I thought you said he was gone. I thought so, too. Claire dragged her suitcase into Harbor Light Inn and told herself this was brave, not sad. Definitely not the beginning of a documentary about poor decisions. She checked in under a reservation still labeled honeymoon.
Then she turned. Mason Reed, her single dad neighbor from three doors down, was sitting in the lobby with Lily, drinking coffee like Maine had personally invited him. Clare stopped. Mason looked up, then toward the restaurant, then back at her. He smiled.
Clare knew that smile. It meant he knew something inconvenient. What? Mason took another sip. Your ex is already here.
Clare stared at him. She had come to Maine to escape the wreckage of her canceled wedding. Apparently, the wreckage had checked in first. Clare's first instinct was to leave. Her second was to remember she had already paid for five nights, two excursions, and a roommate that suggested the mattress had attended private school, so she stayed.
The woman at the front desk handed her a key card. Enjoy your honeymoon, Mrs. Walker. Clare stopped. Bennett. The woman blinked.
I'm sorry. Clareire Bennett. She tapped the reservation. It still says Walker. Of course it does.
Mason covered a smile with his coffee. Clare looked at him. You're enjoying this a little. Lily leaned over the arm of her chair. Dad said we shouldn't laugh at people when they're upset.
Mason looked at his daughter. I said we shouldn't laugh loudly. That's worse. Clare said. A bellman appeared beside her suitcase carrying a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne inside.
Compliments of the inn for the newlyweds. Clare stared at the bottle. Mason stared at Clare. Lily looked delighted. Clare took the champagne.
The newlyweds are going through a difficult scheduling issue. The bellman hesitated. Keep the bottle. Clare added. Loads the congratulations.
10 minutes later, she opened the door to room 314 and found rose petals arranged across the bed in the shape of a heart. She closed the door, opened it again. The heart remained. Apparently, denial had limits. Her wedding had been cancelled 10 days before it was supposed to happen.
Most people, Clare assumed, would have canled the honeymoon, too. Clare had tried. The flights were partly refundable. The inn was not. The whale tour offered credit good for 12 months.
The carriage ride offered sympathy but no refund. 3 hours after making spreadsheets about cancellation fees. Clare had closed her laptop and decided she was going. She had planned the trip. She had paid for half of it.
Maine had done nothing wrong. That had sounded very reasonable in Boston. It sounded less reasonable. While standing beside a bed decorated for a marriage that did not exist, Clare called the front desk. Could someone remove the rose petals?
Of course, Mrs. Walker. Bennett. A pause. Of course, Ms. Bennett. And leave the champagne.
Another pause. Certainly. There. Healing. 20 minutes later, Clare returned to the lobby with the itinerary she had printed, highlighted, and reorganized twice.