Eden

Even though it’s my first day, I’m fairly up to speed on how things work here at Miller’s. The transition has been made smoother because I’m already well versed in the software being used to run operations since I spent half a semester learning it at the beginning of last school year. That is a huge bonus since that alone would’ve taken a while to get the hang of. The job is also more interesting than I could have imagined. In addition to the thirty efficiency rooms, they also rent out outdoor equipment to locals and guests alike.

There are two steel garages at the rear of the hotel where all of that happens. One garage is for vehicle and equipment maintenance and the other is full of the equipment the hotel rents out. The rental vehicles are really cool—there are six ATVs that can be used for any season and six snowmobiles for the winter. Finally, because we’re on a lake, there’s a pontoon boat and eight double kayaks. There’s also a pool out back for guests to lounge around. Miller’s has set itself up to be an outdoor lover’s paradise, and I’m excited to explore it.

Margie and I get along wonderfully and the day maids, Luisa, Wendy, and Gladys, are sweet as pie. I’ll be meeting the part-time and overnight front desk staff over the course of the coming days, which I am really looking forward to. Margie’s husband Ron is the Mr. Fix It of the motel. He’s affectionate as all get out with Margie, but otherwise he’s a quiet, down to business kind of guy. Along with his support staff, Ed and Tyler, they keep the place in tip-top shape. There’s also a handful of staff that come in and out to work in the rental garage, and they’re all nice too.

While many wouldn’t see this job as anything to dream about, I grew up watching my mom working front desks at a few different hotels. Before I was born, she’d been working at a large casino hotel in Atlantic City—which was where she met my dad. Just before she had me, she had moved on to a boutique hotel in Jersey City. She stayed there until a bigger chain bought it, at which point she’d gone on to manage one of the most prestigious hotels in Manhattan. Watching her, I learned to love the hospitality industry. In my experience, there’s almost nothing as interesting as interacting with people as they check in and out of their rooms. In one day, you can meet a couple on their honeymoon, a family on their annual vacation or even a celebrity checking in for an extended stay.

When you work in a service industry, you learn things about people. Their hopes and dreams, what makes them tick, where they’re coming from and where they’re planning to go. For every one of the just-passing-through-so-please-don’t-bother-me types, I get two people who are delighted to talk after a long day of travel. To me, experiences like that are almost like a high. This career isn’t just a choice for me—it’s in my blood.

Aside from meeting new people each day, I enjoy the way time flies by. Breakfast and check out were over in a blink, and the emptied rooms have now been cleaned and made ready for the next set of guests. I sing softly along to the song on the radio as I wipe down the small glass-enclosed outer lobby area while I wait for the alarm on my phone to go off and let me know that the washers in the back room are finished their cycles. There are thirty units here and on any given day we’ll do between two to eight loads of laundry. Most people think that doesn’t sound like a lot, but the reason for that is that Ron and Margie invested in two industrial washer and dryer sets. Each can handle up to sixty-five pounds of wash per load. That’s a lot of laundry, and the machines do it fast. I wasn’t expecting Miller’s to have such an upgraded system so walking in and seeing the washers and dryers was like a bonus. Laundry is a big deal in hospitality because it’s a constant. As with most motels and hotels, a card is placed in each room encouraging guests to hang their towels after use, but many don’t. Keeping things fresh is key and with guest linens plus the towels we hand out for the pool, there’s a lot to do.

As I finish fixing the rack of area attractions, maps, and coupons, my phone buzzes in my back pocket to alert me that the washing machines are finished. I spin on my heel to head back to the laundry area only to let out a little shriek when I collide with and immediately bounce off something huge and hard. My arms flail as I start to topple backward. I'm saved by a pair of strong hands that halt me before I land on my butt. I’m barely able to process that I’m upright before the hands are gone.

