by Rayne, Piper
“Tell me,” I demand. “Say the words.”
“What?” he asks, putting his arms to the side like he does when he’s trying to avoid answering a question.
“Tell me. Say it, you fucking coward,” I say between gritted teeth.
He looks back at the brunette and returns his attention to me.
The security guy is getting closer, his eyes focused on me.
“Things between us changed at some point. It’s not you.”
“Jeff!” I yell, inching forward. The security lady giving me a little more leeway.
“What do you want from me, Brooklyn? I just don’t love you.”
I push past the security woman, and the crowd between us disperses, leaving an opening for me.
“Fuck you, Jeff!” I slap him across his face. “You don’t love me? Shame on you for stringing me along all this time.” I lean around his shoulder to stare at the brunette. “Good luck.”
She sneers, her cheeks red and embarrassed.
Jeff holds his cheek as I stare up at the man I thought would be my husband. “My family is right. You’re not even close to being good enough for me, you weak bastard.”
I turn on my heel, the passengers leaving room for me to get by.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the security lady.
“Gladly,” she replies, and I zig-zag back through the ropes, pick up my bags and follow the signs to the rental car area because the last thing I want to do right now is call my family.
Six
Wyatt
I swear every minute in Lake Starlight drags on longer than in New York. It’s Sunday morning and I’ve already gone for my run, ate breakfast, and read the Wall Street Journal on my iPad.
Needing to get familiar with this town, I head down the stairs of my apartment complex, only to see Brooklyn standing on the other side of the door.
My heart sinks when I notice her red-rimmed eyes, the sadness tattooed on her face like it’s permanent. What a shame that would be if this ruined her for some guy who actually deserves her. I’ve seen it with my friends. One heartbreak and they’re done, never to trust anyone again.
She fiddles with her keys, drops them, and bends down to pick them up again.
I open the door and she’s sitting there on the concrete alongside a pair of bags, head in her hands, devastated.
“Brooklyn,” I say, squatting down beside her. “Are you okay?”
She peeks at me through her laced fingers then wipes away the residue of tears before standing. Grabbing her keys and her bags, she takes a step forward.
“Whoa.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Slow down.”
She shakes her head frantically and slides past me through the doorframe. “Thanks for opening the door.”
“Brooklyn,” I say her name again, following her up the stairs.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Dori you saw me like this. Actually, my entire family will never know I didn’t go.” She drags her bags up the first flight of stairs like demons from hell are chasing her.
“Will you stop. I know we don’t know each other, but…”
She stops on the second landing, a fresh stream of tears falling. “I’m not your problem but thank you for trying.” Her hand presses on my forearm again and even though my long-sleeved t-shirt blocks any skin-to-skin contact, her warmth is there. It’s in her.
“You obviously need someone. If you’re not going to tell your family whatever’s going on.”
I follow her up the next flight of stairs.
“I’ll be fine. I just need to decompress.”
She reaches her door and again fumbles with her keys, first putting the front door one in, before realizing it doesn’t actually unlock the door. See why key codes to gain entry into a building are so much simpler nowadays?
I take the keys hanging out of the doorknob, swap them out and open her door.
She pulls her bags in, stopping and turning around before I can follow her.
“Thank you.” She slams the door in my face, even though I still hold her keys in my hand.
I swear this town. Or maybe it’s just this building. Maybe it’s just the Baileys.
I knock lightly.
No answer.
I knock again and lean my ear to the door.
Not one peep.
Shit.
I clutch the doorknob and it turns.
Simple enough.
I’ll crack it open, fling the keys in and then lock it from the other side before I shut it again.
My mom would kill me if I left a girl in an apartment with an unlocked door at anyone’s mercy.
Then again, I’m not in New York, I’m in Lake Starlight, with what feels like a population of one hundred so far.
The knob clicks and I slide the door just enough to throw the keys in and reach my arm around the door to lock the bottom lock. I can’t help but look through the crack in the opening.
I don’t see Brooklyn anywhere. She must be in her bedroom.
My fingers blindly fiddle with the lock and I’m about to let the door shut when my gaze flickers to movement on the right. Forgetting the lock, I push the door open.
She wouldn’t notice anyone if they busted down the door. She’s curled up into a ball on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest, tears streaming down her face.
Fuck.
Why can’t I just mind my own business? She’s not my business. The last thing I want is to sit around all day and listen to her carry on and on about some dipshit who didn’t give a crap about her. How the hell do I know what to do with a broken-hearted girl? Do I look like Dr. Phil?
My mom wonders why I don’t want to settle down? Look at this girl. Some guy promised her the moon and the stars then left her at the altar. Do you ever really know someone?
“Hey.” I slowly step into the room. “Brooklyn?”
She doesn’t look up at me, so I continue my way across the floor to her small living room. When I sit at the far end of the couch, she never even glances my way.
“Are you okay?”
What a stupid question. Of course, she isn’t. Her life as she knows it is over. Not that I’ve ever experienced heartache from a romantic relationship. But the mess of emotions she’s feeling is the exact reason I shy away from them.
