The woman sat down in a similar chair next to her and patted her knee. “There, there, honey. You drink that up. You must be absolutely frozen to the bone.”

“I-I’m sorry,” she managed, suddenly fighting tears again. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“We all have days like that,” the woman said, still smiling, eyes kind and warm. “Is there someone I can call for you? Someone that can come get you?”

She frowned, not following. She realized that this woman must think she’d simply wandered in off the street. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mention it, did I? I need to check in. I’m staying here.”

“Oh, you are! You must be Ryann. Stuart told me to watch out for you. Let me go get your paperwork and the key. You just sit there, honey, and drink up. A nice warm bath should help you feel better.”

She was angry with herself. She couldn’t understand these feelings. Why was she reacting this way to a mug of hot chocolate? She took a long, deep whiff of it and set it down, tears rising to her eyes again.

“Get ahold of yourself, lady,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “You’re just tired.”

The woman was back again, her expression still warm and friendly, and Ryann began to thaw in response. Normally this kind of person came across to her as phony, at best, or outright manipulative at worst. Instead, she was struck with the deepest conviction that this woman was genuinely nice—all within a few minutes of meeting her.

“The bill has already been covered for you,” the woman said, handing her the key.

“It has?”

“Yes. By Stuart. What a lovely young man he is! And so talented!”

“Mmm,” she said, taking the key. It was an actual key, not a card, something she hadn’t seen in years. The keychain was, of course, a red plastic heart.

“That’s our best room,” the woman said, smiling even wider. “I’d ask one of the boys to carry your luggage up for you, but I didn’t see any outside.”

“It’s coming later,” she said, standing up. Her legs felt weak, nearly loose beneath her, and a wave of fatigue made her almost swoon. The woman grabbed her elbow and started walking her toward the main entry room. This space was, like the rest of the town, absolutely plastered in Valentine’s decorations, with another enormous red mailbox, that same sign above it: “Loveland Remailing Program.”

She was too baffled to ask about this now and let the woman lead her up the flight of stairs. Even the carpet was decorated in stylized golden hearts stitched into the fabric. They reached the next floor, and she let herself be led to the door at the end of the hallway.

“Here we are,” the woman said, “the Honeymoon Suite!”