Page 38 of Snowed Inn

I watch in awe as she scrubs, polishes, disinfects, and replaces towels in record time. Then she moves on to the bedroom, stripping beds with practiced efficiency, wiping down every surface in sight, and vacuuming. It’s like watching a very intense, very clean Olympic sport.

By the time she’s done, the room looks like a magazine spread. I, meanwhile, am still processing step one.

Mila gives me an encouraging little grin. “You got all that?”

“Definitely,” I say, nodding like a liar.

Five hours and three rooms later, I regret everything. This job is brutal. My back is aching, my arms feel like jelly, and I have a newfound respect for anyone who does this for a living. I’d rather handle a dozen celebrities throwing PR tantrums than scrub another shower.

Mila came and got me for lunch. We ate quickly downstairs in the official employee break room around the corner from the front desk. Then, we stopped by the big laundry room to load up on linens. I took a tall stack back up with me. While we were there, I witnessed Pumpkin staring at one of the dryers. According to El, he waits for his original set of orange PJs to be washed and dried even while wearing an identical back-up set. I’m not sure I fully believed the story until I got to see it myself. That’s one quirky dog. I made a mental note to tell Charlotte to get that behavior on social media because if there’s anything a social media audience loves, it’s puppy quirk. He’s sure to get even more followers after his laundry vigil gets out.

I didn’t have long to sit around, however, because there were two more rooms waiting for me after lunch.

At around three, I step into the hallway and nearly collapse with relief when Charlotte finds me.

“The rooms look great,” she says. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, fantastic,” I say, wiping actual sweat from my forehead. “I’m considering making this my full-time career.”

Charlotte laughs. “I owe you one. If you ever need me to do damage control for a Hollywood scandal, I’m there.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

That’s when I notice a cart full of fresh flowers behind her.

“These are for the guests,” Charlotte explains, lifting a vase. “We’re trying to keep them extra happy. Some of them look like they’re about to stage a coup. Thank goodness the florist made it through the snow.”

“Nice.” I remember getting fresh flowers in my room when I was a guest here last fall. Flowers and super delicious chocolate chip cookies. “Who’s bringing the cookies?” I ask, half joking.

“Jesse.”

I blink. “Seriously? Jesse is delivering cookies?”

Charlotte nods. “He volunteered. Last I checked, Sera was just finishing them up. We’re giving each room extra cookies too.”

Before I can respond, the stairwell door swings open and Jesse strides in, carrying a bag presumably filled with tons of cookies.

He stops the second he sees me, taking in my disheveled state—sweatshirt, apron, gloves, exhaustion.

“Cleaning rooms, Agostini?” There’s a teasing glint in his eye, but no judgment. Possibly even a little respect.

I straighten my shoulders like the proud little peacock I am. “That’s right.”

A spark of admiration flickers across his face. “Impressive.”

I roll my eyes, but for some reason, that one word—impressive—lingers. And somehow I glow with even more pride. And not a little smugness because I totally wanted him to know I did this.

Charlotte grabs the cookies and offers Jesse a different task. “I could really use your help downstairs. Something’s wrong with the heating vent in the lobby.”

“Yeah?” Concern edges into Jesse’s voice. “What’s the problem?”

“I don’t know. Miller’s trying to figure it out, but no luck so far.”

Without hesitation, Jesse nods. “I’ll take a look.”

I watch as he turns and heads down the stairs, when the realization hits me—Jesse doesn’t have to help. His job is the bar. And yet, he’s stepping in and making sure things keep running smoothly. First, with the burst pipe last night, then the cookies, and now the heating vent.

He’s doing it without complaints. Just quietly pitching in where he’s needed. I can’t picture any of my exes being this considerate.