Skylar set a cup of chamomile tea on the island counter and decided against telling Claire she looked like a zombie. “Sit and sip.”
“I should—”
“Nope. It’s break time. No ‘shoulds’ for the next ten minutes. Everything is under control. Dishwashers are running. Guests are doing their own thing. Tomorrow’s breakfast is all prepped. I will put milk, tea, and cookies on the buffet at nine.”
Claire sighed, slid onto a stool, and wrapped her hands around the cup. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Sure.” Skylar wiped a dish towel across the countertop. “So Danny says you want to take up pipe smoking.”
Claire groaned.
Skylar chuckled. When Danny told her that, his mood had actually been mellow. So mellow, in fact, she thanked him for his help with bringing dirty dishes in from the sala. His mouth twitch had escalated to smile status. Briefly, but for real.
She folded up the towel and looked at a decidedly non–movie star version of Claire Beaumont. “Claire,” she said, “are you having a good time yet?”
“A good time?” Claire squinted in thought. “Well, honestly, I . . . No, I don’t think so.”
“It’s only your first night.”
“Yeah.” There was not a hopeful note in her mumble.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why did you and Max start this business?”
Claire sighed. “In a nutshell, we desperately needed a new life. After thirty-some years of growing apart, we were either going to divorce or grow back together.”
“That’s heavy. No middle ground to shoot for?”
She shook her head. “Middle ground was a dead end. Ages ago, when we fell in love, we imagined a shared life of helping others by helping them find work. That turned into his one-man show while my show became kids and the home.”
“It’s a common scenario.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right. Anyway, Ben and Indio created the Hacienda Hideaway when she retired from nursing. It was low-key. Advertising was word-of-mouth and local. After the fire came through here, they didn’t want to start all over. Max and I saw it as a perfect opportunity for us to start over in all ways.”
A faraway expression came over Claire’s face. She stopped talking for a long moment.
“The thing is, what Max and I learned during our rough time was that we didn’t offer each other an emotionally safe harbor. We should have been a place of retreat for each other, a relationship that offered peace and restoration.” Her eyes focused back on Skylar. “That’s why we started this. We wanted to create a safe respite where people could retreat from whatever and be healed. Or at least strengthened and encouraged.”
A tight feeling crept from Skylar’s chest into her throat. Startled at a rare desire to cry, she ground her teeth together and willed it away.
Claire said, “Does any of that make sense?”
Skylar nodded and swallowed with way too much difficulty. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “The thing is, well, it’s not the wallpaper that makes a safe harbor.” Again she had to set her jaw and tamp down the buildup of tears.
“What do you mean?”
“In the twenty-four hours I’ve been here, I’ve watched you fluff pillows, line dresser drawers with scented paper, color coordinate towels and sheets, replan meals, and arrange flowers. You’ve created an unbelievably comfortable, homey ambience.”
“Thanks.” Claire tilted her head. “There’s a ‘but’ in your voice.”
“But all that is not the safe harbor.” Skylar leaned forward, her forearms on the countertop, her tone urgent. “Earlier I saw you with the cleaning women and the construction guys. You treated them like they were family. Then tonight with the guests you went all stiff, like you’ve blended in with the wallpaper, like you’re just part of the décor.”
“I want them to feel like this is home for them for the next couple days.”
“Claire, there is no home without personality. You’re the personality. You’re the safe harbor.”
Surprise registered on the woman’s face. “Really?”
Skylar nodded.
Claire grabbed a napkin from a nearby holder and held it to her eyes. Skylar gazed around the room, biting her tongue.
At last Claire looked at her with red eyes. “Hon, I’m quite sure we’re not paying you what you’re worth.”
The term of endearment struck Skylar like a blow to the solar plexus. Or maybe Claire Beaumont’s very own, thousand-watt grin was to blame.
Either way, life at the hacienda had just gotten way too complicated.