Sorrell checked her lipstick in the small mirror and used her fingers to blend the bronzer she had used to try and contour.

“You need a better brush for that,” Gwensi said, her Welsh lilt sounding stronger compared to the flat, broad vowel sounds of the Severton residents.

“I’ll put it on my list next time I go into Leeds,” Sorrell said. “Unless you leave me yours. It’ll be easier for you to buy a new one.”

Gwensi laughed. “Turn around, let me fix that poor attempt of drag queen seduction.”

Sorrell faced her, trying not to laugh. Out of the two of them, Gwensi was the girly girl, the one who had been into the latest make up trends and fashion, while Sorrell had paid it little more than a passing glance, relying on Gwensi to make sure she looked more beautiful than disaster.

“It’s no biggie,” Sorrell said. “No one’s going to notice.”

Gwensi lifted a single eyebrow and got to work blending and then highlighting. “How many texts per day are you exchanging?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been counting,” Sorrell kind of lied. She kept checking her phone to see if Zack had texted, and usually he had.

“I reckon you’re into the twenties but I bet it’s more. Is he definitely going to be at his brother’s bar tonight?” Gwensi did something with highlighter on Sorrell’s eye socket area.

“He said so. He and Jake usually go there for a Friday night.”

“God bless men and their routines.” Gwensi finally lowered the brush. “And your four sets of guests are all happy and content and you have a night manager, which means you can let your hair down.”

Sorrell nodded and tried not to feel nervous. She’d barely left the hotel since the previous week, the date with Zack never materialising due to her ending up with more guests than she’d imagined and flu hitting Sunrise with a sledgehammer. He’d been short-staffed as it wasn’t solely the residents who were poorly; the staff had been hit too, which meant he’d ended up putting in a few night shifts himself.

“By letting my hair down, you mean I can leave the premises and be made a drink by someone other than me?” Sorrell said. “Although I’m up early tomorrow to cover breakfast.”

“Actually, you’re not. You have the whole day off tomorrow,” Gwensi said. “That cute bartender from your man’s brother’s bar is covering breakfast and overseeing changeovers. The correct words for you to say now are ‘thank you.”

“How did you manage that one?” As far as Sorrell knew Gwensi and Abby hadn’t met.

“Facebook and your phone. Don’t know what’s going on with her, but she seems to need the money. And from what you’ve said, she’s a good worker. Not that I know much about anything other than counselling small children,” Gwensi said.

“And clearly working out my password to get in my phone,” Sorrell muttered. “I have to pay her though. And if I’m not working, I’m paying someone to do those hours for me.”

“But you have three times the number of guests this weekend than you were anticipating, thanks to the Young Farmers’ Pram Push. What the hell is that anyway?” Gwensi shoulder-pushed Sorrell out of the way of the mirror and checked her own reflection. Her dark curly hair and flawless skin was what little girls thought princesses looked like, and Gwensi was that, until she opened her mouth and a cuss word came out. Then she became the girl from the Welsh valleys who was never going to be anyone’s princess.

“It’s apparently where the young farmers make prams and push them round Severton from pub to pub.” The place seemed to conjure up weird events every week. “So what you’re saying is that rather than saving the extra profit towards renovating the annex into a restaurant, I should have some me time,” Sorrell said.

“Yep. Not every weekend or every evening, but we don’t need you heading towards the point of exhaustion because of a hotel and I know what you’re like.” Gwensi glared dramatically. “That sounds like the taxi.”

The night was cold; Zack’s predictions of snow looked like they were about to become true given the heaviness of the clouds Sorrell had noticed before night had fallen. She pulled on the thick woollen coat that had arrived via the internet the day before and opened the door to the bite of the chill air.

“It’s a good thing they build us tough in Wales,” Gwensi said. Her jacket was thinner and Sorrell didn’t hold out hopes for her survival should they be stuck outside for any length of time.

“Let’s see if the tough girl from Wales can manage with the alcohol from Severton,” Sorrell said, yanking her Gran-made scarf off a peg and wrapping it round her neck.

The bar was comfortably busy with most people only having to wait a few minutes to be served. Scott had seen them as soon as they’d arrived and gestured to them to take up a table that had been reserved. It was one of the bigger ones, which suggested Scott was definitely expecting his brothers to arrive.

“Hey!”

Sorrell saw Scott’s expression turn into something resembling Jason Momoa in a bad mood before she could turn round to greet Keren who looked like winter personified in fur lined leather boots and a white faux fur coat.

Gwensi leaned over and gave Keren a hug, followed by a gesture to Scott at the bar who was still scowling dangerously.

“Booze,” Gwensi said. “Jugs of margaritas and we’re going to pretend we’re in Mexico or Brazil facing a beach.”

“That’s going to take some imagination,” Keren said, stripping off her coat to show a tight black dress with sparkly thread woven through it. “Maybe we should persuade Scott to hold a Hawaiian themed night, I need an excuse to wear a bikini.”

“Is that to torment Scott?” Sorrell said, finally deciding to brave it and jump into the mystery that was Scott Maynard and Keren Leigh.

Keren laughed, sarcasm oozing out with it. “The only time Scott Maynard would be interested in me would be if I was in a coffin.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s true.” She’d considered it carefully and given that she had learned how to read people because of her job, she was convinced that there was a history between the two of them that went further than childhood friends.

Keren pulled her jet black hair away from her face and shook her head. “We were friends once…”

“More than friends,” Gwensi interrupted. “Because ex-friends don’t have the spark you two exude.”

“The only thing Scott Maynard exudes is bullshit,” Keren said, oblivious to the fact that the man himself was behind her, carrying their second jug of margaritas.

“Good thing I don’t use it as an extra ingredient in your drinks, then isn’t it, hot cheeks?” Scott said, looking straight down at Keren. “Although I’ll make an exception for your drinks in future.”

She looked up at him, her almost black eyes glinting as dangerously as his gaze dripped down her cleavage.

“Fucking hell,” Gwensi said in a loud whisper meant to be heard. “You could light a fire with those sparks.”

“Wanker,” Keren hissed. “Go stare at the tits of someone in your league, mountain man.”

“With pleasure,” Scott shrugged. “Because let’s face it, you don’t have ladders long enough to climb into my league, honey.” He strutted off, casting a look back at Keren as he reached the bar, one that included another set of daggers with added smoulder.

“And if you even try to tell me that you two never fucked, I’ll know you’re a liar,” Gwensi said.

Sorrell nodded. “There’s no way you haven’t seen him naked,” Sorrell added, slightly more polite. “So don’t try to deny it.”

Keren rolled her eyes and looked to the ceiling, as if praying for divine intervention. “Never. Stupid eighteen year old me would’ve loved to, thankfully she didn’t have the chance.”

“On behalf of Sorrell, who may soon be getting acquainted with certain parts of another Maynard brother, does she need to move up to a larger vibrator in order to accommodate his appendage?” Gwensi refilled her glass. “Because if you’ve lusted after him, you’ve checked it out.”

Sorrell sighed. There was no point trying to put a filter on Gwensi. She’d tried and failed many times.

“Honestly?” Keren poured a large measure of margarita into her glass. “I have never seen it, I just observe. But if things go that way for you and Zack, you’ll enjoy yourself. Now can we change the subject?”