Page 8 of Sweeter than Honey

For some reason, a feeling of disappointment blooms in my chest. “Of course, Ms. Espina.”

She catches the note of defeat in my voice and gives me a curious look. But she doesn’t address it. “If you could review the upcoming wedding details and have a full summary on my desk by midnight, that would be excellent.”

I nod, and she disappears into her office. With a sigh, I turn back to my computer. All this before I’ve even had my coffee! I know there are lots of people who think I’m crazy for working for a family of vampires. But it certainly keeps me on my toes.

And ever since I met Renata Espina…well, nobody else has ever made me feel this way. Every time I’m in her presence, my stomach flutters and my heart beats quickly in my chest. She’s just so…commanding. Powerful. Confident.

I admire her deeply.

That’s what it is. Admiration. I wish I could be more like her. My whole life, I’ve always been a little awkward. The quiet one, the one who’d rather be a supporting player than a main character. My sister was the star child, beautiful, good at everything. I was more than happy to take a back seat.

And I’m so proud of my work as an executive assistant, especially to someone like Renata Espina. It’s impossible not to be impressed by her. Of course I get a little flustered when she’s around. Wouldn’t anybody?

When I cover the night shift, I work shorter hours so I can get home and get some sleep before the day starts. I send off one final email and say goodbye to Renata, who’s so focused on the report on her computer that she barely looks up at me.

I exit through the hotel lobby. It’s quiet now, late at night, and there’s only one concierge on duty. A few guests are seated in the lobby, enjoying a glass of champagne under the beautiful chandelier.

As I pass them, I notice the couple that I met earlier tonight, the ones that I had relocated to the honeymoon suite after Mrs. Harrigan insisted on staying in their suite. They spot me, and immediately wave me over.

“I’m so glad we saw you!” one of them says, putting a hand to her heart. “We want to thank you so much for upgrading us. Our room is absolutelybreathtaking!”

“It’s bigger than our condo,” her new husband says with a chuckle.

“And the dinner, oh my god, I’m never going to need to eat again!” laughs his new wife, a genuine expression of gratitude on her face.

“Thank you for making this stay so special.” He gives her a loving look.

She matches his gaze. “Yes, it means so much to us.”

I’m touched by the moment between them. “It was our pleasure! Congratulations again, and if you need anything else, please call for the concierge and they would be more than happy to assist you.”

“We will,” they say. “Thank you!”

With a nod to the night porter, I exit the lobby. I’m glad that I was able to turn things around for that couple. In the hospitality industry, that’s what we call the paradox of service. If you stay at a hotel and nothing happens, it’s fine, but you don’t really remember it. If something really good happens, or something reallybadhappens, that stays in your mind. And even though we neverwantanything bad to happen for our guests, if it does, it’s an opportunity to demonstrate to them how we can make it up to them. And those tend to be the best customer service moments, and the ones that guests remember. It’s a paradox, but one I’ve learned to navigate in the past year and a half.

There’s a little chill in the air on this early June evening, and I pull my cardigan tightly around me. As I walk to the bus stop, I can’t helpbut feel a little bittersweet pang as I think about the love in those newlywed’s eyes. They seemed to truly care for each other, but marriage is so complicated. It seems wonderful and promising when it starts, but it’s hard to know who someone really is until you’re experiencing life together.

I feel a little wistful on my bus ride home. I doze off for a moment and almost miss my stop. When I turn the key to my apartment door, I’m ready for bed. But the final surprise of the night is waiting for me.

My apartment is small, so I immediately spot my five-year-old son sitting on the couch, surrounded by a pile of pony dolls. His pale skin is flushed pink, and his straw-blond hair sticks up at all angles. He grips a tiny pink pony in his arms like it’s a life raft.

“Eli! What are you doing up?” I quickly kick off my shoes and toss my purse on the kitchen table as I rush over to him. I move some of the ponies aside so I can sit beside him on the couch, and I take him in my arms. He clutches onto me sleepily.

“I had a bad dream,” he says. I can hear the tears in his voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I reply, rubbing his back. “Why didn’t you wake grandma up?”

“No,” he replies.

“No?”

He nestles his tiny head into the crook of my arm. “She just…yells.”

I sigh. “Well, I’m going to talk to her about that, ok? But for now, let’s get you back to bed.”

“Mama’s bed?”

“No, honey, you’ve got to sleep in your big-boy bed.”