Blinking in confusion, I slowly look up and take in a man who is easily a foot taller than my five foot one frame. He’s like an angel in black—tall and broad-shouldered with large hands and rugged arms. His black t-shirt does nothing to hide his six-pack abs, and the black jeans and black work boots he’s got on only make him more roguishly appealing. Everything about him is sexy including his sporty, masculine scent. I’ve never come across someone so mesmerizing in all of my life. His longish dark hair, closely trimmed beard and sensual lips are straight up panty-melters, so I bet women throw themselves at him on the regular. The very thought of this bothers me far more than is reasonable or appropriate.

My heart slams against my chest as my eyes meet his. Something strange passes between us, something I can’t put name to. I’m at a loss because I haven’t experienced anything remotely similar before. I feel my cheeks flush with color as I stare up at him. Biting my lip nervously, I blink up at him like an idiot as I try to force words out of my mouth. Questions are zinging through my head at high speed—things like who are you or where did you come from and finally, holy shit, has this kind of thing ever happened to you before?

Before I can articulate even one of those things he blinks and the moment is over. I cringe when I realize whatever was in his eyes is gone, almost as if it never happened at all. Now, he’s pinning me with a look that could permanently freeze the tropics. Even still, his eyes make me weak in the knees, regardless of the fact that they’re now subarctic. Jet black lashes frame the most beautiful deep blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and right now they’re transmitting one message loud and clear—stay the hell back. I’ve never come across anyone less inviting in all my life.

“I—I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I didn’t mean—”

His sensual lips form a flat line as he sidesteps me. “Pay attention to where you’re going,” he snaps.

My eyes widen so much that I’m certain I look like a cartoon character, but he doesn’t notice since he just walked out the door without looking back. I stand and stare after him in stunned silence, my mouth open, eyes still wide, for countless moments. Long after I’ve closed my mouth, I continue staring at the door, not really seeing it, as I think about the reaction I just had to a perfect stranger. Hearing a noise, I turn around and find Margie watching me with a slightly stunned expression. Crap. I can tell she saw the whole thing. She’s probably questioning my ability to provide quality customer service. The way I froze up was embarrassing—I wouldn’t blame her for thinking exactly that.

“That was Donovan,” she says. “I’d have introduced him to you, but he grabbed his mail and raced out before I could call you over.”

My jaw drops when her words sink in. “That was him?”

Margie mentioned him this morning because he’s the guest in the room next to mine. Apparently, he moved in within months of when the motel opened seven a little over seven years ago and he’s been in residence ever since. When I asked why someone would live at a motel for seven years, she hesitated before replying that not everyone had a story they wanted told. I hadn’t asked additional questions then, but I wish I had because now I’m curious.

I inhale and exhale slowly and try to shake off the nervous feeling that flared up in the pit of my stomach the instant I made eye contact with our permanent guest.

“He, uh, doesn’t seem super friendly,” I murmur.

Margie sighs, her shoulders slumping as she turns and heads back toward the front desk. “Well you’re not wrong about that. If there’s one thing Donovan Beckett won’t be accused of, it’s being overly friendly. Don’t mind him though,” she says as she steps behind the counter. “He’s got a big bark, but he won’t bite as long as he’s left alone.”

Something about the absence of expression in his eyes was painful to look at, so much so that I can still feel the sting. Margie is wrong about him. I definitely felt a bite. I have about a hundred questions I want to ask Margie about Donovan Beckett, but something tells me she won’t answer. Shaking it off, I smile and gesture with my thumb toward the laundry room.

“I’m going to go keep the laundry train running.”

“You’re about to put in the final loads, right?”

“Sure am,” I confirm.

“Alrighty—when you come back I’m going to have Ron man the front desk until we get back. I want to drop today’s deposit off at the bank and now’s as good a time as any to start getting you used to the town.”

I do my best to push all thought of Donovan Beckett out of my mind while I go about finishing my work so we can go. When pushing those thoughts away isn’t as effective as I’d like I repeatedly remind myself that for all intents and purposes he’s my neighbor—nothing more. Just because my curiosity has been piqued doesn’t mean I need to go on an answer hunt.

