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  Arriving home in mid-May and finding a for sale sign on the lawn was beyond shocking. Realizing that the house was empty— and that my key no longer worked—broke a piece of my heart. My next-door neighbor Jerry was the one who told me about the foreclosure. He couldn’t remember the exact date of when Dad and Sharon left, but he knew it was sometime in February. That was like a kick to the stomach.

  Four.

  Months.

  That wasn’t a sorry things got out of control and we had to quickly relocate but I landed here and there’s a room for you type of situation. Still, I had faith that finding him would be easy. I just kept telling myself our lines were crossed somehow, but obviously everything was going to be fine. Using the card attached to my individual checking account, I’d gotten a room at the nearest motel and started making phone calls. That’s when I discovered things were far, far worse than I could ever have imagined.

  A call to the construction company my dad was a foreman for revealed that he’d been fired in November. In hushed tones, his former secretary, Meredith, told me that he’d been erratic for two years. After being written up five times in a six-month period for lengthy, unexplained absences, the company had no choice but to fire him. When I asked Meredith what she thought had been going on with him, she’d hesitated before answering.

  “Honestly, Eden… we all suspected drugs. Your father really changed so much once Sharon entered the picture, it’s as if he became a different person.”

  Meredith wasn’t wrong. After my dad married Sharon two years ago, more and more I felt as if the father I’d grown up with was gone.

  By the time I’d gotten off the phone with Meredith, my stomach felt like it had been through a meat grinder. Calls to the few friends Dad retained after Sharon took over his life confirmed what Meredith had told me—my father had been behaving erratically and everyone left from his life before his second marriage had been systematically cut out. After those phone calls were finished, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that whatever was happening with my father was serious. Realizing that I needed to find housing until school started, I spent the next day looking at short-term rentals. I was lucky to find something on Temp Rent right away—a small basement room with a private bathroom and a separate entrance.

  I’ve been working since I was fourteen years old, which means I’ve always had money of my own. Since my education was being covered by the settlement money from Mom and Grandma’s accident, other than getting my own cell phone plan when I went to college and paying for it each month I never had to touch the money I made. I kept five thousand dollars in my checking account at all times and twice a year I would move the excess into the savings account where my college money was. After putting out the money for the summer rental with the five thousand in my personal checking account, I was down to just under four thousand.

  I’d had at least five thousand in my account since I was sixteen and I liked it that way, so after I paid for the rental I decided to go to the bank to have money from my school account transferred over. That’s when I found out that the life insurance money, along with the money I’d gotten when my grandparents’ house sold, and all the additional money I’d earned through the years was gone, baby, gone. I’d stared at the bank-teller, Annabelle, blankly when she announced that the account showed a zero balance.

  “I… that’s impossible,” I said. My voice sounded shaky to my own ears. “I gave my dad a check to deposit what I earned at work from the start of school to break. The last time we took money out was December third, when we paid for the spring semester. That should have left the account with a balance of roughly one hundred and forty-nine thousand dollars. Where did all of my money go?”

  Beads of sweat trickled down my back as Annabelle chewed on the inside of her cheek while her fingers flew over her keyboard, the keys clack-clack-clacking as she pulled up information. Although I didn’t want to believe it, my gut was telling me where the money was. The money in question had been in a joint account with my dad, which meant the odds were against his disappearance and my empty coffers not being tied together. Also, those account statements had gone to the house—not to me at school. If he’d decided to take money he’d done so knowing I wouldn’t realize it until I came home once the semester ended. And what had I come back to? No. Freaking. Home. Left. I could feel the storm coming, a category five hurricane gathering strength before it touched down on land.

  I shook that feeling off and continued telling myself I was wrong. It’s just a mistake, I chanted. A misunderstanding. No matter what, he wouldn’t do this to you, I assured myself. He’s your father. The two things aren’t connected. The money is still there. She’s wrong. She has to be wrong.

