The second night on the floor wasn't particularly better than the first. In fact, it may have been exponentially worse. Rising like Frankenstein's monster, I groaned with the ache in my stiff muscles, before twisting and stretching to relieve the kinks in my back and neck. Once on my feet, I tossed a wary glance towards the bed, but decided it was not the time to muddle over the ghost in the room. I needed aspirin, a hot shower, and a strong cup of coffee. Most importantly, though, I needed to track down Jordan and figure out how much time I had before guests arrived.

After washing away the restless night, I threw on a pair of jeans and a cozy turtleneck before heading down the stairs. All was quiet in the foyer, except for the ticking of a grandfather clock that sat about midway down the long corridor. To the left was the kitchen, and I trudged through the dark wood door that closed it off from the guests' view.

Thankfully, with the Hound and Sparrow being a bed-and-breakfast, coffee was in abundant supply. It also meant there were several coffee makers at the ready to brew steaming pots of whatever my heart desired. To my surprise, though, not only was there one hot pot of rich hazelnut waiting for me, but also a box of donuts with a single pastry missing. For a moment, I wondered if Jordan left them out for me to enjoy, but when I noticed a mug sitting beside the box with the words "#1 Boss" emblazoned on it, there was little doubt on the matter.

I debated finding myself a different mug just to spite him, but decided to roll with it. I might as well enjoy the power and authority while I still had it. As I was sipping my coffee and pulling out a jelly filled donut for myself, I heard boots marching down the hall, their step irregular as if something burdened them.

"Good morning." I stepped out of the kitchen to find Jordan in the foyer with a simple easel and a large chalkboard. "Thank you for the donuts."

"Sure thing, boss." He smiled and gave me a wink, his eyes focused on the mug in my hand. "Glad to see you're warming up to the title."

"Just for now," I said with a pinch of my brow. "I'm leaving the moment I find someone."

"Guess it's too bad you haven't found an enthusiastic college student studying hospitality who's familiar with the area... oh wait."

"When are guests arriving?" I asked, crossing my arms and tapping my foot.

"Well," he said, placing the chalkboard on the easel and giving it a read, "Danica and Harvey Musgrave, Elizabeth and Vernon Fields, and Alan and Howard Beckett, will arrive sometime around their four o'clock check-in."

I stepped farther into the foyer and joined up beside him to look at the board on display beside the table with the guest book and the picture of my aunt and me. On the board in curvy, elegant text was a welcome sign that greeted everyone by name, though the last names were actually absent. Under their names was the promise of hot cocoa and cookies later that night, as well as the name of the movie we'd be playing in the living room at eight o'clock.

"That's a nice touch," I said with a slight smile. "Very cute."

"Being a small inn, we can do these little personal touches."

"So is this a full house or..."

"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Come on, follow me to the dining room." Despite holding the boss mug, I allowed him his command and did as I was told. We walked down to the front of the foyer, going left through a small sitting room before entering the lengthy dining room.

"We have five rooms in the inn." He pulled out a seat for me at the end of the table, where a stack of papers and folders were already waiting for us. He took the chair across from me and continued. "They do range in size. We have one room that rivals yours, two medium-sized rooms, and two small rooms that pretty much fit just a full-sized bed and a dresser."

He shifted through some papers and, upon finding a particular sheet, he handed it over for me to look at.

"Sorry, I could never convince Gina to go digital. She just felt more comfortable having all her paperwork in her hands. This is the guest sheet for the week. They always start on Fridays, since that's when we usually start with a fresh set of guests. No one ever really comes midweek and stays through the weekend, though it does happen, particularly during holidays. You'll see for this week, we have the guests for the other two rooms coming tomorrow. Our weekend guests will all be gone by Tuesday and we've got a couple of guests coming during the week to take advantage of our weekday rates."

I nodded as I looked over the sheet. Then he handed me a thick folder held together by a rubber band.

"These are the guest sheets for the rest of the reservations we have. And these," he pulled out an even thicker folder held together by two rubber bands, "are the actual reservations. It includes the obvious information of what room they're staying in, how much they owe, etc, but also if they have any food allergies or preferences for their stay. So you'll need to review these. For now, at least, I've set up everyone's room. We also don't have any food concerns to worry about for tomorrow morning's breakfast."

He then pulled out another folder, a lot thinner than the others, along with a worn out binder.

"This is the breakfast schedule, and this is Gina's collection of recipes. As you've heard, we always ordered our pastries from a local shop, but she used to make homemade breakfast sausage, amazing omelettes, and crispy hash browns. So long as she didn't have to have exact measurements to make things taste good, she was a wiz in the kitchen."

"Can't say I'm the same..."

"That's fine. No one comes in knowing what the breakfast will be, so use the schedule as you can. Otherwise, we can do whatever you feel comfortable with. I mean, if you can make pies, surely you can make pancakes."

"Yes, I can make pancakes," I mumbled as I flipped through the recipes.

"As for cleaning the rooms, we'll get to that tomorrow. I don't want to overburden you."

"Too late," I groaned, "and you wonder why I want to sell."

He glanced at me from the side of his narrowed eyes, his lips thin as he chewed on his words. In the end, he chose to sidestep that conversation.

"There's one more thing I want you to look at." He pulled out the last sheet on the table. "This is the schedule of town events for the rest of the year. We use this mainly to advertise on the board and to notify the guests at breakfast, but there's one event you should pay attention to."

