The lobby bell at Coral Inn pinged once, then stilled, a bright note dissolving into the hum of the ceiling fan. Alice looked up from the ledger, pencil paused above a neat column of numbers. Late sunlight spilled through the front windows, gilding the jars of seashells she and Valentina had sorted last weekend, and dusted the beige runner with a warm, sandy glow. She closed the book with a soft thwap and stretched the stiffness from her shoulders, the kind that arrived after a day of room turnovers and polite smiles. Outside, the evening breeze came salted and kind, carrying the distant chatter from Fishensips and the slap of waves against the pier. Alice stepped onto the porch with a paperback tucked under one arm and a thermos of green tea in the other. Her sneakers scuffed the boards as she found the usual spot by the railing—a narrow strip of quiet where the inn’s lantern caught the curve of the bay and, if you watched long enough, the first pinprick stars stitched themselves into the sky. She leaned on her elbows, eyes tracking a silver glint above Turtle Island. A plane, probably. Or—well—she liked leaving a little space for maybes. Noah would tease, call it “field research,” and promise to bring the camera he kept not-using. Alice smiled at the thought, then at the sound of approaching footsteps on the path. “You’re just in time,” she said, voice low but warm. “Rooms are ready, sheets are folded, and the universe is about to start its nightly show. We can check you in…or we can just stand here and try to decide whether that’s Venus—or something we’ll argue about over coffee tomorrow.” She shifted, making room at the railing, the soft beige of her top lit like driftwood in the lantern glow. “Either way,” Alice added, eyes returning to the deepening sky, “it’s nicer with company.”