The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(22)
“This is too fancy.”
“I know,” I say. “But is there anything you like from this design?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
I hand him the second board. This design resembles the inside of a Bass Pro Shops store, with lodgepole pine, striped wool blankets on the bed, and a campground vibe. It’s more outdoorsy than the first one, but I think he’ll find it too rustic.
“This is more deer camp than summer camp,” Mason says. “But I like this direction a little better. The bedding is cool.”
The third design is an eclectic mix of tile, wood, and textiles meant to feel like the first day at a lake house that’s been in the family for generations. The ceiling lights are chandeliers, but the bedding is the same Hudson’s Bay style as the last design. The sleeper sofas are made from durable fabric with throw pillows that look like they were made by someone’s grandma. The lamps are mismatched, and the artwork looks like it might have been unearthed from someone’s attic. It’s not even remotely summer camp, but as his eyes rove the design, I find myself holding my breath.
“This is not what I was expecting,” Mason says, and I’m afraid that I’ve struck out until he looks up and gives me the biggest smile. “But this is exactly right.”
Hearts don’t literally skip a beat, but I do feel a sensation in my chest. Less anxiety, more kick drum. A visceral response to that smile. To him. I sit down suddenly, hoping none of this is being telegraphed across my face. I do not want to be attracted to my boss, but I am. “I, um—I thought this would appeal equally to men on fishing trips and women doing girls’ weekends with friends. I wanted it to feel like—”
“Home.”
I nod, feeling the thread of excitement that connects us. “Exactly.”
“It reminds me of when my grandparents owned the house,” he says. “They had stacks of old National Geographic magazines everywhere, board games from when my dad was a kid … How do we make this happen?”
“Well, I don’t think we need custom beds.” I circle some prices on my budget sheet, happy for the distraction. “But we should prioritize quality mattresses, sleeper sofas, and blackout curtains, because this is a hotel and not someone’s guest room.”
“I agree.”
“Since all the cabins will be different, we can probably get deals on discontinued kitchen cabinets and maybe granite remnants for countertops. And as far as the decorating goes, I figured I would spend the next couple of months scouring thrift stores, estate sales, antique shops, and eBay for unique pieces.”
Mason nods, studying the design. “Okay. Yeah. I like that.”
“I know the industrial look is kind of a trend in taprooms,” I continue. “But if the cabins are the bedroom of the property, then the taproom should be an extension of that. It should feel like the living room. People should want to sit. They should want to stay.”
“That makes sense.”
“And while we’re on the subject, you should seriously reconsider putting beer taps in the cabins.”
His head jerks up, his eyes registering surprise as they meet mine. “That was the whole point of the hotel.”
“I know,” I say. “But what do you think is going to happen when a bunch of people have a keg in their bedroom?”
Mason is quiet for a beat. Then: “It’s going to end up … everywhere.”
“Bingo.”
“So what do you propose?”
“Wristbands,” I say. “If someone is wearing one in the taproom, we know they’re a guest of legal drinking age and their drinks are free. We could incorporate an RFID chip that also unlocks their cabin doors, but a plain waterproof wristband would work as well.”
He blows out a slow breath as he runs his fingers up through his hair. “I need some time to think about this.”
“I really don’t mean to be a killjoy,” I say. “But instead of holing up in their individual cabins, our guests should be encouraged to congregate in the taproom, where they can meet one another, get to know the locals, and have a good time without ruining the rooms. We’ll save money on cleaning and on beer, because only the most hard-core drinkers would ever be able to kill a keg. Instead of tapping each cabin, we’ll tap only what we need.”
“Those are all solid points,” Mason says. “But you just torpedoed my dreams, so I’m going to need a few days to get over it.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Book club is Thursday and I’m a few chapters behind.”
CHAPTER 8
Merak
Serbian
“the pursuit of small pleasures every day, which all add up to a feeling of contentment, fulfillment, and oneness with the larger purpose and the universe”
My relationship with my body is complicated, and I’m fully aware that relationship doesn’t make me special, unique, or unlike millions of other women in the world. I want to embrace body acceptance, but sometimes I also want to be thinner. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only woman who feels this way, but it’s still complicated. Especially having grown up with Anna for a sister.
As a little girl, I wanted to be as noticeable as her. She was this little pixie of a person with nearly white hair, freckles, and big blue eyes. She looked like she could grant all your wishes if you believed in her hard enough. Mom was careful not to compare us, but Dad would brag about his beautiful baby girl and joke how lucky I was to be the smart one. Except, Anna is every bit as smart as I am, and I don’t need to lose weight to be beautiful. Admittedly, our dad was kind of a dick. He may have left a long time ago, but his small damages have endured.