Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
An unwelcome voice in the back of my head doesn’t realize the question is rhetorical. Because deep down, you’re still hurting, it whispers. Deep down, you’re just scared to care about someone again because you don’t believe they’ll care about you back. And now you know the stakes are higher because you don’t want your son to grow up watching his mother bounce from unsuccessful relationship to unsuccessful relationship.
I conjure a mental image of myself blowing a raspberry at that inner voice.
This is probably what crazy feels like. Voices in my head, and I’m blowing raspberries at them? Great. But I chalk it up to new mommy brain and a lack of sleep, among other things.
I shake my head, put on a bright smile, and focus on the day at hand. The world has been nice enough to serve me a heaping plate of too much shit to deal with already. I don’t need to go asking for seconds and thirds.
The plumbing issue is being taken care of. The couple with the “baby” got to make it to their room, thinking they’d pulled a fast one, even though I love animals too much to have turned their secret pets away. And the senior hooligans in the lobby are about to get an earful.
It’s under control. As long as you don’t mind defining “under control” as slapping that infomercial “flex tape” stuff on a raging water leak.
Thankfully, I’ve always thrived with the pressure. The more there is to do, the better. And there’s always plenty to do when you own and operate a bed and breakfast in a small town. Especially when your building is over a hundred years old and constantly trying to fall apart under your nose.
In the lobby, I confront a few of my guests who have been cornered by Grams and Edgar. Grams is my best friend, Mia’s grandmother, and Edgar is her elderly lover. I made the mistake of asking them to cover for me at work once so I could see my brother’s NHL game. Ever since, they’ve started showing up at the B&B whenever they can. They think they’re helping, but mostly, they just cause trouble and terrorize my guests.
“Leave them alone,” I say to Grams. I don’t need to hear what’s going on to know Grams is trying to scam them out of money in a rigged Bingo game. Grams is eighty-something, stooped over with bent posture, sports a happy poof of white hair, and has the energy of a toddler on Halloween.
“I’m just making sure they know there’s money to be made,” Grams says. She’s using her “innocent old lady” voice, I see. “Edgar and I over there aren’t that good at Bingo. We just enjoy the fun of it.”
“Bingo isn’t a skill, Grams,” I tell her for the hundredth time. “And nobody should play with you,” I say, raising my voice. “Since you two tape the games and rig it from the start to steal people’s money.”
Grams throws up her arms in frustration and lets down the act. The guests she was trying to convince all give her the stink eye and head out. Most of them are dressed to ski, which is usually why people book rooms here this time of year.
“That was some bullshit, and you know it,” Grams complains. The little, sweet old lady voice is gone now.
“I’m not going to let you rob my guests,” I say simply.
Grams grins. “Well, I can at least respect your trying to have their backs. But you can’t always watch them.”
“I could just kick you and Edgar out.”
Edgar turns in his seat, raising his palms. “Who would do all the helpful things we do around here, wise guy?” He’s around Grams’ age with a thick New York accent. “I saved that fuckin’ batch of biscuits just the other mornin’. The lack of salt and butter was criminal.”
“Nobody’s ever minded my biscuits,” I say, feeling just a touch defensive. What’s wrong with my biscuits?
“No,” Edgar agrees. “But they have never raved about them like they raved about mine, have they?”
I glare with my fists on my hips. Edgar works at the local fine dining restaurant, Taste, and admittedly has a way with food I can’t quite match. “Fine,” I say. “You’re right. I can’t imagine how I would manage to harass and annoy my guests at all hours of the day without you two around. And who could I find to rush outside and shake their fist if someone drives by on a loud motorcycle?”
Edgar actually looks offended. “You tellin’ me you want them assholes makin’ all that noise? They’re lucky it’s only my fist shakin’.”
“She’s just too stubborn to admit she needs us,” Grams says. “Don’t listen, Daddy.”
I groan. “Please stop calling Edgar ‘daddy,’ or I will find a way to block TikTok on your phone. You watch way too many thirst trap videos for anybody, let alone an old lady. I’m pretty sure your lubrication department tried to retire decades ago.”