Hidden deep within the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, weaving between ancient oaks and evergreens, there’s a lonely, winding road. It wears no speed limit indicators or paint to divide the lanes, and it’s starting to crack as the forest threatens to reclaim it. Closely, it hugs the curvature of the mountains as it steadily ascends into the heavens.

Along the path, thick foliage rustles as a lazy, humid breeze blows through. Cicadas sing a seasonal song, and songbirds serenade themselves sweetly. The unkempt vegetation makes for a good insulator, so it’s secluded and quiet, aside from the occasional branch snapping from nearby forest animals.

The cracked asphalt trails up the hill and finally ends at the cliff’s edge. At the end of the road, a wayward teenager stands and curiously stares at a peculiar pink building that hangs off the mountainside. Somehow, he’s found himself looking for this thing.

In one hand, he cradles a well-loved skateboard, and in the other, he holds a phone just below eye level. His eyes plunge down to view a picture that he had taken from his journey here; it’s an old advertisement showing off the bold, geometric, and delightfully retro building. At the corner of the screen, it reads: Find what you’ve been looking for at Heart Hollow.

In the picture, the building sports a tidy clapboard, stone, and wood exterior, with tall windows that reflect the brilliant blue sky. It wears sculpted shrubbery with carefully placed flowerbeds featuring pink and white roses. However, the focal point of the image is, undoubtedly, the porte cochère. It juts out from the front of the building, inviting guests to park their cars and enter the brilliant double doors that feature a pink and purple radial boom in stained glass. 

His eyes dart back up towards the very same building as he stands before it. It generally looks the same, except the grass is wild, the shrubbery is overgrown, and the sidewalks crack around tree roots. Oh, and the windows are covered in dirt, and the exterior could use a serious power washing. Hell, even the roof shingles are worn, discolored, and out of place. Clearly, nobody is doing any upkeep or maintenance around here.

The teenager lets out an exhausted sigh and says, “what a dump,” as he pushes his thick auburn bangs out of his face so they stop sticking to his forehead. He hoists his heavy backpack up his toned shoulders and begins the final trek towards the great pink monument in the mountainside. As he approaches the building, he eyes the discolored and mildly damaged heart-shaped sign that reads: Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort.

He traverses under the shade of the porte cochère and admires the artwork on the double-doors. Melted into the glass, different hues of pink and purple jut out from the steel handles. This place seemingly loves its love theme, because even the door handles are poised in a heart shape. He lets out a smirk as he reads a handwritten sign that hangs on the leftmost door: Please use other door.

So, he pulls on the right side of the heart, and as the door swings open, he’s immediately hit by  a wretched scent; judging by the dark water stains in the matted, off-pink shag carpeting at his feet, he must be smelling mold. He tries to not let this distract him as he gazes upon the lobby.

Right off the bat, this whole place is ridiculously tacky and outdated. Beat up mid-century modern furniture fills the seating area at the front of the lobby, although nobody’s sitting there. The scuffed walls are painted this moody, deep purple, and the floors wear that tacky shag carpet. Every surface he lays eyes on appears to be matted, stained, or discolored in some way. This place has clearly been rotting here for a long, long time, and everything feels sort of grimy because of that.

Suddenly, it hits him at how silent it is. It’s eerie, actually, because it makes him feel like he shouldn’t be here. If not for the lack of vandalism and the abundant electricity, this place would scream abandoned. He gathers himself, and his curiosity lures him deeper into the maw of the building.

With a hand at his backpack straps, he crosses the lengths of the seating area and approaches the front desk, which is undoubtedly the centerpiece to the lobby. The reception area itself is carved out of this massive stone column at the center, and it sports two twin hallways on either side that lead into the depths. The stone itself looks worn, as does the white-marble countertop of the front desk.

Behind the desktop, where the receptionist would stand, there’s a wall of thick, raspberry colored curtains. The fabric layers and ruffles to create depth behind the massive stonework that frames it. The teenager smirks, because it kind of resembles a stage, or a puppet theatre. He stands at the desk and eyes a brass-colored service bell that sits on top.

He decides to wait for a moment, just to see if anyone will emerge from the curtains. As he meanders, he takes in the scenery, and one thing he notices is an unusual lack of wall decor. Aren’t hotels usually sporting cheap, mass-produced paintings of fruit, or flowers, or abstract shapes? Or maybe mirrors, or sconces, or literally anything to dress the place up a bit? There’s only two pieces of artwork that hang on the lobby’s walls: one appears to be a map of the grounds, and the other is a massive hand-painted portrait dressed in a thick wooden frame.

The portrait shows the bust of a middle-aged, fair skinned man. He sports browline glasses on a mild, yet confident appearance. Below his jacket coat, he wears a pink button-up shirt. His hair is a sleek ashy brown, perfectly combed and manicured. His eyes, an extremely light shade of blue, stare almost half-lidded back at the Hotel’s newest guest. A distinct lack of light reflects within the painted man’s eyes.

