Mildred analyzes the sign and turns to me. “Kinda dull, don’t you think?” she asks. “And the lighting here is terrible.” She cocks her head in thought, the feathers on her hat fluttering, as if Mildred is about to take flight. “How about the entrance to our room?” Mildred suggests, a big smile on her face. “First check-in.” Mildred looks at me. “What room are we in?”

I don’t know off the top of my head, I want to say. You’re THREE HOURS early.

“I know we’ve already paid in full,” Mark says, his chest puffing.

“Let me check,” I say with a smile.

Thankfully—after inspecting other inns—I placed a small stand in the entry, much like the ones restaurants place their hosts and hostesses behind. Scooter built it from reclaimed wood, and it’s not only beautiful but fits the decor of the cottage. He added hooks for room keys, space for my laptop, calendar, notepads and maps. I place my laptop on the top of the stand.

“You’re in...” I begin, before nearly choking on my words. “Go Jump in the Lake!”

It takes all of my willpower not to bust out laughing.

How appropriate, I think.

“It’s a beautiful en suite,” I say, “decorated with my family’s photos and paintings of Lake Michigan. And, yes, you’re paid in full.” I stop, squelch a laugh and say with complete sincerity, “I picked this room especially for you.”

Mildred beams.

“I can show you to your room,” I say, grabbing the key. “It’s on the third floor.”

Mildred’s face sags. “Third floor, Mark,” she says with a big sigh.

“We have a ranch,” Mark says. “Mildred likes ranch homes.”

“This is a historic 1800s cottage,” I say. “Lots of nooks and crannies.”

“And steps,” Mildred sighs.

I move toward the steps when Mildred says, “Our luggage...”

I look at her.

“I can store it for you until 3:00 p.m.,” I say. “There are some wonderful lunch spots in Saugatuck. I know you’re hungry.”

“But our luggage will be in our room when we return, right?” Mildred asks, her voice rising, her head shaking, her feathers—literally—beginning to ruffle.

No, Mildred, I want to say, thinking of the mountain of luggage on the front porch, my back already aching. You’re responsible for that. This is a B and B, not the Four Seasons.

Instead, I inhale my lavender and say, “Yes, of course.”

“Good,” Mildred says. “And do you offer a welcome glass of champagne?”

I need one, I think.

“Bubbles and Bites are at five,” I say. “Champagne will be served.”

“But not now?” Mildred asks. She has yet to move.

“Of course,” I say. “Let me show you to your room first.”

As I head toward the staircase, the Cottage Rules sign fills my eyes.

“Go Jump in the Lake, Mildred!”