by Kelly Myers
After her funeral, one of my aunt’s close friends had called me. My aunt had been running the place almost by herself, with just her close friend to help her. Occasionally they hired temporary help, but mostly they enjoyed it on their own.
I went down to Apricot Sunset to check on the property. Once her estate was squared away, I’d hired someone from a property management agency to take care of it, and I’d gone back to Seattle. But, I didn’t forget about it. A month after her funeral, during a particularly stressful merger at work, I looked up photos of the house online.
And I let myself think, ‘what if?’ What if I moved to Florida?
But my wife at the time, who was actually my soon-to-be ex-wife, did not care for that idea. I’d been well-aware for some time that she was mentally and emotionally checked out of our marriage. But she didn’t cheat, and as long as I made sure she had access to the jet at all times, she was semi-happy.
Over a dinner of roast lamb paired with Pinot Noir, I’d told her I was considering moving to the beach for a while, and taking over the care of my aunt’s home.
Her jaw had dropped, and then her fork. “Absolutely not,” she said. “Do you know what kind of people live on the Gulf Coast?” she asked in her cultured Greek accent.
“People like my aunt.”
A snarl twisted her mouth. “Your aunt was an outcast in this family. You barely bothered seeing her when she was alive, but now that she's dead she's all you care about.”
Helena had been snarky with me for the last time. I wasn’t going to tolerate it. She could forget about having a jet waiting on her at all times if she couldn’t show some respect for my late aunt. “You need to stop talking right now. I'm leaving for Seagrove tomorrow; you don't have to like it.”
She flung her napkin to the table and stood up, the snarl still marred her pretty face.
I didn't wait until morning to get the divorce paperwork started. I called my attorney as soon as I left the restaurant. I was done indulging her whims.
For the last week, I’d been at the hotel. The top floor was mine. The bottom two each contained a floor that could be rented to a family or a group of up to eight, with its own balcony and outside staircase so everyone had their own entrance and exit.. At the front of the house, there was a foyer that functioned as a lobby. And each floor had a wrap around porch with its own entrance and exit.
So, I could have up to sixteen guests at any given time. Did I want sixteen guests? I could close the hotel to guests, and let it just be a vacation home. But my aunt had requested that I keep it running, even if I felt the need to pass the ownership along to someone else. The hotel stayed book year around. It was in demand, and if I took it off the market, I’d be depriving people of their peaceful week at the beach.
Plus, I’d feel guilty as hell for not honoring my aunt’s wishes.
I wasn't lonely here, but I did need help. I needed someone to wash the sheets and order the toiletries. I was still running my expansive company in Seattle for the most part, just remotely.
Yesterday I put a small tasteful sign in the yard indicating that I needed help, and I posted it online as well. So far I’d had dozens of people stop by, but not one seemed like a serious worker. I’d been hiring employees for over a decade, and I could spot the slackers early on.
At six p.m. I sat down on the porch on the bottom floor, which was part of the shared area. To the right there was a rectangular pool and a grassy area with a fire pit, a few picnic tables and a charcoal grill. The hotel was full, with two extended families.
It was a popular spot, because of the proximity to the beach. All of my guests had left their rooms, and I could see them on the beach taking family photos. Several of the kids ducked away, splashing in the edge of the water.
It brought back memories of my own large Greek family, with our grandmother forcing all of us to pose for a family photo. I’d been just as rowdy as these children had, dodging my mother and father and running through the waves with my cousins.
I was sipping a glass of chilled red wine when a striking young woman appeared on the front walk of the hotel. She didn’t have the carefree, easy manner of the young women who came here to relax. Her eyes darted around, and she held her purse clutched tight against her shoulder.
As she came nearer, I could see her exquisite beauty. Her body was curvier than many of the young women that passed through town, but that only made her more appealing to me.
She wore a pink top that showed off her hourglass waist, and white capri pants that hugged her round bottom.
She stopped walking and glanced up at the porch. When she saw me sitting there, she pulled her shoulders back with obvious effort and lifted her chin.
She came toward the porch steps, taking deliberate steps.
Once I realized that she was coming to the hotel, probably to inquire about a job, I put my wine glass down and tried to ward off the burgeoning arousal I felt from seeing her. If she was here to work, then I would be professional, just as I was in my office in Seattle.
At the door, she knocked decisively.
“I’m coming,” I said, which made her jump.
“I’m here about the housekeeping job,” she said, still clutching her purse.
“Then you’re in the right place.” I nodded to the door. “It’s open. Go on in.”
She opened the door and walked into the foyer of the hotel. The top floor was mine, and it contained the office. It was decorated just like the residential floors, with white, gray and cream tones and casual beach furniture
“Have a seat,” I said to her, pointing at the dining table. I didn’t want to be too formal in this setting. “Would you like anything to drink?”
She perched on the edge of one of the dining chairs. “No. I’m fine.”
I went through the usual appropriate questions, and I learned that she was the current shift manager for a small grocery store in Quitman, Georgia. Although she’d looked wary on the boardwalk outside the hotel, as soon as she began to answer, she was confident and self-assured.
“What brings you to Seagrove?” I asked.
It was a typical question for an interview in the hospitality business, but the color drained from her face. Her clear blue eyes glanced down and then up toward the ceiling. “Um.” She clasped her fingers together and then unclasped them, and when she finally answered, her voice was lower than it had been. “I’m starting college in the fall in Florida.”
Clearly her move was a sensitive topic, so I wouldn’t press the issue. I didn’t even know her yet, but I didn’t want to cause her any distress.
“I need someone who’s going to be able to live here,” I said. “You won’t have to work more than forty hours, but I need you to live here, and to be on call. If you do work overtime, you’ll be compensated.”
“Is there anything special I should wear to work?” she asked.
“No. What you have on is just fine.” The outfit was hardly sexy, but she looked good in it, and I wasn’t too evolved to admit that I liked looking at a beautiful woman. I enjoyed listening to her soft Georgian accent too. “If you’re interested, you’re hired.” I needed someone now, and I could tell she was competent just from this short interview.
“Thank you for the opportunity. I appreciate it.” She leaned forward and shook my hand. “I won’t let you down.”
I had a feeling that she wouldn’t and I usually trusted my instincts and went with my gut, especially when my gut agreed with my experience. Eden was going to be a damned good employee.
I tried to stop myself, but I couldn’t help watching her backside as she walked away.
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