by Anne Barwell
"Tomas? Are you okay?" Heidi was watching him carefully, her brows wrinkled in concern as she exchanged a worried glance with Donovan.
"Huh?" Tomas looked at them both blankly. He had a tendency to space out when he was thinking; it was something he'd been told about before, and he'd been working on hiding it better. This was the first slipup he'd had in quite some time, or at least that anyone had commented on. "No." He changed his reply quickly. "Yes." Gripping his coffee in one hand, he began walking out of the kitchen before either of them decided to ask any more questions. "I just need to shower, that's all. I'll be down in time to eat." Missing meals tended to lead to more questions. Experience had taught him that lesson very well.
"If you're not back in an hour, I'm coming to find you," Heidi called after him. "There's a clean towel on your bed, and don't use all the hot water." The directions were followed by the sound of a muffled conversation Tomas didn't quite catch.
"If you need to talk, yell." Donovan's offer made Tomas stop with his foot on the bottom step of the staircase. Shrugging, he didn't bother replying and kept going, ignoring the little voice in his head suggesting that maybe at some point that might not be such a bad idea.
Trudging up the stairs, Tomas thought about revisiting the painting for a split second and then ditched the idea. He was tired, and it had been a long day. The journey into town followed by lunch at the pub and talking to Cathal seemed to merge together so that it was difficult to think clearly.
He threw his bag on the bed, crossed the room, and bent to rest his arms on the windowsill, ignoring the way in which the temperature was dropping and the cool breeze ruffled his hair through the open window. Squinting, he peered out across the field, just making out the outline of the tree. Although it wasn't yet dark but merely dusk, the soft glow of the moon only served to reinforce that feeling of between times and the concepts of belief and reality Cathal had talked about. He shivered, remembering Cathal's words about the light on the tree. It was a weird way of describing his need to be home by dark, but then nothing Cathal said appeared to be straightforward.
Piecing together the snippets of information he'd given was difficult, like a puzzle where nothing quite fit, or once it appeared to, the central piece was discovered to be in the wrong place. Those kinds of puzzles had always frustrated Tomas. As a child he'd tried to force the pieces together until they fit the way he wanted them to, but as he'd grown older he had learned that he needed to step back and look at the bigger picture. Puzzles that were not of the jigsaw type, problems that needed to be solved with clues, he had found other ways of dealing with. It was one of the reasons he'd begun writing; it was a way of formulating his thoughts within the safety of the illusion of fiction.
This might be one of those times where it would be a good idea to merge fact and fiction and use his novel to attempt to work through the breadcrumb trail he had been following. After all, he and Cathal had already role-played the kiss scene and discussed how things should progress from there. He'd always been told to write what he knew, and fantasy was not a genre he had written before. Neither was romance. However, he was getting to know this village, and it was an ideal setting for the ideas taking shape in his mind. Maybe Cathal would enjoy helping him explore possibilities.
He shrugged off his jumper, throwing the T-shirt onto the bed with it. He'd told Heidi that he needed to shower, and taking one often helped him think. He'd got a lot of his writing ideas while in the shower, the steady stream of warm water clearing his mind and helping to calm him when he was uptight after chewing over a frustrating problem. Kicking off his shoes and removing his socks, he walked across the corridor into the shared bathroom opposite his room. Entering the small cubicle, he closed and locked the door behind him and turned on the shower, pulling off his jeans while he waited for the water to heat up and stepping out of his boxers.
The water felt good against his skin, the sound of it something to focus on and center himself. Lathering the washcloth with a rough brown soap that looked handmade and smelled suspiciously like cinnamon, Tomas washed himself slowly and then stood under the water, letting it run over him while his mind worked through the events of the day. The library and the inn were connected by the roses. Alice's family had owned the inn; maybe she had liked roses? But she had been an artist, not an author, so the library didn't seem to fit. Unless it had been someone else in her family or a descendent who had planted the roses?
