Page 4 of It All Began at Dixieland

“Right here.” She places a large handful of various flavors on the counter and nudges me out of the way so she can pay.

A little under two hours later, we’re pulling into under the porte cochere of the airport hotel hosting the Romancing Dixieland Author Event. I’ve never been to Missouri and I’m oddly excited. One thing I’ve really enjoyed is traveling to different parts of the country and meeting new authors and readers. It is a strange phenomenon, my shyness in everyday life and how it disappears when Tacy Ellen takes over.

“Mom.” I place my hand on hers and stop her from exiting the vehicle just yet. “Are you still nervous?” She rears back like I’ve slapped her, her face contorting into a sneer. I slowly put space between us in fear for my life.

“Am I nervous?” Reaching out, she smacks my arm and gasps in outrage. “Devon Sawa flashed through my mind mere hours ago when I nearly died from attempted paneling, and you ask me if I’m still nervous?”

“Right.” I wince remembering our near-death experience. “Sorry. Never mind.” I get out of my vehicle and round the front end to help mom from her seat. She holds my arm as we walk through the automatic doors and up to the check-in desk.

“Do you have any carts?” I ask the man helping us, as I glance around the spacious lobby, noting the steps up to the hotel bar and those down to the event floor. But no carts.

“I’m afraid we do not have any available at this time.”

I whip around to face him, my mouth dropped open in surprise. “What do you mean you don’t have any carts?”

“We only allow two to be used at a time. They are stolen quite frequently, so we keep them locked up.”

Mom looks around exaggeratedly, and I brace for sarcasm. “I didn’t realize we had entered a museum. Do you have them on display somewhere behind bullet resistant plexiglass? Do we need to pass through a metal detector before we lay eyes on the rare species of luggage cart?”

“Uh…we…we have a bellhop—”

“I should hope so.”

“Mom, I’m gonna grab everything from my car, including my cart for tomorrow, then I’ll park. Here.” I slide one room key card from the sleeve and hand it over. “Just wait until I get everything in the lobby first.” I hand over my purse and with one last huff of irritation, mom hobbles over to a nearby couch to wait for me.

After I’m finishing unloading our suitcases, our pillows (hotel pillows are absolutely useless), mom’s portable fan, my wagon cart with boxes of books, tote bags, swag, shirts, and of course, the cow teats squeezies, I turn to start wheeling it into the lobby.

“Ma’am?” Looking up, I find a man old enough to be Moses’ grandfather shuffling toward me, a polo shirt with the hotel’s insignia on the chest. Sure. Makes sense.

“Hello.” I reply cautiously, hoping against hope that he isn’t here to “help” me.

“Let me help you with your bags.”

“If you could just wheel these two in, I’ll get the rest.” I urge our two rolling suitcases toward him and grab a hold of the book cart and pull it behind me while I hold the two garbage bags with our pillows.

“Look what I found!” Mom screeches when I step through the second set of automatic doors. She’s standing proudly next to a luggage cart, while a young woman eyes her suspiciously, limping away.

“Did you assault someone for the cart?” I ask, even though I’m so thankful for its existence, I’d help her hide a body if needed.

“Only a little.” She waves me off and presents the cart with a flourish.

“Thank you. Head up to the room, mom, I know you’re exhausted and in pain. I’ve got this.” She doesn’t believe me, but it must be worse than I thought since she gives in without argument.

Grunting with effort, I lift both of our suitcases onto the cart, our pillows, then I run back out for her fan. I slip the bellhop two dollars and assure him I’ve got it from here. I don’t need his heart attack on my conscience.

I have never been more aware of my lack of flexibility and muscle definition than when I’m pushing the book cart up the ramp, because of course there is a ramp to the elevator, and pulling the luggage cart with four wheels all working independently of each other behind me.

“Would you like some help?” I sigh, halfway up the ramp and prepare myself mentally to turn down the bellhop’s counterpart, the only man to live amongst the dinosaurs. But the voice registers in my hindbrain and I snap my neck turning to look at the man from earlier on the side of the road. The hottie with the beautiful backside.

Instead of politely declining, or even graciously accepting, I blurt, “Are you stalking me?” He chuckles, not taking offense.

“Well, I’ve been here for more than an hour, so…are you stalking me?”

“NO!” I rush to assure him and apparently everyone in a 10-mile-radius. I close my eyes with a sigh of personal defeat.

“Then it’s a coincidence. I’ve got the luggage, call for the elevator.”

“Oh. Well. Sure. Thank you.” I manage to get to the elevator, hitting the button many, many times as the handsome stranger comes up behind me. The doors open quickly and I’m thankful we don’t have to stand there in awkward silence.

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