Sonny and I recheck every guest room: personalized guest books, with maps, and my own dining, driving and shopping recommendations, sit on each dresser. The rooms are clean as a whistle, the bathrooms spotless.

“Better go take a shower,” I say. “Today is not a day to rush or be off guard, right, boy?”

Sonny barks. And then he lifts his head and barks again.

I cock my head, just like he’s doing, and realize that he’s not barking in agreement with my question. He’s barking because the doorbell is ringing. Over and over again.

I tighten my robe, head downstairs and open the door.

“Can I help you?”

I am greeted by a gray-haired couple who look to be in their sixties. They are surrounded by a mountain of luggage, and the woman is wearing a giant red hat festooned with feathers.

“Hi! We’re the Cranstons!”

I blink hard, once, twice.

“We’re here!”

I continue to stare.

“Mark and Mildred,” the woman says. “Cranston.”

“I don’t know any Cranstons,” I say.

“Isn’t this The Summer Cottage Inn? Aren’t you Adie Lou Kruger, the innkeeper?” Mark asks.

Oh, no, I think, trying to pull it together while not allowing shock to register on my face. They’re over three hours early.

Mark pulls a pair of reading glasses from the front pocket of his jacket and takes a step back, closely eyeing the cottage and then me. He then yanks his cell from his jacket pocket and taps on it. “Sure looks like you,” he says, holding the phone up to my face.

Mark has pulled up a picture of me from the inn’s website. I smile.

“That’s me all right,” I say with a small laugh. “I’m so sorry, but check-in’s not until 3:00 p.m.”

“But we’re here,” Mildred says, waving her arms, the jumble of necklaces and bracelets she’s wearing setting off a cacophony of brain-jarring jangles. “You’re not just going to throw us out on the streets, are you?”

Mildred’s face—which is caked in heavy makeup—sags. “Are you?” she asks again, the red circles on her cheeks drooping, her tone pitiful.

“Of course not,” I say quickly. “I’m still doing a lot of last-minute things. Please, come in.”

“Good,” she says. “Because I need to use your ladies’ room.”

Mildred enters, the feathers from her hat brushing my face. I sneeze, and Sonny begins to bark.

“Who’s this?” Mildred asks.

“Sonny,” I say. “The inn’s mascot.”

Mildred takes a step back. “Oh. I see.”

“He’s very friendly,” I say. “And I’ll have him in my suite most of the time.”

She takes another step back.

“Are you allergic?” I ask.

“No,” Mark says for his wife. “She’s just not a pet person.”

“Messy,” Mildred says. “Like children.”

“Well,” I say in a cheery voice, “I have both.”