at Monomoy today?” Holly asked, taking her place behind the desk. She was getting a kick out of this group, a clutch of bird-watching women from Maine who’d decided to come after seeing the gallery of local flora and fauna photos Holly had posted on the inn’s new website.
“Monomoy is an oystercatcher paradise,” Bernice, the seemingly appointed group leader, told her excitedly. “And Ruth saw a plover!”
“No, she didn’t,” said Mary. Mary was the only one of the group who’d complained about anything so far: the pesto had too much basil, the pillows were toopillowy, the shampoo made her hair flat. It was a close call when Linus almost reminded Mary she’d arrived with flat hair. “There were no plovers,” Mary repeated for emphasis now.
“Sure there were,” said Ruth, sidling up to Holly’s desk. “Mary, you’re just mad you missed them.” She waggled her iPhone at Holly. “I took dozens of photos. Want to see?”
Holly really did not; thankfully Greta sailed into the lobby with a tray of piping-hot cheddar-tomato turnovers and the Shore Birds fluttered into the parlor in her wake. The aroma filled the foyer. “Heavenly!” Holly told her when she delivered one to the desk. “Be careful Bruce doesn’t get near that tray.” She glanced around. “Speaking of, where is my dog?”
Just then a low-slung BMW swung into the circular drive. Right on its heels followed a Suburban with music blaring through the open windows, giving full view of a bevy of pink passengers.
Linus perked up. “Is that theelevatedbachelorette party?”
Holly winced. “I still don’t know what that means, but yes.”
It was go-time.
Dr. and Mr. Tinkari checked in first. They were new to Chatham, and Holly was happy to show them the booklet of curated local events and attractions she’d compiled for first-time guests. The Suburban was indeed ferrying a group of young womencoming for what had been specifically described as an elevated bachelorette party. As per several unduly long phone calls to explicitly iron out details, Maribeth Whitmore would be celebrating her engagement with three best friends from Wellesley. Maribeth’s father had been one of those calls to provide his credit card, assuring Holly that whatever Maribeth wished, he hoped she wouldaccommodate. The Cranberry was not a party destination, but given the luxury requests made so far, Holly had assured her staff it would be a classy celebration. Linus was all over it.
He presented Maribeth and company their itinerary as if it were a tiara.
“As requested, we’ve booked your spa treatments, your oyster farm tour, and your sunset cruise. Is there anything else we can do to make your experience special?”
Already giggling, Maribeth held up her empty flute.
“More champagne!” Linus sang out. The women squealed and followed him to the bar in a pink tizzy.