He feels a little uneasy in his stomach, because this painted man is most likely dead today… Or so he assumes, considering how his style reflects the nineteen-sixties or nineteen-seventies. Even after looking back at the painting a second time, he still doesn’t like the way that the portrait man stares back at him. He decides he’s had enough waiting and goes to tap the service bell atop the front desk’s white marble countertop. A crisp dinggg echoes throughout the empty hall.

Not a moment passes before the raspberry colored curtains behind the desk pull apart at an alarming speed. The teenage jumps as a rather mean looking woman emerges from the curtains. Her eyes graze the teenager’s body from head to toe, to head again. She continues, “welcome to Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort. And before you ask: no. We don’t rent rooms by the hour.”

The teenager’s thick auburn brows furrow, “what? No. I’m not here for a room. I’m looking for a job.”

Her expression shifts to read something between disgust and confusion. She reaches under the desk and pulls up an old handheld phone. At the single turn of a button, the rotary phone’s tiny speaker begins to signal that she waits for someone to pick up the line. As she patiently waits with the phone up to her ear, she looks the inquisitive teenager in the eyes with a sharp glare. After a moment, she speaks into the phone, “Mr. Wright, you need to come to the lobby. There’s someone looking for a job.”

The teenager watches as she hangs up the phone, despite it sounding as if this Mr. Wright guy was trying to say something in response. She nods over towards an old velvet couch as to signal for him to take a seat as he waits. He isn’t so sure that he likes being brushed off so fast, but he determines that sitting on the other side of the room is better than waiting at this crude lady’s desk. With hesitancy, he seats himself and contemplates on whether he wants to set his things down on the crusty looking carpet below him or the matted, stained velvet of the couch. After some contemplation, he elects to prop his skateboard up against the couch and to keep his backpack over his shoulders with as little contact to the couch as possible.

His hands find their way to his jean-covered knees as he waits. His curious eyes wander back over to the woman behind the front desk. She files her nails diligently, sharp eyes no longer focused on him. Despite how intimidating she is, she’s a petite young woman, appearing to be only in her early twenties.

Impeccably straight hair cascades down from atop her head, draping off her shoulders and down her slim back. A thick, straight-cut bang partially covers her face, and her thin eyebrows press firmly at the middle. Her striking gray eyes flaunt a perfect pair of thickly winged eyeliner. Today, she wears a pink, short sleeved polo; below that is a mystery hidden behind a marble slab desk. Yeah, of course she’s intimidating; she’s drop dead gorgeous.

“You our applicant?” A rough voice says, breaking the teenager’s prying eyes. His attention darts over to a heavy-set, burly older man that approaches him. This must be Mr. Wright then, huh?

“That’s me,” the teenager responds cooly as he stands.

The first thing that he notices is that this guy is actively buttoning his pink shirt, because he is clearly trying to cover the fresh lipstick marks that cover his chest, neck, and face. He’s got a head of unkempt, ashy brown hair that has some decent graying to it. His dull eyes look tired and unfocused. His jowls and chin wear a salt-and-pepper beard, and his lips wear a scowl. He had the potential to be a silver-fox;  if he took care of himself, that is. Despite his inflection sounding half-dead, he asks, “what’s your name then, boy?”

“Oh, my bad,” he hesitates for a moment, “it’s Ezekiel. I also respond to Zeke.”

“Mmhm. And you're… Over eighteen?” He says, eyes lingering a little too long on Zeke's small stature. The hairs on the back of the teenager’s neck raise in response to the guy’s wandering eyes.

He just replies with a short, “yeah. I'm eighteen.”

“You speak Spanish?”

Zeke's thick eyebrows furrow. So… This guy's sleazy and racist? He decides to answer, although his tone indicates his disapproval, “a little bit. I’m not fluent or anything.”

“Good enough for me,” Mr. Wright hums. He flicks a hand towards the front desk attendant, “Kara, go ahead and call Lewis up,” he orders. Then, he clears his throat before looking back towards Zeke, “my assistant manager will finish your onboarding. I'm kind of in the middle of something,” he grumbles, as if something didn't absolutely have anything to do with all those lipstick marks on him.

The graying man gives a half-hearted wave as he wanders back behind those massive stone walls at the center of the lobby. Zeke watches him go, but his attention is brought back towards the front desk as the mean looking woman unhooks the old rotary phone and flicks the dial a few times. She doesn’t have to wait long for an answer this time, as she immediately speaks into the yellow plastic phone, “Mr. Wright's got a new hire for you in the lobby.”

Once again, it sounds as though the other party tries to speak up, but the fierce woman hangs up before she has a chance to listen. As soon as the phone rests in its cradle, her eyes pierce through the lost teenager standing in her lobby. She continues to file her nails as she says, “you still look like you’re young and full of life. So I'm going to be completely transparent with you.”

Zeke raises an eyebrow with a light, “okay..?”

“If you think you're going to get something fun or rewarding from this job… You're wrong. You're about to meet the most gut-wrenchingly annoying dude on this planet. Like, I get paid to basically sit here on my phone all day; yet this man, and this man alone, makes this job completely insufferable.”