Donovan had said at lunch that Heidi liked to know the history of places in which she lived. She had also left the rose in his room, so hopefully she would be able to help.
Pouring shampoo into his hand, Tomas massaged it into his scalp, the crisp apple smell mixing with the cinnamon reminding him of apple crumble, one of his favorite desserts.
Both she and Donovan had told him that he could talk to them anytime he needed. He didn't feel comfortable telling them what exactly was driving him to discover the information he sought, but he suspected Heidi at least might be happy to tell him more about the history of the village. It was the backdrop of the fictional village in his novel, with there being clear parallels between the two, his mind already drawing inspiration for his own characters from people he had met. He wasn't sure how she and Donovan might feel about a fictional version of their area making its way into print. Hopefully, they would be enthusiastic about the idea rather than angry, especially when he made it clear that he would make enough changes so that the area and the people would not be recognizable.
A plan in place and feeling like he had a path to follow, Tomas finished rinsing off his hair and turned off the shower, pulling back the curtain to feel around for his towel. Where the hell was it? He blinked water out of his eyes and forced himself to scan the room. His clothing was on the floor where he'd dropped it, the bathmat outside the shower cubicle soaked through where he'd obviously not pulled the curtain across properly. Bending over, he picked up the bathmat, dropping it when the soggy thing dripped over the polished wooden floor.
Bloody hell.
"Tomas! Dinner's ready!" Heidi called from downstairs, her voice loud even through the closed bathroom door. "Do I need to come and get you?" She sounded annoyed, as though she'd been kept waiting long enough. The noise of the shower must have drowned her out earlier.
Quickly, Tomas shook his head, trying to get some of the water out of his hair, droplets scattering in all directions. Giving the bathmat a glare, he debated his options. Either he could pull on his jeans and get them wet, which would lead to an embarrassing explanation as to why they were, or he could make a run for it.
Or he could wear his boxers. Picking them up, he groaned, remembering he'd thrown them onto the bathmat when he'd stepped into the shower. They were now wet through; the thin cotton material would leave nothing to the imagination. He might as well walk across the hallway naked.
He opened the bathroom door, eyes darting toward the end of the corridor and the stairwell, listening for any sound of someone approaching.
So far, so good.
Clutching his jeans in front of him to give himself some cover, he judged the distance between this door and that of his room. He'd always been a good runner; this was simply another race that he did not intend to lose.
The temperature had dropped since he had ventured into the shower, goose bumps making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. He could do this, no problem. Drawing himself up to his full height, determined to be dignified about this, he swiftly crossed the corridor just as the door to his room blew shut.
Fuck!
Tomas fumbled around in his jeans pocket, hunting for the keys he knew had been there earlier. Something rubbed against his leg, and he jumped. Blackthorn stared back at him, a mixture of curiosity and smugness only a cat could manage across her feline features. "Move!" he hissed, ignoring his rising panic when he failed to locate his keys.
The only response he got was a loud purr while she continued rubbing against his bare
legs, sniffing him thoroughly. His jeans still held protectively in front of him with one hand, he tried to push her out of the way with the other, but the action only served to award him an indignant meow and a glare. Blackthorn had no intention of moving, and it was difficult to get past her to the door without exposing himself still further. Logically it should not be an issue, as there was no one there who would see anything. No one except for the bloody cat, he amended silently.
Damn, where were those keys? Glancing toward the top of the stairs, Tomas held his jeans away from him and shook them, hoping against hope that his keys would fall out onto the floor.
They didn't.
Blackthorn meowed louder, backing off to stand in front of the door. She looked him up and down slowly, looking every inch the Cheshire cat before putting a paw behind one ear and washing herself slowly.
"Get out of the way," he muttered, although he knew damn well it wouldn't do him the slightest bit of good. The door would have locked when it had slammed shut. Why the hell hadn't he checked he'd had his keys? More to the point, how had he been stupid enough to forget his towel?
