Dessert at the Moonlight Pines II

Nisha & Peggy Chapter Five — Fired Daryl fired Peggy in front of the office window, loudly enough for a couple loading luggage into a minivan to pause and stare. “You’re disgusting,” he said, jabbing a finger toward room 7. “Sleeping with motel trash while you’re on my payroll.” Peggy flinched as if slapped. Nisha stepped out from the walkway, dressed now in black trousers and a white blouse, her hair pinned neatly, her expression serene in a way that should have frightened him sooner. “Choose your next words carefully,” Nisha said. Daryl rounded on her. “You stay out of this.” “No.” Peggy whispered, “Nisha, don’t.” But Nisha did not move. Daryl sneered. “What are you going to do? Leave me a bad review?” Nisha smiled. It was not a nice smile. “For now,” she said, “I am going to remember this.” Peggy’s eyes filled with tears. “Please, Daryl. I need the job.” “That’s what makes this satisfying,” he said. “Keys.” Peggy placed her key ring on the desk with shaking hands. “Uniform too,” he said. Nisha’s voice dropped. “That is enough.” Daryl looked at her, and again that flicker of fear crossed his face, but he was too angry to respect it. “Get out,” he snapped. “Both of you.” Peggy walked out with her chin trembling and her shoulders rigid, and the second they reached Nisha’s car, she broke. “I can’t do this,” Peggy sobbed. “I can’t start over again. I have nothing. I have no job. I have bills. I have my mother’s house half-packed and a town full of people waiting to say I failed.” Nisha pulled her into her arms. Peggy tried to resist for half a second, then collapsed against her. “Listen to me,” Nisha said into her hair. “You failed at nothing. You survived a hard year, a dying mother, a cruel man, and a town too small to recognize what you are. That is not failure. That is evidence.” “Evidence of what?” “That you are very hard to destroy.” Peggy cried harder. Nisha held her until she was quiet. Then Peggy whispered, “I hate that I still want you right now.” Nisha laughed softly, almost tenderly. “I would be offended if you didn’t.” Peggy pulled back and looked at her. “What am I going to do?” “Today? Sleep. Eat. Let me take care of you.” “And tomorrow?” Nisha brushed a tear from Peggy’s cheek. “Tomorrow,” she said, “I make a phone call.” Chapter Six — Dessert For two days, Peggy lived in Nisha’s apartment as if under a spell, though Nisha had placed no spell on her at all. The apartment was above an old tailor shop downtown, with dark wooden floors, velvet curtains, shelves full of strange old books, and a refrigerator that contained almost nothing except expensive fruit, wine Peggy never saw Nisha drink, and cream for Peggy’s coffee. “You don’t eat much,” Peggy said the first morning. “I have a selective diet.” “That sounds ominous.” “It is manageable.” Peggy watched her from the kitchen table. “Are you ever going to tell me what you are?” Nisha paused. The question hung there, enormous and glittering. “What do you think I am?” Nisha asked. Peggy’s mouth twitched. “Trouble.” “Yes.” “A criminal?” “Occasionally, by outdated definitions.” “A very high-end escort?” Nisha laughed. “No.” Peggy folded her arms. “Then what?” Nisha crossed the kitchen slowly and stood beside her chair. “Something old,” she said. “Something hungry. Something that should frighten you more than it does.” Peggy looked up at her. “You do frighten me.” “But?” Peggy’s voice softened. “But not the way Daryl did.” Nisha’s expression changed completely. For the first time, Peggy saw not confidence, not seduction, not amusement, but something almost vulnerable. Nisha leaned down and kissed her gently. Peggy touched her cheek. “Do you hurt people?” “Men like Lloyd from room 18 wake tired and confused, nothing more.” “So the rumors are true.” “What rumors?” “That men go into rooms with women like you and come out useless.” Nisha smiled. “Many men begin that way.” Peggy laughed despite herself. “And women?” Peggy asked. Nisha looked at her for a long moment. “Women,” she said, “I do not feed from unless invited, and even then rarely. Women are not food to me.” “What are they?” Nisha knelt in front of Peggy’s chair, elegant and solemn. “Company,” she said. “Desire. Home, sometimes. Dessert, if they are willing.” Peggy swallowed. “Dessert?” she whispered. Nisha smiled slowly. “The thing I crave after hunger is satisfied.” Peggy should have been shocked. Instead, warmth rushed through her so quickly she had to look away. “I don’t know what to do with you,” Peggy whispered. Nisha took her hand. “Yes, you do.” Peggy closed her fingers around Nisha’s. