“The really nice part,” Teresa continues, “is that we always have each other’s backs.” She looks at Iris. “Even when we don’t see eye to eye.”

Iris nods but doesn’t blink.

“We work together, not against one another,” Teresa says. “If your business is strong, ours will be stronger as a result.”

“So, what can we do?” Dale asks.

I turn to Frank. “Can you use a hand or twelve?”

Frank nods, still a little speechless.

I begin to say thank you but am suddenly overwhelmed by emotion. “I’m so touched,” I say. “I know how busy you all are. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just tell us where to start,” Becky, another innkeeper in town, says.

“Come on,” Frank says. “Follow me.”

“You okay?” Scooter asks.

I nod. “You didn’t have to come,” I say.

“I didn’t?” Scooter whispers in mock relief. “Try telling that to Iris Dragoon.” He kisses me. “And I didn’t want to look like the only jackass in town who refused to help you. As you now know, word gets around fast in this town.” He leans down, glances at Iris, who didn’t head upstairs, and whispers, “You now have the mob behind you.”

“Good,” I say. “It’s part of this place’s history anyway.”

Scooter disappears, and, within a few moments, I can hear hammers, electric drills, vacuums.

I turn to Iris, who I now realize is the only one who has come dressed as she always does: Joan Collins pantsuit, full makeup, wigs fluffed.

“I’m not so handy,” she says, giving me a big wink with a false eyelash. “But I’m a great organizer and supervisor.”

“You are,” I say.

“Do you mind if I take a look around?”

“It didn’t stop you before,” I say, matching her earlier wink.

“Touché, Adie Lou.”

I head back upstairs and return to cleaning, my nervousness and exhaustion fading with the camaraderie of the group. I order pizzas to feed the throng, and we are eating when Iris walks in the front door.

“May I speak with you for a moment?” she asks me.

The group grows quiet—as if I’ve passed a note in class and gotten busted by the teacher—and I follow Iris down the hall toward my suite.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I got so busy again. Where did you go?”

She pulls a small, beautifully wrapped box from her bag and hands it to me. “For you,” she says.

I cock my head and shoot her a questioning look, but she says, “Go on, open it.”

I rip off the pretty gift wrap and open the box. I pull back a bed of tissue paper, look at Iris and smile, my eyes instantly misting.