Glitter Angel

Chapter Three

Brady

My interactions thus far with Miss Taylor just add to her spoiled, entitled actress image. Why did she think that a tiny inn had a bellhop or room service? I almost laughed when she asked about the room service menu. She’s like a fish out of water here. I’m sure she’d be much happier at a posh five-star hotel in a big city, so I can’t help but wonder why she came to a small, family-run inn nestled remotely in the Tennessee mountains.

About an hour after my most recent encounter with Miss Taylor, Willow texts me that she needs my help. I’m knee deep in tinkering with one of the old boilers used to heat the main floor. This old thing has been giving me fits for weeks. I just get it working again, only to have it break down a few days later. I’m about ready to suggest a complete overhaul of the inn’s HVAC system, which will be costly but worth it. The finicky boiler finally fires back to life with my latest repair, and I hurry back to the reception area to see what Willow needs help with.

“What’s up?” I ask as Willow hovers behind the check-in desk. A few guests are sitting in the cozy seating area enjoying the roaring fire, sipping the complimentary hot chocolate, and nibbling on the afternoon snacks. None of them demanded that the refreshments be brought to their rooms.

“Um, Miss Taylor has requested the bellhop come to her room,” Willow says with a teasing grin.

I grunt. “Thanks for dubbing me as the bellhop. I suspect Miss Taylor can keep me busy just handling her multitude of suitcases.” My voice comes out grumpy and I don’t try to hide my frustration of being thrust into the luggage boy position.

Giggling, Willow says, “I couldn’t ask seventy-year-old Jorge to do it, now could I?”

The older gentleman was the maintenance man before I came along. Since he’s such a fixture at the inn, the owners kept him on. He’s slower than molasses, but we all like him, so he’s still here.

Rolling my eyes, I stride to the stairs and up to the actress’s room, wondering what she needs now. Knocking loudly, I wait for only a second before Alexis flings open the door. My eyes scan the room. Clothes are spread out on almost every surface—the bed, the chair in the corner, and the desk. It looks like a tornado hit.

Miss Taylor looks frazzled, and her hair has come out of her ponytail, drooping around her neck, but giving her an adorable, disheveled look. She’s not the beautiful, put-together celebrity from earlier—the woman who probably uses all the hot water in the morning and fills the shower caddy with a multitude of hair products that keep her honey blonde hair so glossy.

She blows out a frustrated breath that puffs up her bangs. “Come in, I need some of these suitcases moved.”

Entering the room, I see that the disorder is even worse than I first thought. She must have unpacked every single case. There’s hardly a place to walk, but I squeeze myself between two open suitcases while trying not to laugh. “Um, where do you want the suitcases moved to?”

“Your storage room! Obviously, they can’t all fit in here,” she says in a huffy voice while wildly flailing her hands towards the disarray.

Knowing that the inn doesn’t have a storage room for use by guests, I pause for a few beats, buying time to carefully formulate a reply. “When are Kay and Jay coming back with the SUVs?”

My snarky reference to the Men in Black characters, brings a fleeting smile to her face, but then she scowls. “They aren’t coming back unless I want to go somewhere, why?”

“I thought we could store the cases in the back of the SUVs.”

Alexis puts her hand on her hip. “Think of another plan Sherlock. Don’t you have a storage room?”

The dusty room in the basement where I was just fiddling with the boiler comes to mind. But when I look at the expensive luggage spread throughout the room, I cast that option aside. “Miss Taylor, this is a small inn. We don’t have a storage room for guest’s personal items. Most people don’t transport the contents of their entire house when they come here.” The instant that my criticism of her excessive packing rolls off my tongue, I regret it.

She tilts her chin up and her eyes shoot daggers at me as she stares me down. “My career and celebrity image requires all these clothes and accessories. This number of suitcases is about half what I usually bring with me,” she says in a haughty tone.

I nod. What can I say to dispute that? Since I don’t live under the scrutiny of the paparazzi, I shouldn’t be judging her so harshly.  That Bible verse from the gospel of John springs into my mind again, ‘Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly.’ I need to not only listen to those words but live by them.

Straightening my shoulders, I say, “How about I stack the empty cases in that corner?”

Her eyes follow my hand as I point to a corner not currently occupied by clothes or suitcases. “Okay,” she says in a small voice.

Alexis gets to work closing the empty cases, while I figure out how to stack them according to size so they won’t topple over. We work together in silence for several minutes until most of the suitcases are neatly stacked and out of the way. The room still looks like a bomb went off, so I say, “Would you like a clothes rack to hang some of that up? We have an extra one you can use. Plus, there should be some space in the closet.”

She gets a relieved look on her beautiful face at my suggestion. “I was wondering where to put all this,” she says with chagrin.

A bark of laughter bubbles out of my throat. “You didn’t consider that when you started unpacking?”

The actress blushes a bright shade of red. “No. I’m known for my spontaneity not my planning.”

We look at each other, then double over in laughter. At least she can make fun of herself.

When the merriment ceases, I respond, “I’ll go get that clothing rack and some extra hangers.”

Alexis smiles broadly. “What’s your name? I feel like we haven’t been properly introduced.”

“Brady Stewart,” I reply and extend my hand. We shake and she gives me a firm handshake, not one of those limp ones. An unexpected tingle runs up my arm. Am I attracted to the snooty actress?

“Alexis Taylor, but my friends call me Lexi.”

Nodding, I turn towards the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

When I close the door behind me, Lexi is already putting some of the clothes in the closet. If she hopes to sleep in the bed tonight, she needs to make progress quickly.

As I stroll off to find that clothing rack I saw last week, my attitude towards Lexi starts to thaw slightly. Maybe she isn’t the spoiled actress I thought she was. But she sure needs a lesson in packing.