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she admitted. “Even when you’re in the next room. It’s ridiculous.” “It is not ridiculous to want warmth after a long winter.” Peggy’s eyes stung again, but this time she refused to cry. “You make me feel wanted,” she said. “You are wanted.” “You make me feel safe.” “You are safe with me.” “You make me feel like I could become someone again.” Nisha lifted Peggy’s hand and kissed her palm. “You never stopped being someone.” That was when Peggy leaned forward and kissed Nisha with all the hunger she had been too ashamed to name. Chapter Seven — No Rooms Available On the third evening, Nisha came into the bedroom carrying a garment bag. Peggy was curled on the bed in one of Nisha’s robes, reading the same paragraph of a book for the sixth time because she kept listening for Nisha’s footsteps. “Get dressed,” Nisha said. Peggy looked up. “For what?” “A business meeting.” Peggy immediately sat up. “I don’t have business.” “You do now.” “Nisha.” “Peggy.” “I hate when you do that.” “You love when I do that.” Peggy opened her mouth, failed, and pointed at the garment bag. “What is that?” “Something that will make Daryl regret having eyes.” Peggy stared. Nisha unzipped it to reveal a simple but beautiful navy dress, professional enough to command respect and flattering enough to start arguments. “I can’t wear that.” “You can.” “It’s too nice.” “So are you.” Peggy touched the dress, her expression crumpling slightly. “Why are you doing all this?” Nisha’s tone became softer. “Because I can. Because I want to. Because the world has taken enough from you, and I am in the mood to be unreasonable on your behalf.” Peggy laughed under her breath. “You say the most insane romantic things.” “And yet you are getting dressed.” Forty minutes later, they pulled into the Moonlight Pines parking lot. Peggy went rigid. “No,” she said. “No, absolutely not.” Nisha parked directly in front of the office. Peggy looked like she might climb out through the trunk. “Nisha, he banned me. He humiliated me. I cannot go in there dressed like this while he smirks at me from behind that counter.” Nisha turned off the engine. “Peggy,” she said. Peggy looked at her, breathing hard. “Do you trust me?” Peggy closed her eyes. That was the terrible thing. She did. “Yes,” she whispered. “Then come inside.” The bell over the office door jingled. Daryl looked up from the desk, and for one exquisite second his smugness faltered at the sight of Peggy in that dress, standing beside Nisha with her hair brushed smooth and her chin lifted in terrified dignity. Then he recovered. “Well, look who came crawling back,” he said. Peggy flinched. Nisha’s hand found the small of her back. “We need a room,” Nisha said. Daryl smiled nastily. “No rooms.” The vacancy board behind him clearly had six keys hanging. Nisha glanced at it. “How unfortunate.” “And even if we had one,” he said, looking Peggy up and down, “she’s not allowed on the property.” Peggy’s face burned. “Nisha, let’s go.” “No,” Nisha said. Daryl leaned on the counter. “You heard me. She’s not welcome here.” Nisha opened her handbag, removed a leather folder, and placed it on the counter. “What’s that?” Daryl asked. “The end of your evening.” He frowned, opened the folder, and began scanning the documents. His face changed. Peggy noticed first the confusion, then the disbelief, then the panic. “What is this?” he demanded. Nisha smiled. “The deed transfer. The sale agreement. The operating papers. A few other items you will not enjoy. I purchased the Moonlight Pines from Gerald Mott yesterday afternoon. He was eager to retire and very eager not to look too closely at the bookkeeping errors I mentioned.” Daryl went gray. Peggy’s hand flew to her mouth. “You bought the motel?” she whispered. Nisha turned to her. “Yes.” Daryl slammed the folder shut. “This is impossible.” “Many men say that to me,” Nisha said. “They are usually wrong.” “You can’t just walk in here and fire me.” Nisha tilted her head. “Of course I can.” Peggy’s eyes widened. Nisha looked back at Daryl with calm delight. “Daryl Haskins,” she said, “you are relieved of your position effective immediately. You will hand over the office keys, the safe code, the manager’s apartment key, and any motel property in your possession. You will leave within one hour. If you make Peggy uncomfortable during that hour, you will leave in ten minutes with fewer options.” Daryl stared at her, mouth opening and closing. Peggy whispered, “Oh my God.” Nisha did not look away from Daryl. “No. Just me.” Daryl jabbed a finger at Peggy. “You think she can run this place?” Peggy’s eyes flashed, wounded but awake. Nisha smiled. “That,” she said, “is the first intelligent question you have asked.” Daryl sneered. “She couldn’t even keep a desk job.” Peggy stepped forward before Nisha could answer. “I managed thirty-two rooms, a restaurant, a wedding calendar, twelve staff members, two vendors who hated each other, and a boiler that broke every Christmas,” Peggy said, her voice shaking but