Page 4 of Open Arms

“Great, we could use the extra hands.” A guy with a ponytail and tattoos offered me a grin as he passed by with a stack of yoga mats. “Name’s Pete. Need anything, just holler.”

“Thanks, Pete,” I said, feeling my lips twitch into the faintest of smiles.

“Watch out for his herbal tea concoctions,” someone else quipped, and a ripple of laughter spread through the room.

“Hey, my blends are legendary,” Pete protested, mock offense coloring his tone.

“Legendary for tasting like grass clippings,” another voice added, sparking more laughter.

“Okay, okay,” Eryn intervened, still smiling. “Let’s let Chloe get settled, shall we?”

“Sure thing, boss lady,” Pete said, winking at me before sauntering off.

“Sorry, they’re a lively bunch,” Eryn confessed as we exited the break room.

“Seems . . . nice,” I said, my voice still soft, but I allowed a thread of my dry humor to surface. “If you’re into the whole ‘friendly workplace’ vibe.”

“Terrifying concept, isn’t it?” Eryn’s chuckle was light, easy, and I found myself relaxing just a fraction more.

The rest of the day was a blur of faces and names, tasks assigned with gentle guidance. I folded towels, stocked shelves, and greeted clients with a tentative smile. And somewhere between showing a woman named Judy to the relaxation loungeand learning the art of scheduling appointments without double-booking anyone, I found myself slipping into the rhythm of this place. It was like a dance I didn’t know I’d been practicing for in secret, movements becoming smoother with each passing hour.

“Hey, Chloe?” A client approached tentatively, an older lady with kind eyes. “Could you help me figure out this schedule?”

“Of course,” I said, stepping closer. “Let’s take a look together.”

“Thanks, dear. You’re a lifesaver.” She patted my hand, leaving behind a sense of warmth that lingered.

“Happy to help,” I replied, and meant it. The words came a little easier now, less rehearsed.

“See, you’re a natural,” Eryn said as she passed by, a stack of fresh linens in her arms.

“Natural disaster, maybe,” I quipped, surprising even myself with the response.

“Chloe, humor suits you,” she said, her laugh genuine, and for a moment, I almost believed her.

The day wound down, and the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the retreat grounds. I sat on a bench outside, watching the last rays of daylight play across the garden. There was something peaceful about the quiet after the hustle of the day, a stillness that seemed to say, “You did good.”

After saying goodbye to Eryn, I headed back to the rundown motel on the edge of town that I was temporarily calling home. As I drove, I took in the beauty of the sunset over the mountains that framed Whittier Falls. The fiery oranges and pinks were so vibrant that for a moment, I could push aside the lingering darkness that clung to me.

But reality came crashing back as soon as I pulled into the motel’s cracked parking lot. My room was in the farthest corner, purposely chosen for its isolation.

The Brighter Days Motel had definitely seen better decades, but it was all I could afford until my first paycheck came in. Unlocking the faded teal door, I stepped inside and flipped on the light, taking in the peeling wallpaper and stained shag carpet.

Home sweet home. For now, at least. But it was a roof over my head, and I tried to ignore the musty scent mingling with stale air.

I sank down on the lumpy mattress, every muscle aching. It had been a good first day, better than I expected. The folks at Sunshine Acres didn’t seem to care about my past. They welcomed me in, no questions asked. Even Eryn took me under her wing right away.

Maybe this really could be a fresh start.

As I stared up at the water-stained ceiling, doubts crept in. What if they found out? Would they look at me differently?

I leaned back against the headboard, letting out a long sigh. The motel room was depressing, but it was only temporary. This job at Sunshine Acres was my chance to build a new life, far away from the tragedy and darkness of my past.

Closing my eyes, I thought about my first day and felt a spark of hope. The work had been calming, almost meditative. Folding towels, stocking shelves—simple tasks that kept my anxious mind quiet. And Eryn . . . her peaceful energy and easy laugh put me at ease. For the first time in a long while, I’d felt the faintest sense of belonging.

Of course, the nerves were still there. I was constantly bracing myself for the moment when someone would discover the truth about me. About my family.

What would happen when they realized I was damaged goods? The familiar panic rose in my chest, tight and suffocating.

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