Lupita took one look at the sleeping child, the bent stems of the roses, the exhaustion weighing down Ethan’s shoulders, and the expressions on the receptionists’ faces. She set the towels down on a nearby luggage cart.
“Excuse me, sir,” Lupita said softly, stepping closer. “Is everything alright?”
“It seems my reservation isn’t showing up in their main system.”
Lupita looked over at Patricia. “Did you check the corporate holding block?”
Patricia clenched her jaw. “I already checked.”
“The secondary corporate tab,” Lupita insisted gently. “Executive bookings sometimes don’t propagate to the main front-desk screen on the first search.”
Karla rolled her eyes. “Lupita, go back to your floor. This isn’t your department.”
Lupita didn’t raise her voice. “No, it isn’t. But a tired father with a sleeping little girl is my business if he’s being left to stand out here in the lobby.”
Annoyed, Patricia aggressively hit a few more keys. Four seconds passed. Then, the color drained from her face.
“Here it is,” she murmured, her voice suddenly hollow. “Suite 904. Corporate reservation. Confirmed two weeks ago.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the front desk. Ethan didn’t smile.
Lupita stepped forward, looking warmly at the bouquet. “Those are beautiful flowers, sir, even if the stems got a little bent in transit. Are they for someone special?”
