Iltu was a young woman with a plan. That plan was: throw open door to the inn, strut, swing hips, strut, hand on hip, strut, look around, high chin, cool gaze, strut to table, take seat, and order something sexy. Like a Naked Pinky Cosmo. She wasn't sure what that was, exactly, and the name sounded somewhat sketchy. But it had that ring to it, that pizazz. People liked those who ordered things with pizazz.

She thought they did, anyway. Didn't they? Was pizazz pretentious? Shoot. It was probably pretentious. Best not order a sexy drink, she decided. But then... That ruined the whole plan! You couldn't throw open doors and strut and swing your hips, then take a seat and order a... a ginger ale.

Pursing her lips, Iltu stood at the door of the quaint little in and stared at it, finding herself unwilling to reach out and open it to let herself in. I should have come up with a plan B, she thought miserably. One that didn't involve confidence. Or alcohol.