Page 4 of So Close

“Not him,” Auburn said. “I just—can’t.”

Her sister put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Okay. Not him.”

Auburn hugged her sister, hard.

As Chiara pulled back, she smoothed Auburn’s hair away from her face. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too. Have I thanked you lately for rescuing me?”

“Yes,” Chiara said. “But I didn’trescue you. You rescued yourself. And don’t you forget it.” She raised her glass and they toasted. “Love you, sis.”

“Right back atcha, Ulysses,” she called across the bar. “We’ll both have another Peach on the Beach, please.”

She turned to Chiara and winked. “On me.”

It was still lightwhen she walked back to Beachcrest Inn, the golden hour. The sun was setting over the Pacific, and a bank of low clouds had turned shades of pink, peach, and purple. Beachcrest was at the end of a side street, a few blocks from the main drive and the tavern where she and Chiara had spent their evening. Clad in weathered cedar shingle, the inn looked like three houses huddled together for comfort. There were eight guest rooms in the three connected buildings, and two carriage houses—also weathered shingle—held one more room each. It was unprepossessing, which was one of the things Auburn loved most about it. It was so cozy and homey. In fact, it was her home now.

She jogged up the front steps, across the wide front porch with its wicker chairs and swing, and let herself in the front door of the central building, which housed the lobby and front desk. Luz was on duty, a shawl draped over her shoulders.

“How’d it go?” Auburn asked.

“Pretty smoothly.”

“No air conditioning breakdowns? No pukers?”

Luz laughed. “Nope. Hey, did you know the group of four checking in tonight were writers?”

“Really?” Auburn said, intrigued. “No!”

“Mmm-hmm. They’re here on a retreat … to write steamy romances.”

“Are youserious?”

“Yup.”

“That’s so fun! We have to look them up and get their books. That way, I can at least live vicariously.”

“Amen,” Luz murmured. “Fictional sex is better than none.” She raised an eyebrow in Auburn’s direction. “At least you’re temporarily celibate by choice. Better than fromlack of choices.”

“You never know. Maybe you’ll inspire the next romance.Hechecks in late at night …you’reon the desk by yourself …”

“Is that a love story or a horror movie?” Luz teased. “Anyway, you’ll get to meet them at breakfast.” She looked at her watch. “Speaking of which, it’s late! You have to be up in six hours. You should go the fuck to sleep.”

“I gotta get stuff set up for breakfast so I’m not behind in the morning.”

Luz shook her head. “I don’t know why you don’t let someone else do breakfast.”

“You know I love breakfast.”

“I know you do, babe,” Luz said, smiling. “And everything else about this place.”

Auburn headed back into the kitchen where she set about prepping everything she could in advance—squeezing the orange juice, cutting the fruit, prepping the dry ingredients for the waffle batter, setting the long dining room table and the smaller tables in the breakfast room. She surveyed the kitchen carefully to make sure she’d done all she could to make her life easier in the morning, then smiled to herself, pleased. She’d made hundreds of breakfasts at Beachcrest during the years she’d worked here—as a teenager, in college, after college—and it never failed to delight her that someone paid her to do this job.

She turned off the lights and headed to the back corner of the house, letting herself into her room with an old-fashioned metal key—not a key card, because Carl didn’t like or trust anything modern.

She and Carl both had rooms in Beachcrest. It had been part of the deal he’d made with her when she’d moved back from New York. He wanted her to do full manager duties, but he couldn’t afford the salary he thought she deserved, so he’d given her the smallest room, which also happened to be her favorite. It was a corner room with windows on two sides, and even though neither window faced the ocean, the room was flooded with light during the day and looked out over Beachcrest’s gardens. Thanks to their longtime housekeeper, Sarah, who did double duty as gardener, the gardens rioted with color all summer long.

Auburn ran her hand over the pretty quilted bedspread, shades of blues and greens, and smiled at the chocolate Sarah had left on her pillow. Sarah didn’t clean Auburn’s room—she cleaned it herself—but Sarah often left her treats.

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