The paw stopped mid-wash, and Tomas was glared at again. He glared back, determined that this... cat wasn't about to get the better of him. Maybe there was a towel he could borrow from one of the other rooms? Realization struck that as he was the only person staying at the inn, Heidi wouldn't waste time putting out fresh linen for nonexistent guests.
"Tomas, how much longer are you going to be?" Heidi's voice echoed up the staircase, suspiciously closer than it had been the last time. He could imagine her standing on the bottom step. "Donovan, could you see what's keeping him?"
Donovan laughed and said something Tomas couldn't make out. That was probably a good thing, he decided.
"Blackthorn," he warned. Blackthorn blinked up at him, the Cheshire smile taking on a look of pure innocence. The bloody cat needed acting lessons; it wasn't fooling anyone. Taking a risk, he leaned over, nearly dropping his jeans, and turned the door handle. Yes, it was well and truly locked.
Footsteps sounded on the bottom stair, getting closer. "I hope you're decent up there, Tomas," Donovan called, "'cause I'm coming up."
Oh crap.
Tomas froze, eyes darting around the corridor, looking for an escape route. Maybe he could dive into another room and shut the door behind him until he could think of a plan. "I'll be down in a minute," he yelled back, trying to keep his voice casual. "Just stay where you are."
"It's no trouble." The grin was obvious in Donovan's tone even though Tomas couldn't see him. A jingly noise reverberated through the stairwell. "I have keys if you've locked yourself out of your room. I heard a door slam earlier." Donovan's voice lowered, although it was doubtful Heidi couldn't still hear it. "I won't tell if you don't."
"Like hell," Tomas muttered, giving Blackthorn another glare just because he could.
Blackthorn purred loudly and sauntered slowly down the corridor toward the sound of Donovan's voice. A patch of red caught Tomas's eye, sitting in the shadow of the doorframe as the cat walked away. They must have fallen there out of his jeans pocket earlier. The thud of Donovan's footsteps against the wooden stairs grew louder and closer together.
Grabbing the key ring, Tomas shoved the key into the door, stumbling into the room and slamming it behind him. It wasn't until he got to his bed that he realized that he'd dropped his jeans in the corridor on the other side of the door.
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Chapter Nine
It was easier to focus on the food than the smirks Donovan kept shooting in his direction. Tomas had pulled on a pair of boxers quickly before answering the door, thanking Donovan very curtly for his jeans while trying to ignore the way in which he'd been looked up and down. The comment about "no offense, but you're not my type," he hadn't been sure how to answer. In the finish he'd mumbled something about being downstairs shortly and closed the door in Donovan's face, barely avoiding catching Blackthorn's tail in it as she tried to dive into the room.
"Don't dress for dinner on my account," Donovan had called through the door, the wood between them barely muffling his laughter. Tomas waited until Donovan's footsteps had receded to a safe distance and then opened the door a crack to make sure he'd gone.
Heidi grinned when Tomas finally entered the kitchen. "Sit down and I'll get your dinner for you. Donovan and I already started. He said you might be a while."
Thanking her, Tomas sat down obediently, placing his notebook and pencil on the table beside him. Pausing from shoveling mouthfuls of food into his mouth, Donovan had given Tomas a wink and then continued eating as though nothing had happened.
"There you go, Tomas." Heidi placed a large plate of casserole in front of him. "There's bread to go with it, just help yourself." She returned to her seat. "I hope you found the towel I left out for your shower okay."
Tomas choked on a piece of sausage and grabbed the water jug, pouring himself a glass quickly. Donovan grinned but said nothing. Heidi glanced between the two of them and rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure whether to be pleased or scared that you guys are getting on so well," she announced.
"Yeah, we're way scary, Heidi." Donovan attempted to spear a piece of carrot which was refusing to surrender despite his repeated efforts to capture it with his fork.