growing stronger with every word. “I handled drunk guests, broken pipes, lost jewelry, emergency inspections, and a bride who released doves in the lobby. I can run this place in my sleep.” Nisha looked at her with open admiration. Peggy pointed at Daryl. “And I would have run it better than you while grieving my mother, cleaning your rooms, and dodging your hands.” The office went silent. Daryl looked smaller. Much smaller. Nisha slid the key tray toward Peggy. “Miss Peggy Vale,” she said, “would you like the position of general manager of the Moonlight Pines Motel?” Peggy stared at the keys. Then at Daryl. Then at Nisha. Her smile came slowly, dangerously, beautifully. “Yes,” Peggy said. “I would.” Chapter Eight — New Management Daryl packed in thirty-seven minutes. Wanda arrived early because Nisha had called her, and she leaned in the office doorway with a cup of coffee, watching Daryl carry a box of cheap desk ornaments toward his car. “Shame,” Wanda said. Peggy looked at her. “You liked him?” “No. I was hoping he’d trip.” Peggy burst out laughing. Nisha, sitting in the manager’s chair with her legs crossed, looked deeply pleased. Daryl made one final attempt at dignity near the door. “This place will fall apart in a month.” Peggy picked up the reservation binder. “No, it won’t.” Nisha added, “And if you return, you will regret it artistically.” Daryl left. The moment his car disappeared down the highway, Peggy locked the door, turned the sign, and leaned back against it with a stunned expression. “I’m the manager,” she said. “Yes.” “You bought me a motel.” “I bought myself a motel and installed my favorite woman in charge of it.” “That is not better.” “It is more accurate.” Peggy crossed the office slowly. “Favorite woman?” Nisha’s smile softened. “Yes.” Peggy stood between Nisha and the desk, suddenly shy again. “And what exactly does the owner expect from her new manager?” “Professional excellence.” Peggy nodded solemnly. “Of course.” “Fresh curtains.” “Obviously.” “A better coffee machine.” “Urgent.” “And,” Nisha said, reaching for Peggy’s hand, “when her shift ends, dinner with me.” Peggy stepped closer. “Dinner?” “Then dessert.” Peggy’s lips parted. Nisha looked up at her from the chair, eyes dark and amused. Peggy laughed softly. “You are impossible.” “You keep saying that.” “Because you keep proving it.” Nisha pulled her gently closer. “Peggy.” “Yes?” “Are you happy?” Peggy’s smile trembled. “I think,” she said, “I’m becoming happy.” Nisha stood. Peggy wrapped both arms around her neck and kissed her in the middle of the office, not hidden behind the building, not trembling outside a rented room, not ashamed, not afraid of Daryl’s footsteps, not apologizing for wanting what she wanted. When the kiss ended, Peggy rested her forehead against Nisha’s. “I should be worried,” she whispered. “About you. About what you are. About all of this.” “Are you?” “Yes.” “And?” Peggy smiled. “And I’m still not leaving.” Nisha’s expression turned soft with victory, but not conquest. Relief. “Good,” she said. “Because I have plans for this place.” Peggy laughed. “Business plans?” “Some.” “Romantic plans?” “Many.” “Vampire plans?” Nisha kissed her again. “Those are confidential.” By the next week, the Moonlight Pines had new curtains, a working ice machine, proper staff schedules, and a coffee machine so good Wanda claimed she would marry it if state law allowed. Peggy moved through the office with growing confidence, her name on the paperwork, her decisions respected, her laughter returning piece by piece. Nisha kept the upstairs corner suite. Sometimes she arrived after midnight with that familiar velvet smile, placed a folded tip under Peggy’s new brass desk bell, and said, “Room 18 is sleeping. Let him rest.” Peggy would narrow her eyes. “Working late again?” “I had dinner.” “And now?” Nisha would lean across the desk, pale and beautiful beneath the office lamp. “Now,” she would say, “I was hoping the manager might have time for dessert.” Peggy always pretended to consider it. She never once said no. And in time, travelers on Route 7 began to say the Moonlight Pines had changed, that the rooms were cleaner, the coffee better, the desk clerk kinder, and the elegant woman who owned the place could sometimes be seen crossing the balcony after midnight like a secret in heels. But the women of Bellmere knew something else. They knew Peggy Vale had walked into that motel broken and walked out belonging to herself. They knew Daryl Haskins never raised his voice at a woman in town again. And they knew that if a lonely woman found herself under the buzzing neon of the Moonlight Pines after midnight, there was a chance the night might not end the way she expected. Sometimes, if she was very lucky, it ended with coffee. Sometimes with a kiss. And sometimes, with dessert.