Page 1 of Bubbles at the Beach House Hotel

CHAPTER ONE

“Annie, take a lookat this,” said Rhonda DelMonte Grayson, my best friend and fellow owner of The Beach House Hotel. She motioned for me to come over to her desk in our office.

I leaned over her shoulder to read the message we’d received from our reservations department. When I was through, I sat down in my desk chair and felt the sting of tears.

Five women, members of a book club in a small town outside Pittsburgh, had reserved one of our guesthouses on the property for ten days. Each confessed that they’d all had to save their money for some time to be able to do it, and all five asked for champagne to be delivered to the house on a different evening as a surprise to the others.

“That’s so sweet,” I said. “We’ve got to do something special for them.”

“One of the women, Jane Sweeny, said she wants to include packages of bubbles from our spa with her gift so they can take bubble baths,” said Rhonda. “She said they wanted bubbles, bubbles, bubbles to celebrate being here. Isn’t that adorable?”

“What could we do to help them make their time here more special? Give them spa packages?” I asked.

Rhonda looked at me and grinned. “Perfect.”

My mind spun. “Maybe they’d allow us to interview them for our special ‘Pamper Package Program.’” Even with the stellar reputation our upscale hotel on the Gulf Coast of Florida enjoyed, we were always trying to find ways to put “heads in beds,” as they say in the business.

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Afew days later, ona balmy September morning, Rhonda and I stood at the top of the front stairs of the hotel to greet our book club guests.

Rhonda nudged me when the white stretch limo pulled through the gates. “Guess they decided to go all the way for their ride. I freakin’ love it.”

I laughed. “I can’t remember when we’ve been so excited about new guests.”

As the limo pulled to a stop, Rhonda and I hurried down the steps to greet them. I couldn’t wait to meet these women. They sounded like people I’d want as friends.

The back doors of the limo opened, and a group of women laughing and talking began to get out of the car. They looked as different as could be. But one, a woman with dark hair and a streak of gray across the front, seemed to be in charge.

She stepped forward. “Hello, I’m Jane Sweeny. You must be Ann and Rhonda. We’ve read all about you.”

“Welcome to The Beach House Hotel,” I said.

Rhonda beamed at them. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

“Hello, I’m Amy Hardeman,” said a woman with pink-streaked brown hair emerging from the limo. She turned. “And this is Caro Corbin,” she continued, indicating a stunning blonde who gave us a shy smile as she stood before us.

From around the other side of the limo, a woman with dark curly hair approached, gazing around with interest. “I’m Lisa Stein. We’re so happy to be here.”

“And last but not least,” said a woman trailing Lisa, “I’m Heather McPherson.” Her blue eyes gleamed with excitement.

One of our valets rolled a luggage cart over to the limo driver to help with the bags.

“The valet will take your suitcases to your house,” I said. “Come into the hotel to check-in, and then Rhonda and I will escort you to your house.”

“Okay,” said Lisa. “First, I want to get a photo of the entrance to the hotel. It’s gorgeous!” She turned to the others. “Just think! We get to live here in the lap of luxury for ten whole days.”

Heather, a pleasantly plump woman with blond hair, clapped, and the others joined in, smiling at one another.

“May I take a photo of the two of you right here?” asked Jane.

I hesitated and then said, “Certainly.” Normally, I didn’t like having photos taken of me, but for this friendly group, I couldn’t resist.

Rhonda winked at me, and we stood together for the group.

At the entrance to the hotel lobby, Rhonda and I introduced Bernie, our General Manager, to them.

He bobbed his head. “Welcome to The Beach House Hotel. Let us know if we can do anything for you. We’re here to see that your stay with us is everything you want.”

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