The best form of defense wasn't attack in this case but distraction, Tomas decided, and preferably before Donovan passed any more smartarse remarks. Reaching for a piece of garlic bread, he pulled off a bit and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and trying to decide how to introduce a conversation subject of his choosing.
"I see you still have quite the appetite after eating all the scones for afternoon tea," Heidi said, mopping up the gravy on her plate with a piece of bread. "I hope that cat didn't convince you to feed her. She was hanging around the kitchen earlier watching them come out of the oven."
"No, but C--" Tomas stopped himself in time, not wanting to talk about Cathal just yet. He took a gulp of water to cover his slip. "The hedgehog seemed to like the crumbs."
"Was there one in the field by the tree?" Heidi paused mid-swipe of her plate. "I've seen one or two out there in the middle of the day. They pretty much keep to themselves rather than come near humans. I'm surprised one got brave enough to come out for crumbs."
"It did seem a little confused," Tomas remembered. It had rolled out of its ball to eat the crumbs Cathal had thrown it. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the hedgehog since Cathal had disappeared. Absently, he picked up his notebook and pencil and hastily scribbled that fact. The more pieces of this puzzle he collected, the less sense it made.
"Is there a hedgehog in your book?" Donovan gestured toward the notebook with his fork. "That's why you're carrying the notebook, right? So you can remember crap you might use later?" He shrugged when Tomas looked at him blankly. "I went through college with a guy who was a writer. He used to carry a notebook everywhere and write notes about the weirdest shit for that reason. Even wrote on a napkin once when he'd forgotten the book. He said you had to grab inspiration when it struck because if you ignored it too often it would stop bothering."
"Did he use a lot of the ideas?" Tomas tucked his pencil behind one ear, a habit he'd picked up when he'd been working for the university magazine.
"Nah." Donovan shook his head. "All he ever did was scribble in notebooks." He was silent for a moment, tracing a path through his leftover gravy with his fork. "He died the year after we left college. Swerved to miss a drunk driver and his bike went out of control." Heidi laid a hand on Donovan's arm, but he pulled away.
"I'm sorry," Tomas said finally, not sure what else to say.
"It was years ago." Donovan shrugged again. "Life goes on." Heidi got up from the table, turning her back to them while she busied herself making coffee. "So, what's your book about?" he asked Tomas a little too brightly. "Or is it a secret?"
"It's not a secret," Tomas admitted, "but I
'd prefer not to share the details." Talking to Cathal about it had felt different for some reason. "However, I did wonder if you could help me with some background information."
"What kind of information?" Heidi collected their plates, motioning Donovan to stay seated when he offered to take them to the sink for her.
"Setting, mainly," Tomas revealed. "I...." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm kind of using the village as inspiration."
"Cool!" Donovan leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "What about the characters? Are we going to see versions of ourselves in print? After all," he straightened into a mock-heroic pose, "the main character has to be this guy who runs the local inn, right?"
Heidi snorted. "You're forgetting his best friend who does all the work," she quipped. A cup of coffee was set down in front of Tomas along with a plate containing a slice of carrot cake with cream cheese icing.
"Actually," Tomas said, "the main character is a writer." He hunted around for his pencil and then remembered it was behind his ear. "But," he added hastily when both their faces fell, "he stays at the local inn."
"Right." Donovan nodded. "So this writer guy's best friend runs the local inn." Heidi cleared her throat loudly. "He runs the local inn with his best friend," he amended.
So much for not sharing the details.
Tomas sighed, turned over to start a new page, and noted that down as well. This was going to be more complicated than he'd first thought. "I need some background information about the village. It doesn't mean that everything is going to end up in the story, but I'm curious about a few things."
"We can help with that, can't we, Donovan?" Heidi tapped the table with her cake fork. "Mrs. O'Neil would be a good person to ask. There isn't anything in this village that she doesn't know about."
"That's what she'd like us to believe"--Donovan rolled his eyes--"although she doesn't know the answers to everything." He gestured around them. "There are rumors that this place and that field out there are haunted."