Page 9 of The Hot New Bachelor in Town

I throw the door open. “Papa!”

He startles from the corner comfy chair, reaching up to remove the large over-the-ear headphones he wears to listen to podcasts. “Huh? What’s that?”

“Red alert!” I repeat, taking the second to catch my breath. “A guest is coming. He’ll be here any minute. Are the sheets washed?”

“Uh... yeah,” he says with a severe lack of urgency. “They’re washed, but none of the beds are?—”

“Grab a welcome basket!”

“All righty. Just give me a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute, Papa. He’s coming now!”

I move, sighing with frustration as I launch down the hallway toward the linen room. I pile a set of sheets, a few pillowcases, and a fresh comforter in my arms and bolt back out past the desk toward the stairs. The linen mountain in my arms threatens to topple over as I ascend, but I at least keep it all off the floor as I rush into Room 1.

“Mickey?”

“In here, Papa!” I shout as I pull the fitted sheet flat on the bed, only for the far corner to spring up again.

Papa appears in the doorway with a welcome basket. “Room 1?” he asks.

“Yes, Room 1.”

“This a fancy guest?”

“He’s the only guest we’ve had for two weeks,” I say as I tuck the top sheet beneath the king-sized mattress. “Yes, he’s fancy. Help me.”

Papa sets the welcome basket down on the writing desk and walks over to help me finish making the bed. Afterward, I work to get the pillowcases on, stacking them and the throw pillows just right, and he topples onto the loveseat to catch his breath.

“Downstairs, Papa,” I say. “He’ll be here any second.”

“In a minute,” he says, waving his hand with a chuckle. “I’m not as springy as you are anymore, honey.”

I look down, wanting to ignore that fact. Wanting to shove the implications into the repressed depths where they belong.

Papa glances around the room, his eyes soft with nostalgia, and I already know what he’s about to say before he even opens his mouth. “You know, honey,” he says, “a lot about this place isn’t what it used to be.”

“I know, Papa,” I say calmly. “But we’ll be fine. I’m taking care of it. You know I’m taking care of it, right?”

“I know, I know.” He pauses. “It’s just that?—”

“Not this again, Papa.”

“— maybe it’s time for us to have the talk again.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I say firmly. “I’m going to make this work. I’m going to get us to the summer, and then everything will be fine. It’ll work out. I promise.”

“You’re working too hard, honey,” he says, shaking his head.

“I can handle it, Papa. Just a bit longer.”

He takes a breath, sitting up strong. “I think it’s time?—”

“No.”

“To sell the inn.”

The words cut deep, threatening to drop me to my knees. Instead, I shake my head, banishing the thought before it becomes too much. “No, Papa.”

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