The brunette stands completely dumbfounded as she continues, “you are quite literally signing your life away. This Hotel is some… Some tenth circle of Hell. You will absolutely be trapped in this hellhole until the day this place burns down.”

Zeke didn't know what to say. Actually, before he has a chance to say anything, the halls begin to echo some rather joyous whistling. As soon as the front desk attendant catches onto the song, she rolls her eyes dramatically, “and that's him. Godspeed,” she says as she shoots one last look at Zeke before ducking back within the velvet curtains behind the front desk. Just like that, the teenager is alone again… Aside from the foreboding whistling that approaches rapidly, of course.

He isn't sure what to do, and while Zeke contemplates whether he should sit back down or just continue to stand there awkwardly, the whistler joyfully rounds the corner and enters the lobby. His light green eyes meet Zeke’s umber with a polite smile.

First and foremost, the guy is tall. He’s a younger guy, definitely in his early twenties. An expertly maintained cloud of light, curly ginger hair gently lays atop his head. His fair complexion is dusted with freckles of different shades. Just like the last two employees, he wears a light pink short-sleeved button-up; it’s tucked into khaki colored slacks whose pant legs don’t quite reach past his ankles. In one hand, he cradles a light pink clipboard that wears a single purple heart sticker on the back.

Okay, really?

He’s supposed to be more insufferable than that old guy?

The ginger man is the first to speak, and his voice is airy, gentle, and a little nasally, “hi there. Are you my new-hire?”

Zeke can't help but smirk. Okay, so maybe the front desk attendant just has a wicked sense of humor. He responds with a quick, “yeah. I'm Zeke.”

The taller man reaches a sturdy hand out towards him, so the two shake on it, “it's nice to meet you, Zeke. I’m Lewis. I'm Mr. Wright's second in command here at the Hotel.”

“Cool,” the teenager states. So that atrocious Mr. Wright guy is the boss around here.

“Right. Ah… Why don’t you follow me to my office? We’ll get your on-boarding done in no time,” Lewis motions for the new-hire to follow him with a professional smile. As they pass through one of two hallways to the side of the giant stone structure around the front desk, Zeke eyes the large, frosted-glass map of the Resort that this Hotel lays upon. There’s other little squares amidst the sea of rolling green hills, but he doesn’t take the time to read the legend.

After passing through the lobby’s hallway, they enter into a towering, nearly twenty-foot tall rotunda. On either side of this semi-circular room, there are two staircases that hug the walls. One goes upstairs, while the other goes downstairs. In the middle of the room lies an indented conversation pit in the same circular shape as the rotunda. Above the empty lounging area, there are two illuminated matte-white globes. On the other side of the stone block that makes up the front desk, there’s a rectangular hearth to heat the space in the winter months. Expansive windows bathe this massive room in rich summer light as the mid-afternoon sun is high overhead. Through the glass, Zeke studies the courtyard-ish shape the Hotel takes.

It’s almost like the top half of the letter H; between the two wings of the Hotel, there’s an impressive outdoor area on the floor below the one in which they stood. Well, the Hotel’s patio would be impressive, if the pool wasn’t coated with old, dead leaves… Or if the patio furniture didn’t appear as if it had been ripped to shreds a hundred years ago, or if the pink exterior of the Hotel wasn’t baked in some sort of green algae, thus turning the walls a sickly shade. Despite all this… The view beyond the Hotel is breathtaking.

The tall hills gently sway and interchange, creating a serene view full of depth and color. It goes on for miles, which is something Zeke hasn’t seen with his own two eyes before. After all, he’s from the country’s disappointingly expansive flatlands. This? This is just breathtaking. Down below, he can make out the glimmers of a town hidden deep within the rich oaks and evergreens.

He must have stopped dead in his tracks, because he hears Lewis speak a few feet away from him, “I have to stop and admire it myself sometimes.”

Zeke peers over to see the man’s bright green eyes looking across the room and out the expansive windows. Lewis adds, “Heart Hollow Resort was the most luxurious getaway in the Pocono mountains for a reason. You just can’t beat views like this.”

Zeke lets a light smirk show on his face, “yeah. That’s pretty sick,” he hums. He takes one last look before catching up to the assistant manager he’s supposed to follow. Side by side, they continue their trek deeper into the caverns of the Hotel. As they make their way down the long, narrow hallways, Lewis makes some small talk, “I figure that this is your first time visiting the Hotel & Resort then?”

“Yeah, it is,” Zeke hums as he takes it all in.

“How lovely,” Lewis smiles, “I mean, I don’t know about you, Zeke; but growing up, I always caught myself staring up at the Hotel, wondering what it looked like in person.”

Before Zeke has a chance to respond, they approach a door that reads Employee Access Only on a golden plaque that’s seen better days. Lewis opens the door up and holds it open for the new-hire. Inside is another, even tighter hallway with only three slim doors. This place is starting to feel like a carefully planned maze. 

