MAXWELL’S POV
Walking directly into the modest lobby of The Salty Dog Inn felt entirely out of place.
The receptionist was an older woman wearing thick glasses secured on a beaded chain directly around her neck. Looking up slowly from her complicated crossword puzzle, her eyes widened comically when she finally saw me.
Knowing that looking completely ridiculous was an undeniable fact didn't change reality. Wearing a highly ruined five-thousand-dollar Italian suit entirely soaked with cold water while bright yellow sunflower petals stuck stubbornly directly to my lapel painted a chaotic picture. Having my soaking wet hair plastered uncomfortably to my forehead while breathing incredibly hard, exactly as if having just run a full marathon, completed the look.
"Can I help you?" the recept
