Maisy
Three and a half years later . . .
“Do you think they’re ever going to get over it?” Milo asked.
“Over me renaming the motel?”
“Yeah.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Probably not.”
Milo and I were sitting in a booth at the Prescott Café, eavesdropping on the Coffee Club as they debated whether the decision to rename my motel from The Fan Mountain Inn to The Bitterroot Inn was going to land me in bankruptcy. They’d been having the same discussion for over a year now and still hadn’t come to any conclusions.
“I swear, these guys are running out of gossip,” Milo said. “I remember their meetings being much more informative. Now they’re just recycling old topics.”
I giggled. “It’s just because Seth Balan is on vacation. Once he gets back, I’m sure he’ll infuse the group with fresh material. He’s their ringleader, you know that.”
He nodded. “True.”
The Coffee Club was the foundation of Prescott, Montana’s gossip mill. For as long as I could remember, the group of local men had been meeting here at the café every morning for coffee. Since the club was mostly made up of retired farmers and ranchers, they spent their first cup discussing the cattle market and grain prices while cussing the weather. But after those topics were hashed out, everything else was fair game. How they got their information I had no clue. Not even my mom’s quilting club could get the inside scoop as quickly as these men could.
“So, did you decide what to get Sara for her birthday?” I asked, changing subjects. He’d been stressing for weeks about what to gift his wife.
“No.” He leaned back into the vinyl booth, turning to stare out the window beside us. “She’s impossible to shop for,” he told the glass. “If she wants something, she buys it for herself, which leaves me with spa gift cards and jewelry she rarely wears. I want to get her something special this year. Do something big. Any ideas?”
I shook my head. Sara was a good friend, but Milo was right; she was very difficult to shop for and I was struggling to come up with a birthday gift for her myself. “Why don’t you talk to Nick?” I suggested. “He’s always going over the top for Emmeline. I bet he could think of something big.”
Milo turned back to the booth and frowned. “He’s going to laugh at me if I walk into the garage and ask for gift ideas for my wife.”
“No, he won’t. He’ll totally help.” I knew for a fact that Nick Slater loved nothing more than going all out to make Emmeline’s special days even better, and he’d be all over helping Milo. I had the sneaking suspicion that Nick was the mastermind behind many of the birthday and anniversary gifts my friends had gotten from their husbands.
“I’ll think about it.” Milo reached for his pocket and pulled out a handful of cash. “I’ve got coffee today.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
He dropped a few bills on the table, then slid from our booth and walked to the counter to pay the three dollars for our coffee carafe.
Milo Phillips and I had been meeting for coffee once a week since we’d been in our early twenties. Because our mothers were close friends, we’d grown up together. As young adults, we’d lost touch for a few years. He’d left Prescott for the police academy and I’d gone away to college, but when we’d both made our way back home, we’d started this weekly ritual at the café.
Back then, both of our mothers had been beside themselves that we were spending time together, taking every opportunity to not-so-subtly hint at their dream for us to marry one another. Unfortunately for our moms, Milo had always been more of a brother than a love interest.
Besides, the minute he brought Sara to Prescott, everyone saw he’d found the right woman. She was his other half. Kind and sweet, she loved Milo with all her heart. All she wanted was for him to be happy, and gossiping with me for an hour made him happy.
It made me happy too.
We teased the Coffee Club relentlessly, but the fact was, Milo and I weren’t much better. Not much happened in our small town that neither of us knew about. Though, unlike the Club, we did our best not to spread rumors. When we’d been younger, both of us had been more loose-lipped. But now, for the most part, our gossip stayed between the two of us and the regular booth we sat in each week.
When Milo turned from the counter, I plucked my purse off the bench seat and started toward the door, waving good-bye to our waitress, who stood behind the counter at the back of the restaurant.
“Gentlemen.” I greeted the Coffee Club at the row of square tables they’d pushed together in the center of the restaurant.
A chorus of “Mornings” and “Hi, Maisy” filled the room.
