by Quinn, Taryn
Going inside didn’t change my assessment. I saw absolutely no one in the foyer, or the little gift shop to the left, or the fancy restaurant closed off behind pocket doors to my right.
Then a blond popped up from behind the wide cherry counter. “Hi, you look peaked!” Her curls bounced to match her infernally perky voice. “Weary traveler?”
I blessed myself because Jesus Christ, my heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her. “You could say that. Room?”
“Like room at the inn? Sure thing. What’s your name? Do you have people in town? What brought you this way in a storm like this?”
Far too many questions, offered in a rapid-fire style that made my ears buzz. She was like a living white noise machine. Except her noise was pink, to go along with her brightly colored dress. “Come again?”
“I’m sorry, you must think I’m wacky.”
That was one word for it.
“I’m Sage Hamilton. My husband and I own The Hummingbird’s Nest—where you’re standing,” she added, as if I’d failed to notice the sign on the door. “We don’t get a lot of out-of-towners this time of year, and definitely not this time of night during a storm. But your reasons for being here are none of my business. I’m just a nosy sort.” She smiled and her looks veered from pretty into downright stunning.
“I was meeting an acquaintance near Turnbull but the storm delayed my flight. Then his baby was fussy and I didn’t even know he had a baby. Named Wolf no less. Who names their child that?”
“Mine is named Star.”
“So, it’s a small town thing then.” Made sense.
“Possibly.” Her smile grew as she tapped keys on a sleek computer system. “So, how long are you here for?”
I glanced at my watch. “Twenty-two hours give or take.”
“Aww, you’re going to miss the Sap Fest.”
I hated to be redundant, but… “Come again?”
“Maple syrup. You came at the perfect time to try some of our tastiest local concoctions. Like maple ice. If you’re a fan of icees from the gas station, you’ve got to try these.”
“Um. Shame to miss that.”
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? What country are you from anyway? I can’t place the accent.”
“America.”
Rather than becoming offended, she laughed. Gaily. As if I wasn’t a rude fucker who’d invaded her happy hushed sanctuary at damn close to midnight.
“Point taken. I have a nice room for you. The last one we have with a fireplace. Good for a night like this.”
She leaned forward and tilted her head, peering over the counter at my hands. At least that was what I assumed she was looking at. Maybe my lack of gloves? Surely she couldn’t see the hole in my sneaker from that height. It wasn’t a big one. It hadn’t even been the shoe’s fault. I’d met a nail and lost. And stubborn fool that I was, I’d refused to stop wearing my favorite pair.
“No luggage?”
“A bag in the car.” I gestured vaguely out the door. “I wanted to make sure there was room for me before I brought in my belongings.”
“We always have room at The Hummingbird’s Nest.” Her voice was sober as she tapped her name tag. I’d not noticed it before.
And lookee there. It actually said that exact sentiment.
We always have room for you at The Hummingbird’s Nest. You’re not a friend, you’re family.
“I’m not even a friend, but I’ll take the goodwill. Let me go get that bag—”
“You haven’t finished checking in yet. I’ll send my assistant out to retrieve it for you.” She pressed a button on the phone. “Yo, Hamilton, we’ve got a live one.”
My eyebrows lifted. Was she truly having someone get my bag or would my rental car end up at the bottom of the lake, never to be found again?
Was this small town really like the one in the Richard Marx song? I was a bit west of the setting of that one, but there were crazies everywhere. Possibly ones with shiny blond curls and doe eyes.
A talk dark man in a business suit—at midnight?—came down the sweeping staircase a moment later. He said nothing to Sage, just cocked his head at me. “Vehicle make and model? And may I have the keys?”
“You say hello first.” Sage let out a long breath. “He’s not new here, but he acts it. Oliver Hamilton, this is…what’s your name?”
“Rory.”
“Last name?” When I hesitated, she tapped her keyboard pointedly. “Unless you’re checking in with an assumed name, I’ll find it out on your credit card. Unless you only have cash. Hmm. You don’t seem like the miscreant sort. Are you in trouble with the law?”
“Don’t mind my wife. She claims I’m the one with no manners, but sometimes she puts me to shame.” Oliver held out his hand and I gave him the keys.
“Blue Honda parked in front of the flagpole at the white house down the street. Bag is in the boot. Trunk,” I corrected automatically.
He nodded, moving in close for an instant as he passed me. “But if you touch a hair on her head while I’m occupied, I’ll use your own vehicle to end you.”
Two
I coughed into my fist. Weren’t small towns supposed to be welcoming? I was pretty sure implied death threats didn’t count as hospitality.
Oliver stepped back and smiled. “Have a pleasant evening. Enjoy your stay.” The door shut behind him.
“Payment method, please.”
I handed over my card. “Your husband seems nice,” I said carefully.
So did Ted Bundy.
“He isn’t. But he’s a good lover and a wonderful father and he’s easy on the eyes too. So, there’s that. A temporary additional deposit of one hundred dollars has been placed on the card and will come off assuming there is no damage to your room during your stay.”