Lewis speaks up, “this is the administration hallway. My office is the first door to the left of us. Mr. Wright’s office is that last door at the end there.”

“What about the second door? Between your two offices,” Zeke finds himself asking.

“I appreciate the curiosity. It’s just a storage closet; mostly just spare items for the guest rooms. Extra lampshades, ice buckets, mugs, all that. I keep some office supplies in there too,” he responds, holding the office door open for Zeke.

They make their way inside, and Lewis immediately sits down in an office chair on the far side of the room, “make yourself comfortable. This should only be a moment,” Lewis hums as he digs through a filing cabinet just beside his desk.

Zeke does just that: he sits in a secondary chair across the man’s desk and begins to examine Lewis’ office. It’s a small, cramped space. All that’s inside is a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and a small trash can. Below, on the black linoleum of the employee backrooms, lies a much newer pink shag rug.

Atop the man’s desk are a few things of interest. There’s a small lamp within the mid-century modern design language; however, clearly a newer piece. There’s an old rotary phone that wears woodgrain and yellowed plastic. Lewis also has one of those table-top paper calendars that’s just covered in tiny pen writings and markings. He has a square, wooden pen holder, as well as a wooden photo frame of five fair skinned people. Even though Zeke doesn’t get a great view, he can tell it’s most likely Lewis’ family.

The ginger continues to dig into his filing cabinet as he says, “I’m sorry, usually I’m so prepared. I just… Well. It’s been awhile since we hired anybody, I suppose,” he smiles a bit sheepishly, his cheeks getting the slightest pink tint to them.

“It’s cool, man. Take your time,” Zeke hums, his brown eyes wandering to the decorations on the walls within this limited space. On the wall behind the desk there’s a decently sized whiteboard; it’s neatly organized with numbers and nearly-illegible cursive handwriting. There’s a few other things on the walls, like framed evacuation plans and wire-frame racks that hold documents and binders.

Zeke finds himself staring at a month-to-month calendar that hangs on the wall. On the bottom half, there’s a grid labeled June, and a few of the boxes at the top have been crossed off. On the top half, there’s a high quality photo of four golden retriever puppies laying in a basket within a grassy field. Overlaying the photo, there’s a quote that reads: Friendship is the golden thread that ties the heart of all the world.

Zeke smiles smugly at that. Okay. Maybe he understands why that front desk attendant called this guy insufferable.

“Ah. Here it is,” Lewis smiles as he pulls out a small paper packet. He slides it across the desk towards Zeke, alongside a rather nice looking pen. He folds his sturdy hands atop the desk, “go ahead and fill this new-hire application out to the best of your ability. It’s… It’s really just a formality to Mr. Wright,” he smiles a bit half-heartedly.

Zeke takes the pen in hand and looks over the packet. Standard, boring questions… Name, birthday, social, availability, previous work experience, as well as ethnicity and sex, if he feels like disclosing that. He stares down at it for a moment, but something bugs him. His eyes dart up towards Lewis, and the two lock eyes. Zeke states flatly, “dude. You realize that this is a closet, right?”

Lewis just smiles politely, “I try to make the best with the space that I’ve been given.”

Zeke hesitates before he replies with a low, “riiight,” as his attention falls back down towards his paperwork. He begins to fill it out, but decides to fill the uncomfortable silence with more small talk, “so, question. Why doesn’t the boss man do this new-hire stuff? Mr. Wright is his name… Right?”

Lewis just keeps smiling as if he were working customer service, “I help him out where I can. Not only is he the Hotel’s general manager, but he’s also the current owner of the Resort. He’s always busy doing something,” he says.

“Pfft,” Zeke grimaces as he recalls the many lipstick marks that covered the older man’s body not even ten minutes ago, “he’s busy doing someone alright.”

This statement clearly catches Lewis off guard, because he lets out a short, quick little laugh. Quickly, he catches himself, and promptly composes himself right back to the prim and proper professional he’s been. He stammers out, “right. Well. Busy can mean many things, I suppose.”

Zeke hands the paperwork back to the Hotel’s assistant manager. As he takes it, Lewis changes subjects, “thank you very much, Mister,” he peers at Zeke’s chicken-scratch handwriting, “Valencia. And welcome to the team! When are you able to start?”

“Uh,” Zeke hesitates, thinking it over for a moment, “I’m free today, if you guys need a hand.”

“Oh,” Lewis says with a bit of uncertainty in his voice, “sure. I can fit you in somewhere today. We’ve certainly been a bit short staffed since Bryson quit,” he says. Zeke notices that his freckled hands wring themselves together as he talks.

The manager continues, “before we get started, I do have to go over our uniform. Official company policy states that all team members must wear a Resort approved pink polo or button-up. Black or brown slacks must be worn at all times. Skirts of the same color that reach the knees or below are permitted, as long as hosiery is worn underneath. Closed toe loafers or pumps in black or brown are permitted, although they cannot exceed four inches. Employees must not have any visible tattoos or non-ear-piercings, and hair must remain a neutral or natural hair color. Excessive makeup or face paint is not permitted, and may be up to the manager on duty’s discretion,” the ginger takes a deep breath, “any questions regarding the Resort’s approved dress code?”