“What’s the news today?” I smirked, knowing no one would answer and fess up to the fact they’d been gossiping about me.
As I’d expected, all eyes suddenly found the menus, paper place mats and salt shakers fascinating. These guys never seemed to realize just how loud they were or that Milo and I were chronic eavesdroppers.
“Maybe one of these days you’ll invite me and Milo to your table.” I did my best to sound hopeful even though I was kidding.
A couple of the men mumbled but Dean Taylor spoke up for the group. “You know how it goes, Maisy. We sit here for hours. You’ve got to be retired to have the time to join this old group.”
“Well, when the motel goes bankrupt because of its new name, maybe then I’ll qualify.” A couple of faces flushed and Dean’s mouth fell open. I giggled and waved as I walked to the door, calling, “Have a nice day!” over my shoulder.
The little bell on the door dinged as Milo pushed it open for me. “You shouldn’t provoke them.”
I shrugged and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “It’s not like they’re going to say anything about me that hasn’t already been said or printed in the weekly paper.”
“Good point.” He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked toward his cruiser.
Sometimes I had to remind myself that Milo was a cop, not just the lanky boy with a buzz cut who used to chase me around the playground. He still had the buzz cut and was as lanky as ever—his tan deputy shirt never did seem to fit his lean frame—but standing by his police car, he looked much more official and grown up.
“What are you doing today?” I asked. Milo had always been forthcoming with me about his work, so much so that it had gotten him into trouble a few years back. I still asked and he still told me, but I was more careful about keeping my mouth shut around others, especially his boss, the sheriff, who happened to be my best friend’s husband.
“I’m on patrol today so I’ll go check in at the station, then head out.”
“Then I’ll say good luck. May your day be filled with a plethora of speeding tickets.”
“Thank you.” He smiled but it fell as he looked in the seat of the car. “Shit. I’ve gotta run home. I forgot my sunscreen and Sara gets pissed when I don’t have it on patrol days.”
My eyes immediately found the wrinkled scar on Milo’s forehead and the one underneath his jaw. His arms were covered with long sleeves, but underneath the starched cotton was a pattern of burn scars from an explosion he’d been caught in years ago. A sunburn would be the worst thing for his scars and Sara was smart to push the sunscreen.
“Okay, bye.” I waved. “Think about talking to Nick about her birthday.”
“Will do. Bye.” He waved back before sliding into his car, backing out onto Main Street and zooming toward his house.
I smiled at his urgency. Not many men would put their wife’s skin-care directives above getting to work on time, but Milo would do anything to make Sara happy. If wearing sunscreen at all times made her smile, he’d be the first to slather it on.
Seeing their relationship made me long for one of my own. I wanted a strong and honest man to come crashing into my life. I wanted to be swept off my feet in a whirlwind romance. But more than anything, I wanted to find a man who I could trust completely. A man who wouldn’t hide things from me.
Unfortunately, pickings were slim in small-town Montana and I wasn’t about to settle for anything less than perfect. It wasn’t just my heart on the line. I had a little boy to consider first. My three-year-old son, Coby, deserved the best, and since I’d made enough mistakes with his biological father, I’d vowed not to bring an unworthy stepfather into the mix.
Even if that meant I stayed single for the rest of my life.
If nothing else, I had my daydreams. I was currently holding out hope that a Chris clone—Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth or Chris Pine—would wander into town and fall madly in love with me and my son. If I happened to be out of open motel rooms at the time he breezed into town, I’d gladly offer him my own bedroom for free.
“Good morning, Maisy!”
I turned away from the street and smiled at Mrs. Connelly as she opened the door to her pottery and kitchenware shop. “Good morning!”
The stores downtown wouldn’t survive in most small towns, but thanks to the heavy influx of summer tourists, businesses like hers were flourishing in Prescott.
“Would you do me a favor?” she asked. “Next time you talk to your mom, let her know I just got in that Himalayan salt block she’s been wanting to try.”
