Page 4 of His Jersey

I chuckle because that’s a silly and stupid dream. I’m a romantic—er, I was. Past tense. I lived in a cotton candy cloud of mushy romance novels and sappy movies, love notes, and sweet nothings. I chased happy endings like those aforementionedraccoons after hitting the jackpot in a bakery's dumpster after closing time.

Now I know better. I was fatally silly and stupid when it came to Slater. He may as well have thrown the entire concept of love into a dumpster and set it on fire.

Unfortunately, there’s no one in my life to help drench the flames.

My thoughts drift to the last time I felt so much as a flicker of hope in the romance game—the night I officially met Jack, and we snuck into the pool. With him, it was different. If kissing him was silly and stupid, maybe I want to be silly and stupid. However, Jack didn’t know my true identity and hasn’t been back. It was a foolish fling—a one-time event.

Edwina says, “Don’t give up hope. I haven’t.”

I glimpse my future, white-haired like Edwina, still working here, still waiting.

The Jewel Island Private Resort port is tiny, and most employees come in on the daily ferry. If I could afford housing and a boat pass, I would, but I’m stuck here until further notice.

She pauses, glances up and down the hall, and sneaks a slim box made of buttery packaging that’s about the size of a paperback book into my hands. “Take this. It’s dangerous out there.”

My eyes widen because this is the size and shape of a box of chocolates—something I haven’t had in ninety-two days. Yes, I’m counting.

She adds, “It was left over from the anniversary party on the third floor.”

My mouth waters because although I’m constantly surrounded by the finest of everything from apparel to jewelry to culinary delights, I’m saddled with a strictDon’t even look and definitely do not touchpolicy.

It’s a specific formof agony.

I make a mental note to repay Edwina for her kindness, then complete my morning rounds before my break. Despite my complaints about the muggy weather, I go outside behind the main building to a little employee courtyard to get some fresh air and rest my feet since my work shoes are half a size too small.

Inside, the climate control is kept at a cool sixty-eight degrees, and I welcome the sun on my skin. I yawn and my eyes dip as sleep gathers on the edges of my consciousness. My chin hits my chest at the same time as the nearby door whooshes open with a gust of cold air.

Female voices rise and fall, followed by laughter. It’s two members of the three-part front desk clique on their break.

Yvonne, the self-appointed ring leader because she has seniority, cuts a glance at me. Without so much as a hello, she confers with her cohorts in hushed tones. No doubt they’re admiring how shiny and frizz-free I keep my hair.

Newsflash, ladies. It’s a wig. My real hair is a salt- and humidity-stricken disaster.

I’m pretty sure it’s turning into felt.

If they’re talking about me at all, it’s likely gossip and speculation. When I started working here, I thought the behind-the-scenes work environment would be like in the movies with everyone breaking out into a choreographed song and dance routine while cleaning up around the pool at the end of the day.

Yeah, romantic—some might say delusional—notions spilled into every aspect of my life.

The joke was on me because these hotel employees are cutthroat and willing to take each other downtown to Cage Fight Alley if they think it might result in a promotion. I’m not positive it’s a real place, but I don’t really want to find out. I reckon the raccoons wouldknow.

They look in my direction and then quickly away, followed by a round of snickering.

This just in, there’s an invisible wall between us and our elite guests. You’re never getting through, no matter how snooty you act!

“I heard that the owner’s son is going to be here anytime now.” Yvonne’s voice floats toward me, pricking my ears.

I stiffen, worried about what this might mean.

The other woman, Minka, asks, “Is his room ready?”

“It had better be.” Yvonne glances my way, well aware that I’m part of the housekeeping crew, even though she’d never admit it because such information is beneath her.

She doesn’t know our brief but storied history, however, flashing around his itinerary must be her way of gloating—pointing out that she’s a VIP Jewel Island Resort employee.

“He’s going to inherit this place someday,” Minka says.

Yvonne adds, “And billions. The last time he was here, he asked me how my night was and then winked. This time, I’m sure he’s going to try to make it a little less boring if you know what I mean.”

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