  “I’m showing that the account was closed on January tenth of this year by your father when he took out the last twelve thousand dollars.”

  “The last twelve thousand? What about the rest?”

  The pity in her look tore through me. “There were seven withdrawals between August and January.

  It was like a kick to the gut. In six months he’d taken it all and I’d had no clue. I’d gone back to school at the beginning of January and he’d never given me any indication he’d been robbing me blind for months. Sure, he’d been significantly less interested in me than he was when I was younger, but I’d been positive that was Sharon’s fault. I couldn’t blame her for my money, though. Not now that I knew for sure that Dad was the one to take the money. Since Sharon’s name was nowhere on the account, there was no way to blame her. My father had brazenly stolen money from me—his only child.

  “So my money is just gone?” I asked in a shrill-sounding voice.

  “Unfortunately it is. I’m sorry, miss. My suggestion to you is to speak to your father about it. Maybe he took it to another bank—”

  “He didn’t take it to another bank!” I screeched. “He ghosted with my money and now I have nothing. What the actual fuck?”

  Needless to say, the branch manager had to come out to get involved since I’d gotten the attention of the entire bank when I started yelling. Humiliated, I’d stormed out in tears. For the next six days, I holed up in my short-term rental and kept right on crying my goddamn eyes out as things went from bad to worse.

  Needing money, I tried to get my old job back. They weren’t hiring and nowhere else I went had any openings. It’s hard to get summer work when every other college kid has already filled the good paying available jobs. I’d felt like a complete moron for not having locked down a job before school ended. Like a fool, I’d chosen not to get a job because I’d been hoping to spend the time between the end of spring semester and the start of the fall semester working on my relationship with my dad. Clearly having a bond with me hadn’t even been on his radar.

  In the end, I managed to get a gig working in housekeeping at a Holiday Inn but making minimum wage and struggling to get enough hours had been a nightmare. By the end of summer, I was down to thirty-five hundred dollars in my account. I’d have had more, but in addition to taking my money and racking up credit card debt, Dad also stopped carrying insurance on the Jeep Wagoneer I inherited from my grandparents. I’d had to scramble to get my own policy, which didn’t come cheap.

  I’d also had to spend money to travel back to Penn State for two days to try to work out my tuition situation. I’d been shuffled around from one place to another for days before I finally got to a good advisor. He had done what he could to help me, but I was too late to apply for scholarships for the coming semester. The tearful breakdown I’d had in his office had been memorable enough for him to call me three days later to tell me about a job about a few hours away up in the mountains that one of my professors recommended me for. Miller’s Efficiency Units was looking to hire an assistant manager. It meant relocating, but I said I was willing to do it if they wanted me. Luckily, they did.

  The job is like a gift from God since it comes with a free room and after ninety days, health insurance. I’m thankful to have a place t
o rest my head and also excited that I’m going to be getting management experience. One way or another I’m going to work my way up the hospitality ladder. My dream of a degree was delayed, but somehow, some way, I’m still going to make it.

  I hope.

  2

  Eden

  Even though it’s my first day, I’m fairly up to speed on how things work here at Miller’s. The transition has been made smoother because I’m already well versed in the software being used to run operations since I spent half a semester learning it at the beginning of last school year. That is a huge bonus since that alone would’ve taken a while to get the hang of. The job is also more interesting than I could have imagined. In addition to the thirty efficiency rooms, they also rent out outdoor equipment to locals and guests alike.

  There are two steel garages at the rear of the hotel where all of that happens. One garage is for vehicle and equipment maintenance and the other is full of the equipment the hotel rents out. The rental vehicles are really cool—there are six ATVs that can be used for any season and six snowmobiles for the winter. Finally, because we’re on a lake, there’s a pontoon boat and eight double kayaks. There’s also a pool out back for guests to lounge around. Miller’s has set itself up to be an outdoor lover’s paradise, and I’m excited to explore it.

