Page 82 of Always Be an Us

"They've probably already heard them," I comment wryly. I don't think there's anyone in town who hasn't heard Grandpa's tales. "You believe them now?"

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter what I believe. They're good enough to convince most of the people in this town, so they should be good enough for tourists too."

I shake my head but smile. He’s still as headstrong as ever, but it's a good thing. His doubt makes it all the more satisfying when I convince him.

When we get to the hotel, Declan immediately heads to his office in the back but I take some time to explore the hotel. It's been a while since I've done this. And as I walk through the first floor, the memories of the last time I was here with Tate travel back to me.

We knew the place like the back of our hands, knew where to step to avoid cracking the wooden boards or having one of them seesaw to hit us in the face or falling through holes. We know where to brace as we climb up the unrailed staircase, and where to duck our head to avoid getting hit by a stray banister.

And the basement...The most fascinating place of all.

I trail a finger along the rough, splintering wood of the wall as I walk into the dark, kitchen area. I breathe in dust, mold, and the subtle scent of charred meat that somehow still persists after all these years. Sometimes, if I breathe deep enough, I feel like I can smell more...

Sometimes, I imagine that I can smell the scones and shrimp that Grandpa used to rave about, hear the laughter of the staff who convened here to eat and make fun of the fancy guests and their particular preferences.

I can see Grandpa joining in, flirting with the waitress that he had a crush on, telling her a long and strange story about his past.

I see my parents meeting, dancing in each other's arms, and smiling...

And then I open my eyes, and it's just blackened kitchen equipment and stained walls.

I tentatively open the door to the side, and head down a ladder to the basement, trying to see the dark room.

It also smells heavily of mold with the slight tang of sewage pipe. An eerie feeling skitters over my skin. Being down here always scares and fascinates me. Probably because Grandpa and Rick took turns telling me horror stories about the basement when I was younger.

I take two steps in before my feet kick something. I squat and pick it up.

A sack?

And then I open it and glittering colorful orbs fill my sight.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Declan

"Are you sure renovating the hotel is a good idea, son?" My father asks. I have him on speakerphone as I slowly pace my makeshift office while I jot last-minute notes in my head. The construction company should be here any moment now, and I want to ensure that I give them all the information so I don’t have to repeat myself.

"You’re the one who initially pushed for renovation, Dad," I remind him.

"Yes, and you made a pretty reasonable argument about why that would be a bad idea. Now, you’ve done a complete 180, so excuse me if I’m a little perplexed."

"Mmm." I pick up my pressure ball from my desk and twirl it in my hand. "Perhaps I wrote this place off too quickly."

"Is that your way of saying you were wrong?"

"No," I respond a tad defensively. "I was right about everything I said, and I was also right to have reservations about renovating it."

"So why are you doing it anyway?"

"Because you had a point too, about preserving history," I say. "And maybe that's worth the extra cost."

There’s a second of silence before he says, "So you changed your mind because of something I said?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"A little. You haven’t listened to me worth a damn since you could barely talk. And even then, you only obeyed some of the time."

I grin. "Well since I’m getting as old as you, maybe I’m starting to see the sense in your decisions now."

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