The teenager’s brows furrow, “how tightly do you enforce it?”

“Oh,” Lewis’ endless smile falters for a split second, “well, to be honest… Mr. Wright only asks for the pink polo or button-up, to which the employee is responsible for obtaining.”

“Gotcha. So, my jeans and sneakers are okay?”

Lewis hesitates but says, “that’s acceptable to Mr. Wright. Yes.”

“Cool,” Zeke hums, “I’ll find a way to get a pink polo before my next shift.”

“Lovely. Thank you, Mr. Valencia,” he stands up from his desk, taking his pink clipboard with him, “let’s get you started with some training then, huh?”

❧

The two men stand in the rotunda’s rich afternoon light as Lewis looks over his little pink clipboard earnestly, “I have just a few questions before I get you set up training somewhere.”

“Sure,” Zeke hums back, putting his hands in his pockets.

“First and foremost… How old are you?”

“Eighteen. Can’t be a bartender or ‘nothin. Unless Mr. Wright is cool with that, I guess,” Zeke smirks.

“Oh no, we don’t have a bar,” Lewis responds with a smile, “not anymore, at least. Next question: what’s your star sign?”

“What? Man, I dunno. My birthday is later this month.”

“Is that so? You must be a Gemini,” the ginger writes some notes down in his clipboard, “my little sister is a Gemini, too.”

Zeke tries to catch a glimpse of that clipboard, but Lewis is just a bit too tall for the teenager to be able to glance over his shoulder. Lewis continues, “would you consider yourself more organized or disorganized as a person?”

“Uhhh. Organized chaos. Like, I know where everything is.”

“Well, as long as you can find your things, then that’s all that matters,” Lewis says with a smile. His green eyes are glued to his clipboard as he asks, “what does your perfect day look like?”

“Oh. Um,” Zeke furrows his thick brows for a moment, because what’s this gotta do with working here? Purely out of formality, he decides to respond, “sitting at home watching TV. Not a care in the world. Maybe skateboard to the store for some snacks.”

“Sounds nice,” the ginger hums as he scribbles more notes within his clipboard, “and what are you looking for?”

“Uhhh,” Zeke isn’t sure how to respond, so he says, “what?”

“Right, ah,” the ginger taps his pen to his chin, “what’s something that you’ve been looking for in life? Long term, short term. However you interpret it.”

“Oh,” Zeke’s thick brows furrow, “I dunno, man. I guess just some place comfortable to rest for a bit.”

Lewis falters, nods his ginger head ever so slightly, and then writes something down. Zeke eyes the man skeptically; this was getting weird, like, five questions ago. Lewis eventually continues with his eyes still down at his paper, “okay, and do you practice religion?”

Silence waves over the rotunda.

Lewis finally takes his eyes off his clipboard and peers down at the brunette with those bright green eyes. Zeke looks at the man in disbelief, “hey, dude? I really don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that.”

“Oh. Right! Yes, ah… Of course,” Lewis hums, “sorry.”

Zeke just stares up at the guy, “what are these questions for?”

“Ah… Just an old questionnaire that ensures your happiness while you’re employed with us here at Heart Hollow Honeymoon Hotel & Resort,” the guy smiles. Zeke just stares firmly as Lewis continues with a nervous smile, “how about we skip the rest of the questionnaire for now and get onto some real training? Right now… I think you’re best suited to do laundry duty with Ms. Cherry Thompson,” he says, referencing back to his clipboard.

Before Zeke can protest or raise any alarms, Lewis leads them out of the rotunda and down the stairs. As they descend onto the ground level of the Hotel, the view of the pool area levels out, and the two Hotel wings seemingly grow taller. Zeke’s eyes dance towards the interior of the rotunda’s basement. 

There’s a divot in the tall ceiling from where the conversation pit sits above; two of those globe lights hang from the protrusion and loom over a dusty, matted pool table. On the opposite wall, there’s a bar that is geometrically cut out of stone in a similar fashion to the front desk. On one side of the bar, two elevator doors face the open room, and on the other side of the bar, there’s a set of huge, ominous looking double doors. They’re cut from wood in a way that makes it look like two thick oak trees standing parallel.

Zeke feels the tug to investigate… However, he catches up with Lewis’ long strides instead; after all, he really doesn’t want to get caught up in the labyrinth of this Hotel. They pass by a decently sized seating area with tables and comfortable chairs, all in the same mid-century style as the furniture pieces upstairs. With the numerous seating and communal focused areas that sit completely devoid of life, the whole building feels hauntingly empty.

The two make it to their destination as Lewis opens a door labeled Custodian Access Only. Inside is a decently sized laundry room; as soon as Lewis opens the door, Zeke’s senses are hit with the waft of that burning lint smell that old dryers emit. Despite the overly strong scent, none of the ancient washers or dryers are operating at the moment… So much for laundry duty.

