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For some reason, Bran openly dated Perrin, where he’d always kept Mariella somewhat hidden. Of course the town saw Mariella as the villain in the end. How could they not, when no one knew she’d been dating Bran long before Perrin came along?
Regardless, they fit her with a scarlet letter she hadn’t been able to shed since. And poor Perrin got everyone’s sympathy. It wasn’t fair but it was also one of those unresolvable unfortunate situations. People loved their gossip.
Mariella had waited for the rumors to fade and something bigger to come by, but little towns had damn long memories. And she wasn’t sure the locals would ever forget her supposed role in the Perrin-Bran breakup, so she decided it was time to face her past head on.
She glanced at the clock. Now, it was definitely time to go. She shut off the car and climbed out, the cold a rejuvenating slap in the face that made any chance of hysterics impossible.
Outside of the toasty Volvo, frigid wind froze slush into ice. The walks leading to the impressive Brick Hotel were shoveled and salted but still slippery. A gust of chilly air cut through her clothes, stealing a good bit of her confidence with her body heat.
Today was all about her future. It was about affirmations and opportunity. It was about change, and earning a seat at the table where she rightfully belonged. She was done wearing labels she didn’t deserve.
She was through measuring her value by misconstrued past mistakes. Regardless of what others might think of her, she was not a terrible person. She had a moral compass and her worth had yet to be defined. This was a chance to prove herself as a responsible, respectable part of this town.
Yes, the Brick Hotel was built and owned by Gage King, and Gage was now married to Perrin. But that didn’t mean Mariella couldn’t work there. She was perfect for the manager position and determined to prove so.
Another gust of wind pushed her closer to the hotel and she stepped onto the shoveled walk. No bellman greeted her and she wondered if that was due to the cold or a lack of amenities. It seemed like the sort of hotel that should offer valet and luggage service.
She stared up at the five story, colonial inspired building. Tall pillars braced the sprawling awning and antique style windows glistened against the afternoon sun. Pristine white walls adorned with brick accents lent a degree of elegance that never before existed against the mountain backdrop of their town. The red roof made the structure a stunning landmark without appearing garish, and the details hidden within the moldings inspired thoughts of a golden age.
Mariella smiled, her cheeks chilled but her body warming with a spike of anticipated possibility. It looked like a hotel Hemingway might have frequented. She wanted to work there. She wanted to be a part of her town’s forward motion, and this seemed like just the place to start.
There was only one problem. Gage King would be her boss. Perrin most likely told him her version of the Bran breakup. He’d never believe Mariella’s side over his wife’s, and there was no way she’d bring such drama up during a job interview. She could only make a great impression and hope he saw past her reputation—no matter how undeserved that reputation was.
Her stomach pitched and doubt spiked in her chest, pounding hard as she stepped onto the emblazoned welcome mat outside the grand entrance.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered, hesitating. She could go back to the warmth of her car. Call her McCullough cousins and do something else with the day, something that was less likely to leave her feeling like an ostracized failure.
Her phone buzzed and she dug it out of her bag. Giovanni’s name flashed on the screen. Sliding her finger across the notification, she opened the text message and laughed at her brother’s text.
A GIF of Han Solo giving her a thumbs up appeared. Don’t psych yourself out. You’ll do great. Just be yourself. Good luck.
That was Giovanni, always getting behind her goals. She quickly texted out a thank you and silenced her phone. She needed that little reminder that this was just a job interview, not a life or death situation.
Sometimes, she focused too hard on getting everything right and forgot that good things were usually born from chaos. If she hadn’t killed a bottle of Jose on Karaoke Wednesday last week at the pub—and performed an inebriated but heartfelt rendition of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” in a horrific British accent while dancing like one of Gladys’s pips—she never would have overheard people talking about the manager job at the hotel.
The universe had sent her here for a reason. She should trust that cosmic push and just go with it. Enjoy the journey and stop stressing over the outcome, or some other hippy nonsense that took her out of her ever-Catholic, guilt-ridden head.