  Margie and I get along wonderfully and the day maids, Luisa, Wendy, and Gladys, are sweet as pie. I’ll be meeting the part-time and overnight front desk staff over the course of the coming days, which I am really looking forward to. Margie’s husband Ron is the Mr. Fix It of the motel. He’s affectionate as all get out with Margie, but otherwise he’s a quiet, down to business kind of guy. Along with his support staff, Ed and Tyler, they keep the place in tip-top shape. There’s also a handful of staff that come in and out to work in the rental garage, and they’re all nice too.

  While many wouldn’t see this job as anything to dream about, I grew up watching my mom working front desks at a few different hotels. Before I was born, she’d been working at a large casino hotel in Atlantic City—which was where she met my dad. Just before she had me, she had moved on to a boutique hotel in Jersey City. She stayed there until a bigger chain bought it, at which point she’d gone on to manage one of the most prestigious hotels in Manhattan. Watching her, I learned to love the hospitality industry. In my experience, there’s almost nothing as interesting as interacting with people as they check in and out of their rooms. In one day, you can meet a couple on their honeymoon, a family on their annual vacation or even a celebrity checking in for an extended stay.

  When you work in a service industry, you learn things about people. Their hopes and dreams, what makes them tick, where they’re coming from and where they’re planning to go. For every one of the just-passing-through-so-please-don’t-bother-me types, I get two people who are delighted to talk after a long day of travel. To me, experiences like that are almost like a high. This career isn’t just a choice for me—it’s in my blood.

  Aside from meeting new people each day, I enjoy the way time flies by. Breakfast and check out were over in a blink, and the emptied rooms have now been cleaned and made ready for the next set of guests. I sing softly along to the song on the radio as I wipe down the small glass-enclosed outer lobby area while I wait for the alarm on my phone to go off and let me know that the washers in the back room are finished their cycles. There are thirty units here and on any given day we’ll do between two to eight loads of laundry. Most people think that doesn’t sound like a lot, but the reason for that is that Ron and Margie invested in two industrial washer and dryer sets. Each can handle up to sixty-five pounds of wash per load. That’s a lot of laundry, and the machines do it fast. I wasn’t expecting Miller’s to have such an upgraded system so walking in and seeing the washers and dryers was like a bonus. Laundry is a big deal in hospitality because it’s a constant. As with most motels and hotels, a card is placed in each room encouraging guests to hang their towels after use, but many don’t. Keeping things fresh is key and with guest linens plus the towels we hand out for the pool, there’s a lot to do.

  As I finish fixing the rack of area attractions, maps, and coupons, my phone buzzes in my back pocket to alert me that the washing machines are finished. I spin on my heel to head back to the laundry area only to let out a little shriek when I collide with and immediately bounce off something huge and hard. My arms flail as I start to topple backward. I'm saved by a pair of strong hands that halt me before I land on my butt. I’m barely able to process that I’m upright before the hands are gone.

  Blinking in confusion, I slowly look up and take in a man who is easily a foot taller than my five foot one frame. He’s like an angel in black—tall and broad-shouldered with large hands and rugged arms. His black t-shirt does nothing to hide his six-pack abs, and the black jeans and black work boots he’s got on only make him more roguishly appealing. Everything about him is sexy including his sporty, masculine scent. I’ve never come across someone so mesmerizing in all of my life. His longish dark hair, closely trimmed beard and sensual lips are straight up panty-melters, so I bet women throw themselves at him on the regular. The very thought of this bothers me far more than is reasonable or appropriate.

  My heart slams against my chest as my eyes meet his. Something strange passes between us, something I can’t put name to. I’m at a loss because I haven’t experienced anything remotely similar before. I feel my cheeks flush with color as I stare up at him. Biting my lip nervously, I blink up at him like an idiot as I try to force words out of my mouth. Questions are zinging through my head at high speed—things like who are you or where did you come from and finally, holy shit, has this kind of thing ever happened to you before?