“No problem.” I smiled, then set off for the motel.
The early April air was cool but the sun was shining bright, keeping me warm in my jeans, sneakers and light-gray zip-up. I loved mornings like this when I could drop off Coby at his daycare, Quail Hollow, and then walk downtown. These mornings gave me a chance to appreciate my little town.
Not much changed in Prescott, and any changes that did come took time. Predictability was what made this home. Soon, the old-fashioned lampposts would be hung with flower baskets. Spring items in window displays would be swapped out for summer. Tourists would flood the quaint area and crowd the narrow sidewalks.
With them would come my busy schedule and I wouldn’t have time for these little morning walks. I’d be too busy at the motel, frantically trying to keep up with check-ins and check-outs. I’d need the extra ten minutes to update a reservation or fold a load of linens.
Tourism wasn’t just good for the downtown shops, it was my bread and butter too. Three weeks from now, tourist season would be well underway as out-of-towners flocked to Prescott on their way to Yellowstone National Park. I was already booked solid through the summer, and by the time winter rolled around, I’d trade my morning walks for morning naps in an attempt to catch up on months of missed sleep.
But for now, I was enjoying the spring air and my lighter morning routine.
“Morning, Maple,” I said as I passed her setting up a sandwich board outside her coffee shop.
She popped up from behind the sign, curly gray hair flying everywhere, and smiled. “Hello, sweetie.”
“Have a great day!” I called, not stopping to chat. I loved my walks but if I wasn’t careful, I could spend hours visiting with everyone along Main.
Main Street was the hub of the town, its heart. The street itself started at one end with a community fishing pond and ended at the other with a pair of gas stations whose owners were locked in a never-ending battle to post the lowest gas price or beer special. Past the gas stations and up a rounded incline was the highway that led out of town. My motel was the closest business to Main Street from the highway, so I proudly considered it to be an integral part of the charm that was Prescott’s downtown area.
As I approached the highway, I checked for traffic, then jogged across the near-deserted road, taking a moment to appreciate my most prized material possession.
The Bitterroot Inn.
Every extra cent I could scrape together went into improving my motel. I cleaned rooms, washed bedding and scrubbed toilets instead of paying for a full-time housekeeper. I took reservations and did all of the bookkeeping myself so I didn’t have to hire an office manager. And rather than pay for professional contractors, I bummed help from my brothers and guy friends.
If I could do it with my own two hands, I did. I painted. I replaced light fixtures. I’d even taught myself how to lay bathroom tile.
I’d worked my ass off for almost three years and my efforts were finally starting to pay off.
Reservations were higher than they’d ever been, I’d built a solid reputation for my business, and my list of improvements left to make was nearly complete.
Walking past the staircase that led to the upstairs loft where Coby and I lived, I rounded the side of the building and unlocked the glass-paned lobby door. Flipping over the lobby sign to read Come On Inn, I crossed the small room, dropped my purse behind the tall counter and scanned the reservation list I’d printed out last night.
I only had four guests at the moment, with two others coming in tomorrow for the weekend. The light occupancy meant I wouldn’t spend my nights doing laundry and instead could make more progress on renovating another guest room. I was making a to-do list for the day when the lobby door opened and my brother Beau ducked inside.
“Hey!” I abandoned my list to give him a hug. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be going to Bozeman today for your tux fitting?”
He scowled but nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have to leave for fifteen minutes. I thought I’d check and see how the tile turned out in room seven.”
“It’s amazing!” I did a little happy clap. “My best work yet. Let me grab the key.” I went back behind the counter and pulled the key from the pegboard. While it wasn’t fancy or common these days, my motel had actual metal keys. When they got lost, it was a total pain to change the locks, but the charm of real keys made all the hassle worth it.
“I talked to Sabrina last night,” I said as I followed Beau outside. “She said you gave in on the live band.”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his thick, dark beard. “It will make her happy.”
