can’t tell whether he actually adds it, or just pretends to.
“Enjoy your first day,” Hazel says. “Come on, Granddad, let’s get some ice cream.”
Dr. Baxter has been quietly leaning on his granddaughter’s arm while we talk, but Hazel’s voice seems to shake him out of his reverie. He focuses on me again, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come, Allison.”
Hazel clucks her tongue. “Granddad, that’s not Allison. You’re confused.” She offers us a smile and wave before steering him toward the café behind us. “See you around.”
Aubrey stares after them as they disappear into the café. “Well, that was strange,” she says. Then she hitches her backpack over her shoulder, grabs the handle of her suitcase, and starts toward Hurley Street. I pause, eyeing my suitcases, until Jonah heaves a deep sigh and grabs hold of the two big ones.
“Can you handle the rest, princess?” he asks over his shoulder as he drags them across the cobblestones.
“Yes,” I mutter ungraciously. I would’ve thanked him without the princess comment.
* * *
—
“Whoa,” Jonah says when our taxi driver pulls to a stop.
Gull Cove Resort is on the opposite side of the island from the ferry dock, or we never could’ve missed it. The architecture is Victorian mansion meets modern luxury beach spa, which works a lot better than you’d think. It’s also the biggest building I’ve seen here so far, four stories high and I don’t know how many rooms across. The paint is pristine white, the flowering shrubs are perfectly shaped and bursting with color, and the grass is impossibly green. Even the driveway feels smooth and newly paved.
“Enjoy your stay,” the driver says, getting out of the cab so he can help pull our suitcases from the trunk. “Gonna be a long one, huh?”
I hand him a ten-dollar bill for our seven-dollar ride. “You could say that.”
Aubrey is consulting her phone. “We’re supposed to pick up registration packets in Edward Franklin’s office,” she reports. “First floor, near the lobby.”
“Let’s leave this crap here,” Jonah says, dragging all the suitcases and duffels off to one side. He rolls his eyes at my dubious expression. “Oh, come on. Rooms here start at eight hundred dollars a night. Nobody’s taking your stuff.”
“Shut up,” I grumble, grabbing my laptop bag and brushing past him toward the front door. Every time Jonah opens his mouth, I wonder if this entire summer was a mistake.
A smiling concierge in the spacious, airy lobby directs us to Edward Franklin’s office. We pass the elevators and turn down a narrow hallway with plush carpeting. I’m so busy looking at the framed photographs hanging on the walls—eager for a glimpse of my grandmother, or maybe even my mother, among the smiling guests—that I nearly bump into Aubrey when she stops short. “Hello?” she calls, rapping on a door. “Is this where we get orientation stuff?”
“It is,” calls a cheerful voice. “Come in, come in.”
We step into a small office dominated by a large walnut desk. A smiling man sits behind it, surrounded by haphazardly stacked folders. He has Draco Malfoy white-blond hair swept to one side, and he’s wearing a crisp white shirt and a tie patterned with bright-blue fish. “Hello, and please excuse the mess,” he says. “We’re a little disorganized at the moment.”
“You must be Edward,” I say.
It’s a logical assumption, given that he’s sitting in Edward’s office. But Friendly Draco shakes his head. “I am not. I’m Carson Fine, head of hospitality for Gull Cove Resort. Doing double duty until we find Edward’s replacement.”
“His what?” I frown. “He’s not here?”
“He left two days ago,” Carson says. “Bit of an abrupt departure, but don’t worry. The summer hire program continues without him. I just need your names, please.”
“Milly Story-Takahashi, Aubrey Story, and Jonah Story,” I say.
Carson’s hands pause over his keyboard. “Really? Did you guys know you have the same last name as the resort’s owner? What a coincidence. I don’t think we’ve ever had another Story here before, and now we’ve got three of you.” His blue eyes crinkle. “Too bad you’re not related, huh?”
Jonah clears his throat as Aubrey and I exchange startled glances. How can this guy not know who we are? It seems like the sort of thing people would talk about here, even if they’re not running the summer hire program. “We are related,” I say. “We’re her grandchildren.”
“Right, wouldn’t that be nice,” Carson chuckles. When no one else cracks a smile, his vanishes.