He pointed to a date a little under three weeks away, making it about one week before Christmas. Highlighted in bright green was the title for the event, "Hereford Hills Annual Christmas Lights Competition."

"I take it it's some sort of lighting and decoration contest. Like to see who can fit the most inflatables in their yard?"

"Inflatables rarely win unless you're clever with them." He answered in a tone far more serious than I expected. "The point is, this competition is a town-wide event, one that is heavily marketed by the chamber of commerce and the town's council. There's a residential competition and then there's a commercial competition."

"Oh, no." I looked over at him, my head shaking. "You're not telling me I have to decorate this giant house?"

"I have always done the lights and the rigging, but Gina came up with the design and made a lot of the decorations, and..."

"I have a job, you know!" I smacked the sheet back onto the table with the flat of my hand. "I can't deal with finding a host, tending to the basic needs of this place, and performing my actual job all at the same time. How do you expect me to do this on top of all that?"

"Well, this isn't specifically advertised on the website." He sighed and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair before pressing his elbows against the edge of the table and leaning in. "No one's forcing you to do this. It will, however, earn you some scorn from the town council. They can make your life a living hell by forcing your hand on other matters they have more control over."

"Oh?" I asked with a raised brow.

"Town covenant." He shook his head with a shrug, as if that answered everything. "Sometimes it really is frustrating to work with them, but their stringent rules keep the town beautiful and safe. We need that to bring in the tourists and the paychecks that come with them. However, although this is a major event for the town—one that draws in thousands of people every Christmas season—there's a buy-in which funds the prize money. They can't enforce something that costs money to do and they always are forgiving when they know a business is down on its luck. However, Gina already paid when she registered in the summer, so they may not be so understanding."

"Why do I care? I won't be around to feel their wrath."

"I suppose so," he said with a sigh, "but think about it. It's a big deal to a lot of people here and many of us are struggling with the fact we didn't know last year's display was also Gina's last. It would really help a lot of people move on if we could see Gina's final design."

"How am I supposed to know what her design would have been?" I growled the words, my fingers reaching up to massage the frustration out through my temples. It seemed everyone thought I had some direct, mystical line with the great aunt I never knew about and that she was somehow channeling through me.

"She kept a journal," he answered, ignoring my exasperation. "It was a personal journal, so I never got a good look at it, but I often saw her sketching and drawing up diagrams in it. She always referenced it when we were setting things up. If you can find that journal, then you'll likely find designs already planned out in there. Really, you just need to show them to me and I can do it all on my own."

I immediately thought of the leather-bound book I found in the desk, but I thought better than to tell Jordan about it. Instead, I shifted my weight and studied the pained expression marring his rugged face.

"I'll look into it." Distrust darkened his countenance, and he looked on the verge of protest, but I held a hand up to stop him. "I really will look for it, but for now, let's focus on today. I know you are supposed to be with your family since you helped me yesterday. And..." I paused and looked at all the paperwork in front of me as well as the mug of coffee warming my hand. "And I know you've done a lot of work this morning to get things prepared for me. I appreciate all you've done to help me. I may give you a hard time, but you clearly loved my aunt and you're a hard worker. That's something I really admire."

"It's not hard work if you love what you're doing. I'm happy to help because I'm happy to still be in the house. I'm happy to see Gina's memory isn't gone yet."

Despite his repeated use of the word, happy wasn't what I'd call his expression. Stiff, frustrated, hurt. I pulled my eyes away and instead looked at the files, which I began to stack and organize. He was the first to break that silence.

"Is it the same for you? Are you happy doing what you're doing?"

I tried to ignore the question, but I couldn't suppress the shrug of my shoulders.

"Why are you doing it, then? What do you get from it? What do you even do?"

"I manage stock portfolios." I rose to my feet and gathering the folders in my arms. "It..." I started to explain why I was doing it, but though the answer was an obvious one to me, it was not one I could easily explain.

The simple answer was money. However, when Jordan already pegged me as a modern day female Scrooge, telling him it was money that got me into the stock trade wouldn't help my standing with him. But, it was money that brought me to my career. It wasn't about greed or materialistic desire, though. It was for safety. The more money I had, the safer I could be. I didn't have parents or loved ones who could bail me out if cancer struck or a car crash left me immobile. I didn't have anyone to take me in if I was laid off or found myself down on my luck. As horrible as it was, money was the only thing that could comfort me at night, to tell me it was all going to be okay. Knowing I could afford to take care of myself if the worst found me was all my grandmother wanted for me. She knew I had to walk this road alone once she passed away. Her guidance towards a secure financial future was the only companion she could find to replace herself once she was gone. The only thing that could hold my hand and lead me along the way.

"I don't know why I chose that job," I finally answered, still unable to look him in the eye.

"I can take a guess." The feet of his chair scraped against the floor as he rose to his feet. "To each their own. I suppose we'll never understand each other."

He then walked around the table and headed for the foyer. He paused just before entering the sitting room, looking back and drawing my eyes to him.

"I'll be here by check-in. They may arrive a little before then, they often do, but everything is taken care of. You just need to welcome them."

"I can do that," I answered, my voice a tad raspy. "Thank you for your help and... have a happy Thanksgiving with your family."

"Thanks." He answered with a nod of his head and then disappeared into the foyer. The click of the door marked his departure, leaving me alone in the quiet of the manor.