“I’m the stupidest woman in the world,” she murmurs, her head laying on top of the pillow as she stares out her patio door to the lake.
“No, you’re not.” I clench my fists to stop myself from reaching out and touching her. “You’re not the first woman to be fooled by a guy or vice versa.”
Her eyes flicker to me. “He stole our honeymoon, too. Canceled my ticket and bought one for some slutty brunette.” She winces. “I shouldn’t say that. I don’t even know her.”
I huff. This guy is in the running for asshole of the year.
“I’m sorry,” I say like a pure schmuck. I should have some words of wisdom, but I’ve got nothing.
“You don’t need to be sorry, you didn’t desert me.” She sits up, looking straight ahead still. “You know what gets me?” Her ass wiggles into the couch like she’s a dog finding her most comfortable position. “The fact he let it go that long. I mean I’m sure we were caught up in the planning and everything, but he wanted that. If it was my decision, I would’ve been married out by the lake at my parents’ house. Had a tent put up and invited only our closest friends and family. But he wanted the big to do.” She stretches her arms out on either side. “Do you think it’s because I’m a Bailey? Like he just wanted to marry one and he thought well, I’ll take that one and like a dummy I let him take advantage of me?”
There they go again. They act like the name Bailey in Lake Starlight is akin to a Kennedy in Washington.
“I’m sure he loved you for you.” I clamp my hands together between my legs, sitting on the edge of the couch so I can make my escape as soon as she seems like she has it together.
“If he loved me, he wouldn’t have done what he di
d.”
“I can’t say I disagree.”
“Listen.” She puts the pillow between her legs, wiggles again and stares me down. “I’m not going to tell my family what happened. At least not yet.” Her eyes drift to the window. “I just need some time to myself. So, can we pretend you didn’t run into me?”
“I don’t know your family.”
“Well, the more you’re in Lake Starlight, the more you’ll realize that everyone knows my family and I guarantee you’ll run into them. I don’t want to put you in a bad situation, but they’ll suffocate me until I beg for mercy.” She giggles.
That’s a good sign, right?
“My lips are sealed.” I stand, relieved that this isn’t going to take up my whole afternoon.
“Thank you, Wyatt. I promise I’ll repay you for all the shit you’ve dealt with in the short time you’ve been here.” A small smile creases her lips.
Her ex truly is an idiot. I’m not comfortable sitting here with a crying female, but it’s clear to see that on a good day you’d be lucky to spend your time with Brooklyn.
“Not necessary.”
“This is Lake Starlight. Paybacks are a must. Besides, it’s neighborly.”
I rock back on my heels. “I’m starting to notice the small-town mentality.”
Her eyes focus out the window again, her mind somewhere other than me. Not used to that.
“If you need anything, I’m across the hall.”
She turns her head and again, a small smile plays on her lips. “Thanks.”
“I’ll lock up.”
She says nothing, sliding down the sofa and falling into the same position I found her in.
I shut the door and though a feeling of relief should envelop me, it doesn’t. For some weird reason, I still feel pulled to the other side of the door.
I shake my head to myself as I walk over to the stairway.
My focus needs to be on Glacier Point Resort and making it the hotel in Alaska that everyone wants to visit so that I can hightail it back to New York where people stick to themselves.
Seven
Wyatt
I enter the hotel on Monday morning wearing my lucky suit. These people need to know that even though I’ll be the acting bellhop for the next couple of weeks, I am their new manager. No matter what my dad says.
The heads stationed at the front desk turn and clock me the minute I circle through the revolving door into the lobby.
So, it’s better than a three-star hotel. Maybe a three a half. The lobby is a good size with decent furniture and a few plants sprinkled throughout.
“Hello Sir,” a young kid comes up and greets me.
My assumption is that this pimple-faced boy is my new boss for the foreseeable future.
Thanks, Dad.
“Hi, I’m Wyatt Moore.” I hold my hand out, thankful that I didn’t stumble over my last name.
Practice makes perfect.
The young kid’s eyes widen. “Hello. I’m Mac.” I shake his limp hand.
Note to self—teach this guy how to be confident if he’s going to be our frontline connection to customers.
“Nice to meet you. I’m going to situate some things with Mr. Clayton and then I’m all yours.”
Mac smiles nervously and nods.
The heels of my loafers click on the tiled floors, announcing my arrival to the front desk the entire way.
A woman and a man smile at me. They know who I am. Well, not really. They think they do though.
“Mr. Moore?” the woman asks, holding out her hand.
“Wyatt,” I say. One way I’m not like my father is having to be called Mr. Whitmore all the time. Not to mention, I probably won’t answer to Mr. Moore since it’s not my name.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Noelle and this is Neil.” She tilts her head at the man next to her.
He smiles and I shake his hand.
“Should be easy to remember you two. Noelle and Neil. The two Ns.”
They both laugh nervously, though I’m trying to put them at ease. I don’t believe in managing by fear.
“Is Mr. Clayton in?” I ask.