After we’re in Margie’s car heading for the bank, I stare out the window and focus on learning my new hometown as we make the ten-minute drive into town. Earlier today, one of the motel guests commented that the town is quaint. Looking around, I have to agree with her. The bank Margie’s taking me to is right on Main Street, which is a collection of adorable stores, some that I haven’t come across in years. There’s a general store, a hardware store, a music store, a burger joint, a movie rental place, an adorable pharmacy and a barbershop with one of the old-fashioned barber poles on the wall outside the door. A bit farther down there’s a beauty parlor, a candle shop, a women’s clothing store, a diner, a sweet store, a florist, and a bakery.

The final block of stores features a coffee shop, a furniture store, a stationary shop and, on the very end, the bank. Across the street, I see an ice cream shop and can’t keep a smile from my face. Everything here is Mom and Pop, no chain stores at all. It’ll be an adjustment after living just outside of New York City for most of my life, but this little town fascinates me. I’m more excited about exploring it and getting to know people than I ever could have expected.

After feeding a quarter into the meter, Margie and I make our way inside the bank. I’ve never thought of a bank as being beautiful before, but this one is. It’s readily apparent that the fixtures and furniture are antiques, all of the wood furniture and brass fixtures buffed to a lustrous sheen. The marble floor is so shiny that I’m reasonably certain I’d be able to see my reflection in it if I were to bend over and try. Like the rest of the town the bank is warm and inviting, something I’m not used to having lived in a bigger city. I’m not surprised when two customers in the bank lobby greet her by name. She stops to introduce me to them both, explaining that I’m taking over for her daughter at the motel. Before we can make any further headway, a woman comes out of her office and waves at Margie.

Margie smiles at the woman with a smile as she joins us. Turning to me she says, “This is Roberta—she’s the bank manager.”

Gesturing to me Margie continues, “Roberta, this is Eden Avery, the new assistant manager at the motel. You’ll be seeing plenty of her from here on out.”

I smile at Roberta as I meet the hand she extends to me. “Lovely to meet you, hon,” she says as we shake. “Have you gotten to look around town at all yet?”

“Not as much as I want to. I got here late yesterday afternoon and then was busy at the hotel today. This is my first time in town while it’s light out—I can already tell I’m going to love exploring.”

“You absolutely will, dear. When you get up to the window make sure to take a few of the vanilla cream candies we keep at each station. They’re made fresh by Kandy Brubaker and her staff across the street at Kandy Land. I promise you’ll never have a fresher, brighter tasting candy anywhere. None of that chemical waste they carry in the big stores,” she boasts.

Roberta looks over her shoulders and then leans in closer. “Between us girls, the food channel has come calling for her three times and she just keeps right on saying no thank you. If she ever says yes, she could probably buy and sell all of us within two weeks. Selfishly I’m glad that she’s keeping to her small town values.”

Laughing, I peek over her shoulder to the bowls of candy at each window. “Now you’ve really got me excited to try some.”

“Then I won’t keep you another second. Head on over there and grab one. You’ll be addicted from the first taste.”

After saying goodbye to Robert, Margie and I make our way to the counter. I’m introduced to our teller, Maria. Like Roberta before her, she’s friendly, cheerful, and outgoing. In fact, everyone I’m introduced to in the bank is charming, and the vanilla cream candy I take from the crystal bowl at Maria’s window is hands down the best hard candy I’ve ever put in my mouth.

In the car to return to Miller’s I stare out the window and really do my best to take it all in. This town is nothing like what I expected at all. Other than my time at Penn State, I’ve never lived anywhere other than in the city. This is the exact opposite and yet I’ve never felt more welcomed anywhere. Judging by the feel of the town and the people I’ve met, I’m going to love it here.

The only downside of today came in the wake of accidentally bumping into Donovan Beckett, but I’m sure I can handle that. Even though we’re technically neighbors, I’m confident that I won’t have any problem avoiding him.