  Before I can articulate even one of those things he blinks and the moment is over. I cringe when I realize whatever was in his eyes is gone, almost as if it never happened at all. Now, he’s pinning me with a look that could permanently freeze the tropics. Even still, his eyes make me weak in the knees, regardless of the fact that they’re now subarctic. Jet black lashes frame the most beautiful deep blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and right now they’re transmitting one message loud and clear—stay the hell back. I’ve never come across anyone less inviting in all my life.

  “I—I’m sorry,” I sputter. “I didn’t mean—”

  His sensual lips form a flat line as he sidesteps me. “Pay attention to where you’re going,” he snaps.

  My eyes widen so much that I’m certain I look like a cartoon character, but he doesn’t notice since he just walked out the door without looking back. I stand and stare after him in stunned silence, my mouth open, eyes still wide, for countless moments. Long after I’ve closed my mouth, I continue staring at the door, not really seeing it, as I think about the reaction I just had to a perfect stranger. Hearing a noise, I turn around and find Margie watching me with a slightly stunned expression. Crap. I can tell she saw the whole thing. She’s probably questioning my ability to provide quality customer service. The way I froze up was embarrassing—I wouldn’t blame her for thinking exactly that.

  “That was Donovan,” she says. “I’d have introduced him to you, but he grabbed his mail and raced out before I could call you over.”

  My jaw drops when her words sink in. “That was him?”

  Margie mentioned him this morning because he’s the guest in the room next to mine. Apparently, he moved in within months of when the motel opened seven a little over seven years ago and he’s been in residence ever since. When I asked why someone would live at a motel for seven years, she hesitated before replying that not everyone had a story they wanted told. I hadn’t asked additional questions then, but I wish I had because now I’m curious.

  I inhale and exhale slowly and try to shake off the nervous feeling that flared up in the pit of my stomach the instant I made eye contact with our permanent guest.

  “He, uh, doesn’t seem super friendly,” I murmur.

  Margie sighs, her shoulders slumping as she turns
and heads back toward the front desk. “Well you’re not wrong about that. If there’s one thing Donovan Beckett won’t be accused of, it’s being overly friendly. Don’t mind him though,” she says as she steps behind the counter. “He’s got a big bark, but he won’t bite as long as he’s left alone.”

  Something about the absence of expression in his eyes was painful to look at, so much so that I can still feel the sting. Margie is wrong about him. I definitely felt a bite. I have about a hundred questions I want to ask Margie about Donovan Beckett, but something tells me she won’t answer. Shaking it off, I smile and gesture with my thumb toward the laundry room.

  “I’m going to go keep the laundry train running.”

  “You’re about to put in the final loads, right?”

  “Sure am,” I confirm.

  “Alrighty—when you come back I’m going to have Ron man the front desk until we get back. I want to drop today’s deposit off at the bank and now’s as good a time as any to start getting you used to the town.”

  I do my best to push all thought of Donovan Beckett out of my mind while I go about finishing my work so we can go. When pushing those thoughts away isn’t as effective as I’d like I repeatedly remind myself that for all intents and purposes he’s my neighbor—nothing more. Just because my curiosity has been piqued doesn’t mean I need to go on an answer hunt.

  After we’re in Margie’s car heading for the bank, I stare out the window and focus on learning my new hometown as we make the ten-minute drive into town. Earlier today, one of the motel guests commented that the town is quaint. Looking around, I have to agree with her. The bank Margie’s taking me to is right on Main Street, which is a collection of adorable stores, some that I haven’t come across in years. There’s a general store, a hardware store, a music store, a burger joint, a movie rental place, an adorable pharmacy and a barbershop with one of the old-fashioned barber poles on the wall outside the door. A bit farther down there’s a beauty parlor, a candle shop, a women’s clothing store, a diner, a sweet store, a florist, and a bakery.