It was unpredictable.
It was chaotic.
It was her.
Fifi.
With her sunny voice, soap jokes, and eyes that saw way too much.
And the worst part?
I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Which is why I was now scrolling through hotel listings like a man possessed.
There weren’t many, which should’ve been my first red flag. This wasn’t some sprawling vacation hotspot with twelve different brands and five-tier reward programs. This wasButtercup Lake.A dot on the map. One bakery, two traffic lights, and, if I remembered correctly, a hardware store that also sold fudge. Sure, locals came up here on the weekends to kick back and relax, but it wasn’t like I had many options.
I found one place.
Click.
The photos were… fine. Modern. Stark. Mostly beige. The kind of place that prided itself on having USB outlets in the headboard and water that tasted like it had passed through at least eight layers of corporate filtration.
Perfect.
Exactly what I needed.
I clickedBook Now.
And then—
We’re sorry, but no rooms are available for your selected dates.
I blinked.
Refreshed the page.
Tried different dates.
Still nothing.
Everyoneand their grandmother’s watercolor clubhad decided to descend on Buttercup Lake at the same time I had. The upscale Buttercup Lodge, perched on the lake across the way, was also fully booked, which made sense. The Honey Leaf Lodge and Buttercup Lodge were jewels in this small town.
I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, scowling at the screen like it had personally betrayed me.
Fine.
I tried another place.
A roadside inn a few miles out of town with suspiciously low lighting in every photo.
“Quaint,” I muttered, reading the first review aloud. “Quaint, but smells like wet carpet and wet dog. I wouldn’t stay again even if I were desperate.”
Pass.
I stared at the laptop for a few seconds, then clicked the tab closed.
Okay.