The room is packed with oversized laundry bins and silver folding tables, but no Ms. Cherry Thompson. Zeke peers around the overwhelmingly smelly room as Lewis ponders about the woman’s whereabouts, “goodness. Where is she?”

Zeke shrugs as he leans against a washing machine.

Lewis stutters for a moment, “ah… Hm. Well, how about you stay here while I go fetch her. I’ll only be a moment,” Lewis concludes as his long legs take him out of the laundry room. Zeke shakes his head and hoists himself atop one of the units. He lets out a heavy sigh.

Man. If this is what this job is gonna look like…

He got pretty damn lucky.

To pass the time, he decides to investigate the contents of the laundry room. Zeke ganders at the industrial sized boxes of laundry detergent that scatter over the surfaces of the room, and he eyes the plain white linens that line the shelves. He makes his way over to the back wall, and he peeks into the rolling laundry collectors: inside, he finds some bright red sheets. He sighs, because that’s something to do, he supposes.

Zeke collects the laundry and throws it into one of the washing machines. He pours in some detergent and then gets an excellent idea. He strips himself of his oversized white polo, leaving just his plain white t-shirt underneath. He throws his polo into the laundry machine with the rest of those bright red sheets. If he’s lucky, it’ll stain the shirt a nice pink so that he won’t have to find one at a five-finger discount. He is just about out of money, after all.

As the machine starts, he crouches to sit beside the unit as it churns and sloshes. He pulls his phone out to kill some time. Instead of social media, he pulls up a match-three style game. As he waits for the laundry, Zeke loses himself in several levels of his puzzle. Suddenly, he’s pulled out of his game by a soft, cautious voice that asks, “excuse me, hi?”

His eyes dart up, and he makes eye contact with a young lady standing in the door frame of the laundry room. Her coily hair sits in an extremely well-maintained fluff atop her head, while the sides of her hair are braided in neat rows. Her dark complexion contrasts nicely to the bright pink polo dress she wears. She wears white tube socks, white sneakers, and pink, heart shaped earrings. Her soft figure stands rather shyly, and her small hands perch atop her breast as she nervously plays with her fingers. She has a sweet, girlish charm to her.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she continues, “but squatters aren’t actually allowed on the Resort grounds.”

“What? No. I work here now,” he pauses, “I think.”

“Oh! You must be taking Bryson’s spot,” she immediately brightens up, “I’m Cherisse! Or Cherry for short.”

“I’m Ezekiel. Or Zeke for short,” he smiles back at her.

This makes her giggle, and truly, this girl giggled. She continues, “well it’s certainly nice to meet you, Zeke.”

“Nice to meet you too. Your last name wouldn’t happen to be Thompson, would it?”

This catches her off guard, “wow. How’d you know? Oh! Are you from my graduating class, or something?”

“Nah nah. The assistant manager here - uh, Lewis? Yeah. Lewis said that a Ms. Cherry Thompson was supposed to be training me on laundry duty right now.”

“Oh,” she purrs softly, her little hands still panic-picking across her chest, “I’m surprised he didn’t tell me. Well, that’s not a problem. I can show you how we do laundry around here.”

Zeke watches as she pokes her head into the empty laundry baskets towards the back half of the room. Cherry speaks up again, “well… Not a lot of laundry to do. Besides that washer you’re next to.”

“Yeah,” Zeke begins, “I found some red sheets in one of those laundry bins. Decided to get 'em started with my polo. I’m kinda hoping they’ll stain it pink.”

Cherry completely halts for a moment. When her face does change, Zeke figures something is wrong, because her eyebrows furrow, and her lip pouts, “um… Okay, so don’t freak out because you totally didn’t know. But, um, we don’t actually use red sheets here.”

The two of them make an uncomfortable eye contact, and Zeke’s brown eyes nearly bug out of his skull in surprise. In one quick movement, they both lunge towards the washer to pull out the laundered items. Zeke grabs his now pink polo, while Cherry pulls out the freshly washed, now white sheets. A moment of silence drowns out the laundry room. Cherry, eventually, says what they were both thinking, “well. I think it’s safe to say you helped clean up some murder, my friend. Or… Maybe some unfortunate soul’s period aftermath.”

Zeke’s eyes dart up to look at his new coworker, eyes still wide in disbelief, “wait… Have both of those things happened here?”

Cherry just purses her lips together and effectively gets her point across. Zeke just nods his head, “alrighty then. I’m going to go ahead and change the subject,” he hums, hesitantly throwing the now pink polo into a dryer, “so, hey. That Lewis guy... He’s our boss, right?”

“Yeah,” Cherry purrs as she mindlessly tosses the sheets into the dryer as well, “he’s our boss. But Mr. Wright is the general manager, so he’s everybody’s boss. Including Lewis’.”

“Right. So, uh,” he clearly hesitates, finding the right words to say as he hops back up to sit on one of the washing units, “did he like, ask you a bunch of weird, kind of invasive questions when you first started working here?”

