Page 4 of Better Than the Beach
“No shit?” I say with a grin, then point to my chest. “I’m an ed major!”
“Oh cool,” Mallory exclaims. “High school?”
“Yeah. History.”
I try to force my voice into something resembling enthusiasm—something that sounds likeI can’t wait to teach about dead people to teenaged assholes—but I think I fail.
“Why don’t you sound excited about that?” she questions playfully, and I laugh.
“Let’s just say my parents are also teachers, and they pay my college tuition.”
I raise a brow, trying to say the rest without actuallysayingit. Mallory nods and takes a deep breath.
“Got it,” she says. “Well, it’s none of my business, but...” She scrunches her nose at me, and I grimace.
“It’s cool. Just say it.”
“Teaching is a labor of love, girl. It’s rewarding and wonderful and necessary, yeah, but it’s not a walk in the park. It’s exhausting in every way possible, and some days the only thing getting me through the week is my passion for my job. Myneedto be in that classroom with those kids. So, if you don’t have that passion...”
She trails off, and I nod, fully understanding what she’s saying. It’s actually something that I worry about a lot.Allthe time.
“I hear you,” I breathe out, and she sends me a small smile before hopping out of the car to brush the snow off the windows.
She works swiftly, and I feel bad I’m not helping, but I might as well be naked compared to her. She’s wearing a parka, scarf, beanie, and gloves, and she’s still shivering.
“Ready?” Mallory asks when she slides back into the driver’s seat.
“Ready!” I chime, and she pulls out of the space.
The drive to Golden from the Denver airport is stressful.
The main roads have been pre-treated and plows are running, but the snow is still falling in thick blankets, so there are times when Mallory has to drive twenty under the speed limit because the visibility is so bad. I’m white-knuckling the sides of my seat, but she’s cool as a cucumber. Used to it, I guess.
After about an hour and a half, Mallory pulls into the driveway of the most beautiful red-brick building. With the Christmas lights twinkling from the eaves, a sparkling Christmas tree shining through one of the bay windows, and white candles glowing from all the others, the Bed and Breakfast is even more magical in person. A tingle of excitement runs down my back.
“It’s so pretty.”
“Right?” Mallory nods with a smile. “Come meet Nan. I called her after my shift when I was getting my stuff. She knows you’re coming.”
I grab my bags from the trunk and make my way up the walkway behind Mallory, thinking warm thoughts, because it’s cold as fuck. She walks in the front door without knocking, and I’m immediately enveloped in warmth and the sound of a crackling fire. I heave a sigh of relief, then get a whiff of spiced apples and peppermint.Christmassmells. My mouth waters, and a smile spreads over my face just as a woman who looks like she couldn’t be more than seventy comes prancing into the foyer to greet us. She’s wearing a pair of red linen pants and a cream cable knit sweater, and her silver-streaked brown hair is pulled back into a loose bun.
“Mallory,” the older woman croons, and pulls Mallory into a quick hug. “Glad you made it safely.” Then she turns her attention to me. “And you must be Cassie. So sorry to hear about your flight, dear, but you can stay here as long as you need.” She steps back and waves us into the house. “Come now before you freeze off your asses.”
“Cassie,” Mallory says with a grin, “meet Amelia Flowersinger of House Montrose, First of her Name, Lady of the Inn, Baker of Pies, Buster of Balls, and Mother to a bunch of wild heathens.”
Amelia laughs and swats Mallory’s shoulder.
“Your father is one of the wildest, child, and I dare say you take after him.”
“I’m an angel,” Mallory says and sends me a wink before looking back at her grandmother. “I can’t stay, Nan. I gotta get home before the ice hits, but thanks for letting Cassie crash here.” She leans over and gives the woman another tight hug. “We’ll come check on you in a day or so once the roads are clear.”
“Or maybe I’ll come check on you,” Amelia says with a wry grin.
“Oh no, you won’t,” Mallory scolds, finger pointed at her grandmother. “We don’t want you driving that snowmobile without one of us anymore, Nan. You promised.”
Amelia rolls her eyes and waves Mallory off, then sends me a mischievous grin.
“You take out one mailbox...”