“You realize she’s going to make you dance, right?” At six foot six, he was a mountain of a man, and just like our dad, Beau didn’t have the physique for graceful dancing. The best he could do was a lumbering two-step and slow jitterbug.
“We’re currently in negotiations about the dancing.”
I pulled my lips together to hide my smile, knowing exactly how those negotiations would end. “Right.”
Beau and Sabrina’s wedding was in a month and it promised to be an extravagant affair, something rare around these parts. While Sabrina was loving every minute of the wedding planning, my brother—who was far from extravagant—was counting down the milliseconds until the honeymoon.
Beau threw an arm around my shoulders in a sideways hug as we strolled across the rectangular parking lot toward room seven. “This whole place is looking great.”
“I was just thinking that earlier. It’s really coming together.” I smiled as I looked around at the front of the two-story, L-shaped building.
It was hardly recognizable from the motel I’d purchased. The once-faded yellow brick was now a crisp white. The posts that held up the second level’s balcony had all been stripped, sanded and stained a natural tan. Their bases had been faced with a beautiful gray-and-brown rock.
I’d even spent the money to replace the hollow-core white doors with solid wooden ones stained to match the posts. With the black shutters around all of the rooms’ windows, the iron railings running along the balcony and the fancy number plates I’d hung outside the fourteen rooms, my motel was far from the sterile and plain building it had once been.
“So what’s on your list for the weekend?” Beau asked, knowing that my task list was never short.
“I was thinking about getting a head start on summer prep. The flower bed around the sign needs fresh potting soil, and I’m going to drag the flowerpots out from the storage shed. I’m hoping to bust out room cleaning and laundry so I can get started on painting in here.” I slid the key into room seven and pushed open the door. The dingy smell that filled my nose would soon be a thing of the past.
I had three weeks to get this room finished before I needed it for customer reservations. With Beau’s help, I had already remodeled the bathroom, but there was still a lot of work to finish the bedroom. Paint. Carpet. Trim. Furniture. Décor. It was going to be a push to finish it all, but I had come to rely upon my aggressive to-do lists.
Idle time wasn’t good for my mental health.
Beau stepped past me and went straight for the bathroom at the back of the room, standing in the doorway to gaze at my latest masterpiece.
“Most amazing bathroom floor ever?”
He chuckled. “Damn straight.”
I had found this gorgeous artisan tile with an intricate pattern of charcoal geometric arcs on a white background. Eight tiles put together created two different patterns that gave the bathroom floors character and class. As I took it in, I stood a little taller.
“I’m proud of you, Maze.”
“Me too. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far without all your help.”
Even though I’d done this bathroom floor myself, Beau had spent countless hours helping to remodel other parts of the building. All the work he’d done had saved me thousands of dollars. I used to pay him with free dinners, but now that he had Sabrina cooking for him, I was going to have to think of another way to thank him for his work.
“I’m always happy to pitch in,” he said. “Especially if you keep the cookie plate in the lobby full.”
“I can do that.” Cookies for construction. I’d bake a dozen of his favorite tonight.
I wound my arms around his waist for another hug. I loved both my brothers, but Beau had always been more than just an older sibling. He was my hero, and I was beyond happy he had found Sabrina. She was a wonderful friend, aunt and new member of our family, but more importantly, she made Beau happier than he’d ever been.
The ding of his smart watch interrupted our moment and I tipped my head back to give him a grin. “Tux time.”
He groaned and let me go, running a hand through his dark hair. “I probably shouldn’t miss this appointment.”
“Probably not.” I stepped behind him and planted both hands on his back, then just like I’d done as a kid, I tried to push him around. Using all of my might, I pushed hard, digging my feet into the ground. As per usual, he started laughing but didn’t budge.
“Come. On.” I grunted and pushed even harder but barely rocked him forward on his feet.
“Give up yet?” he teased.
“Never!” I repositioned my feet and gave him all my weight, holding my breath as I pushed, but still he didn’t move.