“Uh oh,” Cherry looks up at her new coworker, “Kara didn’t warn you? The girl at the front desk.”

“Oh. Kara,” Zeke says to catalog her name, considering she never introduced herself, “nah, she just told me that he’s like, super insufferable. Didn’t really go into much detail.”

“Riiight,” Cherry hums, leaning her back against a washing unit, “Lewis is… A stickler for rules and scheduling. He plays by the book. But there’s like, nothing to ever do around here. So, in his free time, we think that he likes to play Cupid with his employees.”

“What do you mean? Like… Set people up together?”

“Exactly.”

“Weird,” Zeke sneers.

Cherry shrugs, “Kara and I are just, like, ninety-five percent sure that he’s just super lonely.”

This statement makes the brunette laugh; it’s a pretty harsh statement coming from a woman who seems so incredibly sweet. She smiles bashfully, “don’t tell him I said that. It’d hurt his feelings.”

“Nah nah,” he grins, “I won’t.”

“Thanks,” she looks down at her hands for a moment, “so… Yeah. Whenever we get a new-hire, which… It’s been awhile. He’s like, kinda up in their business. He thinks he’s being subtle, but we totally know what he’s doing,” she giggles.

“Yikes. Did you tell him something to get him off your back?”

“Me? Oh no. He’s always trying to set me up with people. I mean, I’m the perfect candidate: twenty, single, super duper cute,” she says with a playful smile. Even though she’s just playing, she definitely isn’t wrong, but it’s way too early into their friendship for him to just flat-out agree. Cherry continues, “seriously, there’s not much you can do. I’ve kinda just embraced it, because it’s like… All he wants to do is set his friends up. It’s odd, but the sentiment is sweet.”

“Is there anybody he leaves alone, or am I shit outta luck?”

“Well… He mostly leaves Kara alone these days. She’s super aromantic, so she basically just scares Lewis and his new-hires away to get them to leave her alone.”

“Ah. Is that what that was?” Zeke smiles back, recalling her rather crude attitude earlier today.

“Well… She also just likes to mess with the newbies. I don’t agree with it, but she says it’s a fun hazing ritual. I just think she likes being rude,” she says casually. In an instant, her big brown doe eyes widen, “oh, I can say that! She’s my best friend! Slash roommate.”

Zeke smirks, “wasn’t really worried about that.”

“Okay. Still, I don’t just say that about people,” Cherry smiles a bit shyly, her cheeks glowing.

Zeke grins back at her, but decides to backtrack in their conversation a bit, “so, what? I guess I could tell Lewis that I’m aromantic just to get him off my tail.”

“Well, the sooner you tell him, the better,” her hands find their way back to nervously rubbing one another, “I’m sure he’s in his office right now, comparing his notes. Playing Cupid.”

“Yeesh,” Zeke hums, legs kicking ever so lightly as he sits, “yeah, I’mma tell him I’m aro. I can’t be dealing with all that right now.”

“I get it, I do,” she smiles, eyes kind as she peeks back up to the auburn haired boy, “but your secret is safe with me, okay?”

“Yeah. I appreciate that,” he smiles right back at her, “you’re a real one, Cherry.”

Not a moment passes before Lewis pops into the door frame of the laundry room. His light green eyes rest on the two employees and his shoulders drop as he pants out, “oh goodness, there you are, Cherry. Here I was, jogging all over the Hotel looking for you,” he smiles as he catches his breath, “and yet, here you are. No bother at all. Ah - well. Mr. Valencia, if you’re ready, I’m all set for your next rotation.”

“Uh. Yeah. Cool,” Zeke hops off the washing unit and makes a mental note to come back for his drying pink polo. He gives one last look back at his newest coworker, “see ya, Cherry.”

She gives him two little thumbs up and graces him with a light, “good luck, Zeke,” as the two men make their way out of the room.

Back out into the long, abysmal hallways of the Hotel, Lewis gets right back into it. He flips over a few pages in his clipboard, “how about some first hand experience in housekeeping? Becka is taking Rosa’s spot today.”

Before Zeke is able to get a word in edgewise, the very eager ginger continues, “a little fun fact about Becka, is that she writes her own rap music in her free time. Oh! And,” Lewis flips a page over, showing Zeke a photo of a very serious looking blonde haired baby. He adds, “this is her son. Isn’t he just the sweetest?”

Zeke shoots a tired look back up at his new boss, “does that baby have a face tattoo?”

“Oh. Ah… I choose to believe that it’s a smudge on the photograph,” the ginger hums back, flipping the photo back into the depths of his trusty clipboard.

“Riiight. Look, Lewis. I’mma be real with you,” Zeke states casually, finally gaining his boss’ attention, “Cherry told me what you like to do. Ya know, matchmaking your employees? But it’s not gonna work on me. Sorry.”

“Ah,” Lewis falters, his cheeks flushing pink in the slightest at being caught in his act.

“Yeah. I’m, uh,” Zeke hesitates, dark umber eyes darting to the side for a moment, “I’m aromantic. Not into that kinda stuff.”

