Behind the desk, a woman in her fifties looks up from a crossword puzzle, pen still poised in her hand. She takes me in with one quick glance—my bag, my boots, the fact I’m very clearly not from around here.
“You looking for a room?” she asks.
“No,” I say cheerily, stepping up to the counter. “I just thought I’d pop in and admire the décor.”
There’s a beat, and her mouth twitches.
“Lucky for you, we’ve got plenty of that,” she says dryly, setting her pen down and typing on her keyboard. “One bed or two?”
“One’s perfect.”
“For how long?”
I hesitate, realizing I probably should’ve thought about that sooner.
“Uhh, a few nights,” I rush out. “Maybe a week?”
“Alright.” She nods, grabbing a key from the board behind her. “Name?”
“Pea.”
Her fingers pause on her keyboard, and she squints up at me over the rim of her glasses.
“Pea?”
“Yup.” I nod, trying to look normal despite the small smile creeping onto my face. “Just Pea.”
She studies me for a moment, as if deciding whether to question my intentions.
“It’s what my dad used to call me,” I explain, surprising myself with the honesty. “Haven’t heard it in a long time, but thought it felt right for a fresh start.”
Something softens in her expression, and she gives a brief nod, typing the name into the computer. “Alright then, just Pea it is. Cash or card?”
“Card’s fine.” I fish my wallet from my bag, handing my card over as she finishes up the transaction.
She turns it over for a moment, noting my name and theEaston Engineeringlogo underneath it, then slides the key across the counter. “You’re room six, around the side. Heat works if you give it a minute.”
“Luxury,” I say, with a small grin.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She leans back slightly, studying me with a thoughtful curiosity.
“You here visiting someone?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Just wanted a change of scenery.”
“Mm.” She doesn’t sound like she fully believes that, but she lets it go. “Well, welcome to Maplewood.”
“Thank you.”
I turn toward the door, then pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “Hey—uh, do you happen to know if anyone’s hiring around here?”
Her brows lift slightly at that, as though the question tells her more about my intentions than anything else I’ve said.
“Probably a few places,” she says. “Try the large café on Main—Flora’s. Or Neverland if you don’t mind late nights.”
