So here’s the upshot, my fellow hotel-obsessed friend. You are now armed with the knowledge of when to watch, where to stream, and how to survive a cliffhanger. You’re basically a TV detective. A very cozy, snack-covered detective.
And remember: Even if your life feels nothing like a luxury resort, these 60 minutes of Fortune Hotel are your passport to a world where the biggest problem is who gets the ocean-view room. So pour yourself a drink, fluff your pillows, and enjoy the chaos. You’ve earned it.
Now go set that reminder. The peanuts aren’t going to steal themselves. (Okay, they might. But that’s next week’s problem.)
