He checked his silver pocket watch, a quick, practiced flick of his thumb, but his eyes never left mine.
“The reservation is all set,” I said, my words tumbling out in a single breath. “My father said it was a standard double room on the ground floor because Lily gets dizzy on stairs.”
“We have prepared the Oceanfront Suite on the fourth floor instead,” Mr. Harper said, sliding a heavy brass key across the polished wood. “With our compliments.”
I stared at the key, my hand freezing on the canvas strap of my duffel bag.
“We cannot afford an upgrade,” I said quickly. “My father was very specific about the rate. Two hundred and forty dollars a night.”
“The rate has been fully covered,” Mr. Harper said.
A sudden prickle of anxiety hit the back of my neck, cold and sharp.
Ben tugged on my sleeve, his fingers sticky from the orange slices we had eaten in the car.
In his other hand, he clutched a single blue ocean shell he had found in the glove box of our beat-up blue sedan.
“Is there a balcony, Mommy?” he asked.
“We are staying on the ground floor, Ben,” I said, looking back at Mr. Harper. “There must be a mistake.”