“Give up now?”
One last push with no success and I dropped my hands, panting as I straightened. “It’s like you’re made of rock.”
He grinned. “No, it’s because I’m a giant.”
I laughed as I walked past him out the door. Coby and Beau had a long-standing game of playing giants. If they were together, Coby was always riding on Beau’s shoulders, pretending to be a giant as they stomped Lego houses to smithereens or crashed cars off pretend roads.
After locking up the room, I walked Beau to his massive green truck. “Well, drive safe.”
“Will do. Call us if you want help this weekend.”
“Okay.” I waved as he got into his truck, then went back to the lobby.
My Thursdays were reserved for bookkeeping and I had a stack of bills to pay before lunch. Settling into my office off the lobby, I wasted no time diving into my work. Two hours later, my bank account was lighter and I abandoned my desk in search of more caffeine from the mini fridge.
Opening a Dr. Pepper, I hopped onto one of the barstools behind the lobby counter and stared out the window toward the motel sign.
It is so cute! How could people not love it?
A little over a year ago, I’d surprised the entire town by having the old sign taken down. It had been too ostentatious, nearly as tall as a streetlight, and its words had long since faded from years of sun exposure. The sign I’d picked to replace it was understated, yet perfect.
Sitting in the center of a raised flower bed were two, short white posts. Between them swung a classic white sign from an iron bar. It wasn’t just the new sign that had caused the uproar, it was what had been written on its face in clean black letters.
The Bitterroot Inn.
That sign, displaying the inn’s new name, had been featured on the front page of the weekly Tuesday newspaper two weeks in a row.
To this day, not many people understood why I’d wanted to rename the motel, especially since I’d kept the previous name for so long. But I had spent so much time making this place my own that I wanted a name I’d picked too.
The bitterroot was Montana’s state flower and a personal favorite. The moment I’d jotted down the words on a napkin at the café, I had known instantly it was right.
The next day, I’d ordered the new sign.
And the gossip had commenced.
The inn wasn’t the only thing that had changed these last three years. I had changed too. With every stroke of my paintbrush, every swing of my hammer, every turn of my screwdriver, I had changed.
Gone were the immaturities of a girl in her early twenties—being a single mother and business owner had chased those away. Gone was the naïve woman who had let a monster into her life—though not before I’d gotten the one good thing he had to offer. Gone was the young nurse brimming with spirit who had talked incessantly—I had learned to listen more and be mindful of the people I brought into our lives.
I had learned the hard way just how deceptive people could be when you were too busy talking to pay attention to the red flags.
Taking a breath, I pulled myself out of my thoughts before they could spiral to a bad place. I reached for a sketch pad on the counter and flipped to an empty page. I had spent all my time and money renovating the motel but hadn’t done much to my own loft. Now that I was finally on my last guest room, I was brainstorming all of the things I wanted to do for Coby’s room and our home.
I was so lost in my sketching I flinched when the lobby door opened, and my pencil skidded off the page, leaving a deep mark even the eraser wouldn’t undo. I frowned for a split second before looking up, ready to greet my visitor with a megawatt smile.
The smile fell, along with my chin.
My visitor was straight out of a magazine. His light brown hair was tied back in a neat man bun. His strong jaw was covered in an expertly manicured beard. His caramel-brown eyes, framed with long, dark lashes, were aimed at me with such intensity they nearly knocked me off my stool.
When he turned to close the door, I was suddenly very aware of the fact I was wearing no makeup and my clothes were about as dull as an economics lecture. But hey! At least you washed your hair today. Thank god I wasn’t in my normal blue baseball cap.
I wouldn’t look like a complete slouch in front of this man.
This man was all the good things about my Chrises rolled into one. This man should be in the middle of a photo shoot for a fifty-foot billboard, not standing inside my motel lobby.
This man was about to get the mumbling, fumbling version of Maisy Holt the likes of which no one had never seen.
Super.