Mr. Bennington, on the other hand, clearly has no desire to spend any more time in my presence than necessary. With a final nod, he turns and marches away. I try not to take it personally.

Refocusing on the task in front of me, I finish double-checking reservations for next week, because I can’t afford another error in the booking system. Everything looks good, which is a relief.

I’m about to pop into the kitchen to see if Addison and Travis need anything (not that I could truly offer much help to them, considering my lack of cooking proficiency) when the inn’s main doors open, letting in a nice spring breeze. I turn on instinct to greet the guests—only to face Elise and Grant strolling in, luggage in tow. A lot of luggage.

“Hello, dear!” Elise greets me warmly.

I freeze, taking a beat too long to respond. “Hi. Uh. What are you doing here?”

Her smile falls, and it sort of knocks my brain-to-mouth filter back into place.

“Sorry. I mean, I thought you were getting in this evening.” I rush forward to help them with their bags. “I was going to pick you up from the airport.”

The closest airport to Mayweather is almost two hours away, but I intended to use that time to mentally prepare myself for this. For them. I’ve been so focused on what to do about the lie I told, that I haven’t stopped to process the fact that they’ll be here, in my town, in my house. For an undetermined amount of time.

Elise leans in to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s okay, we wanted to rent a car. And we were able to get an earlier flight, so we thought we’d surprise you!”

Color me surprised.

Grant moves in to hug me as well, though it’s really more of a quick, one-armed pat on the back. “I told her it’d be better if we gave you a heads up.”

“Don’t worry, it’s totally fine,” I lie through my smiling teeth.

“Do you mind showing us to our room?” he asks. “I’m a bit tired from the flight and the drive. We can rest for a while and let you carry on with whatever work you’re doing.”

The way he says “work” grates on me just a tad. Like he doesn’t necessarily equate what I do here—running this whole damn inn—with what he traditionally considers work.

Then the first part of what he said hits me.

Oh, crap, I didn’t even tell them they wouldn’t be staying here like they normally do.

“So...” I start nervously. “I don’t actually have a room for you here. I’m fully booked. If I’d known you were getting in now, I would’ve had you meet me at the house.”