Noelle’s eyes shift to Neil. “Not yet. He usually comes in sometime within the next hour or so.”
“Oh.”
My father bought the hotel from Mr. Clayton, but he agreed to stay on during this whole transition/experiment of my father’s.
“I do have your bellhop outfit all dry-cleaned and ready to go,” Noelle says.
I forgot about that. “Great. I’ll get started and maybe catch Mr. Clayton on my lunch.”
“Right this way. Come on through that door.” She points to the door next to the front desk marked ‘Employees Only.’
There hangs my polyester uniform. Red jacket with gold trim and buttons. Wonderful.
I’m doing this for an entire chain of hotels. I have a feeling I’ll need the reminder over the next couple of weeks.
“Thanks, Noelle,” I say and pick up the wire hanger off the hook and follow the signs to the employee locker room.
Ten minutes later, my eight-thousand-dollar suit hangs on the hanger formerly occupied by the fifty-dollar uniform that’s so durable it would probably survive long after I did if I lit it on fire.
I walk out of the employee locker room and to the main lobby. Mac is standing near the small desk by the rotating doors, his eyes meeting mine.
“Alright Mac, teach me everything I need to know. Fast.” I laugh.
He laughs. “Well, it’s Monday, so we have more departures than arrivals.”
That’s typical of most hotels geared to vacations. It’s not like this is a city hotel where business people are coming and going all week.
I follow Mac around carrying luggage from carts to the trunks of their owners and by lunchtime, I have a good stack of tips. Mac returns from his lunch, so I take mine.
I really hate first days on the job. They suck.
Mr. Clayton stopped by earlier when we were between three guest rooms checking out. One with so many kids I looked around after they drove away thinking they had to have missed one.
“Hey, Noelle.”
She smiles.
“Mr. Clayton around?”
She nods and picks up her phone, informing him that I’m hoping for a word. “Go ahead.”
Before I can actually step into his office, he appears and signals for us to head to the bar restaurant that overlooks Glacier Point, hence the reason for the resort’s name.
“Sorry I wasn’t here this morning, but you’re aware of,” he looks around to be sure we’re alone, “our reason for selling.”
I nod.
It’s a sad story really. Mr. Clayton’s wife was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and they’ve decided to head to Arizona where the warm weather will help with her condition. His words were life is too short and he’s too old. If warm weather will help her at all, then he’ll move.
“She’s having a rough morning.”
He waves at the bartender and a young waitress, situating us in the farthest corner he can.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The nice thing is we’ll be gone before winter hits. I’ve already lined up a house for us with a pool. She’s excited and as you can imagine there’s nothing better than seeing the woman you love happy. It’s like a shot of Jack. Numbs whatever shit is going on in your reality for a while.”
I smile at his words although I don’t know what he’s talking about.
“So, Mac seems good.” I settle in the booth. Booths that will be replaced once Whitmore Hotels renovates. Booths take up too much room and the upkeep is unreal.
“He’s eager to succeed. A little intimidated by our older guests, but always polite.”
A waitress comes over. She can’t be more than twenty. Blonde hair strung up in a ponytail, natural-looking makeup, her polyester uniform wrinkle free. There are advantages to polyester, but these uniforms are right out of nineteen seventy-six.
“This is Moll
y. Molly, this is Wyatt W…Moore. He’ll be the new manager, but right now, he’s learning the ropes per their company policy.”
She smiles over to me. “Nice to meet you.”
I hold my hand out and she daintily shakes it. “You, too.”
“I’ll have a coffee,” Mr. Clayton says.
“I’ll have a Ja…” I shouldn’t have alcohol. “I’ll have a diet whatever you have.”
She nods and heads to the bar where she must tell the bartender who I am because her gaze lands on me.
“She’s sweet, too. She has a one-year-old. Sadly, the father was here for fishing one weekend and hasn’t been back since. So, it’s just her and the baby.”
“But she gets to work on time okay? Any issues with tardiness or sick days?”
Mr. Clayton’s face twists into displeasure for a moment, but he masks it immediately.
“No. Her parents help her as much as they can.”
“That’s good news.”
Molly brings us our drinks. “Are you eating as well?” she asks.
I glance at my watch. According to Mr. Clayton, everyone gets an hour lunch which is absurd. A half hour is plenty.
“Sure. Can you bring me whatever the most popular dish is?” I ask.
Her eyes fall to Mr. Clayton for guidance on my question.
“Bring him the bison burger with the twisted fries.”
She smiles and nods, her hand touching his shoulder. “Anything for you, Mr. Clayton?”
“I’ll take a bowl of chowder with—”
“Oyster crackers.” She giggles. “I know.”
The interaction tells me Molly has Mr. Clayton wrapped around her little finger.
Note to self—check Molly’s time cards.
“Anything else I need to know?” I ask once Molly’s gone.
“No. I imagine Lake Starlight is a big change from New York City. How are you adjusting?”
I think about my time so far and only one name comes to mind, but I keep that to myself.
“Let me ask you a question. Have you ever heard of The Baileys?”
He smiles, followed by a frown.