“I see,” the ginger’s arms drop by his side, “well. Hm. Thank you for your honesty,” he pauses for a moment, “how about… Instead of training with Becka, we do some work up at the front desk with Kara?”

“Pfft. Sure. As long as you’re not planning to play match-maker with us too,” Zeke jokes.

“Of course not,” Lewis hums as he leads them through the rotunda towards the lobby, “but I can imagine a beautiful friendship blossoming between you two.”

Once they arrive in the lobby, they see Kara leaning against the front desk. She appears to be watching something on her phone, but her cool eyes quickly dart up to look at the two men in her lobby. She just lets out a sharp, “what.”

“Hi, Kara,” Lewis smiles warmly, “our new friend Zeke just told me that he’s aromantic too. What are the odds of that?”

She gives the assistant manager a dirty look, “are you seriously trying to play Cupid with us right now?”

“Ah,” Lewis takes a half-step away from the front desk, “no, no. It’s nothing like that,” he stammers.

The front desk attendant dramatically turns her attention towards Zeke for a moment, “told ya he’s the worst.”

Zeke just raises his brow at the scene that’s beginning to unfold in front of him; choking on his words, Lewis says, “I feel like you two may have some things in common, that’s all.”

“Ew,” she says, “I refuse to give that little shrimp boy over there the time of day.”

Zeke chuckles and rolls his eyes at that, but Lewis pleads, “oh, c’mon, Kara. You don’t even want to try getting to know him?”

She crosses her arms, “not really.”

Zeke grins as he plays along, “glad the feeling is mutual.”

“Oh,” Lewis’ shoulders slump.

Kara decides to add salt to the wound, “get your head outta your ass, Lewis. None of us are here to make friends. We’re not here to fall in love,” she waves her hands around sarcastically, “we’re here for an easy paycheck. That’s it.”

“Wha…” Lewis’ thin brows furrow gently, “you don’t think that the Hotel pulled you in for a reason?”

“Nope, and the fact that you think anybody would willingly date around in this shithole is just flat out delusional.”

There’s just the slightest hint of frustration behind Lewis’ words when he says, “this Hotel is our town’s history. It’s on Cupid’s land. To say that would ignore all the great love stories from our kin.”

“Oh, thanks for that little reminder about what family you belong to, Lewis Lockheart,” she laughs sharply, and she says his surname as if it were an insult.

This seemingly hits a nerve in the assistant manager, because he purses his lips and has to divert his gaze. At Lewis’ lack of a verbal response, Zeke decides to put the fire out by saying, “alright, well… Hey. Hi. You’re Kara, right? I’m Zeke. I absolutely loved the first impression. Big fan. Really. Uh, I am gonna say that we should tone it down by, like, four notches. Alright? Let’s take it easy.”

Her pencilled-in eyebrows arch in offended surprise as she responds, “oh, I’m the bad guy here?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. With all the match-making shit, Lewis isn’t exactly a saint either,” he says, and this makes Kara cackle. He continues, “what I am saying, to both of you, is that this is a working environment. Yeah? So let’s be professional.”

Kara laughs in disbelief, and for once, she seems to be at a loss for words. So, Zeke addresses her, “no petty little grudges, or whatever you got going on. Or, you know, just keep it to yourself. I guess all I’m asking is… Just some separation of work and personal lives,” he says, and then he turns his attention towards Lewis, “can we do that?”

The assistant manager dips his head and nods as if he were taking these words to heart, “yes, absolutely. I will refrain from the… Ah. Match-making from here on out.”

“Thank you, man,” Zeke responds, and then he decides to clarify, “and no questions about, like… What my favorite color is, or shit like that. Is that cool?”

Lewis chuckles sheepishly, “of course.”

Kara huffs, “alright, can we move on now? I want to get back to my TV show,” she says as she gestures towards the horizontal phone atop the marble top of the receptionist desk, “I’m on a really riveting episode of My Life as a Teenage Goth Star.”

Zeke laughs at that; she’s kind of a bitch, but she’s bold. Then, he glances up towards his boss to see what he wants to do. Lewis just nods his head and cradles that clipboard close to his chest, “yes, ah, we’ll let you get back to it then.”

Kara gestures to shoo them away, so Zeke follows Lewis’ lead away from the front desk. Such a weird first day so far, but at least the staff are amusing. The new-hire asks, “so, what’s next?”

“Right. Ah. Let’s see,” Lewis flips through his clipboard, and during the lull, Zeke tries to gauge how his boss feels after he set that boundary. It’s impossible to tell, because Lewis has just gone right back into manager mode, “Becka - ah, the woman filling in for housekeeping today? She could use a hand with dressing some of the rooms. So… Let’s get to it, shall we?”

“Sounds like a plan, boss man,” Zeke says as he begins to follow Lewis through the rotunda; he lets out a comfortable, easy sigh as he gazes out at that view of the gentle mountain range beyond the tall wings of the Hotel. He could absolutely get used to this.

Just for a little bit, that is.