“Okay.” I didn’t even know how much the room cost. It didn’t really matter. I’d pay anything to get out of here.
Perhaps that was the Hamilton policy. Make potential guests so uncomfortable, they’ll pay anything to escape the conversation.
I had to say it was working so far.
Oliver returned with my single bag just as Sage passed me my credit card.
“I’ll show you to your room,” he said ominously and I held up my hands before pointing at Sage.
“Her hair hasn’t moved. See?”
“Don’t mind him. He’s testy at being awakened this late.”
“Awakened? Does he sleep in a three-piece suit?”
“Only on special occasions.” Oliver nodded at the stairs and I followed him up.
There was a good chance I was going to do bodily harm to Kellan when we met up tomorrow. First, he wouldn’t let me spend the night at his place, then he sends me here? The guy was parked on a piece of ice so thin he could see his own reflection.
Oliver led me to my room and set down my lone bag, all the while commenting on the amenities in a brutally pleasant voice.
I didn’t pay him much mind. The room itself was actually quite nice, with the aforementioned fireplace already going and the King sized bed turned down. I moved to the window and tried not to grimace at the snow. It still hadn’t ceased. At least I could walk to the diner from here. Better to fall on my ass than to slide into another vehicle.
Assuming I saw any.
“Room service has ended for the evening but it resumes again at eight a.m. If you’re up before then, there’s a complimentary continental—”
“I’ll be up and out of here by then.” I smiled thinly. “Hoping to have my meeting first thing in the morning.”
If Kellan cooperated. If not, I’d amuse myself in town until he was available rather than lay about eating sausage links and miniature boxes of cereal.
“Suit yourself. Hope you enjoy your stay at The Hummingbird’s Nest.” Without so much as another smile, Oliver was gone.
Clearly, I wasn’t the only dour sort around.
I used the facilities—large clawfoot tub and separate shower stall
, I noted, along with piles of thick soft towels—and unpacked my toiletries. I left my glasses behind on the dresser and my clothes in my suitcase, although I put on a heavier sweater under my thin jacket. Then I was out the door again and headed downstairs.
Sage wasn’t at the desk. Nor was she hiding behind it. In fact, a bell had been set upon it with a sign.
Ring for service. Desk will be staffed at seven a.m.
Did she have a room here herself? Did the bell somehow sound over her bed?
Shaking my head, I stepped out into the storm, drawing my collar in tight. I descended the icy steps and hurried up the street, my mind already on my stomach. The town itself was a postcard vision in icy white, with the soft glow of lights against windows here and there reminding me just how alone I was.
Starkly alone. Not just here, but essentially on the planet. If I disappeared, my family wouldn’t realize for days or weeks. And I wasn’t even sure they’d care if they did.
What the hell was it about this place, making me think such maudlin thoughts? That wasn’t me. Then again, passing that partially frozen over lake in the hushed darkness could make anyone uneasy.
This was why I preferred the hustle and bustle of the city. Less room for me and my thoughts.
I rushed past the closed souvenir shop and another for women’s clothing and accessories, then grasped the ice cold handle to the diner with a sigh of relief.
Finally. Maybe this place would have some life. A distraction for my far too busy brain.
I opened the door and glanced around at the tidy, well-worn booths. Empty, every one of them.
Great.
Elvis’s The Wonder of You came from an honest to God jukebox at the back of the room. One of my father’s favorites. Seemed to be an auspicious sign.
Despite my rumbling belly, I almost turned around and walked back out. I’d shifted to debate doing just that when a friendly voice rang out behind me.
“We’re still open, don’t worry. Sorry, I was in back making tomorrow’s bread. Missed a delivery because of the storm. Table or booth?”
Her voice. Christ. It was like a melody, but a discordant one. A little husky, a little broken, with an edge of fatigue she couldn’t quite cover with the layer of false cheer.
I pivoted back to face her and couldn’t quite match up that raspy voice with the long red braids and pouty mouth slicked with pink gloss. She wore a tight top and tighter pants, the bellbottom kind that hung over her shoes. Platforms, I thought they were called. Not exactly work attire, even if she had a sloppily tied apron on over her outfit.
“Got called in unexpectedly,” she said, correctly reading my thoughts. “No one else could make it in because of the storm.”
“And you were on a modeling job when you were called away?”
She tilted her head. “Have you been drinking?”
I crossed my arms. “Hear the Irish in my voice and that’s what you think, hmm?”
“Now that you mention it, yes, I do hear the Irish. I didn’t at first. I meant because you accused me of being a model. I lost one of my false eyelashes in my margarita.” She pointed to her naked eye and it made me laugh, because somehow I hadn’t noticed she was missing one.
I’d been too busy noticing all the rest of her.
“A night out with your girlfriends, was it? Or your boyfriend?” I wasn’t sure why my voice deepened when I said that, or why my hands tightened where I’d tucked them under my arms.
She snorted at that. “You’re kidding, right? In this town? All the men are married or dating or old enough to be my grandfather. I have to widen my net.” She licked her lips, probably a nervous habit. But that quick flash of tongue combined with her lush mouth had my muscles locking as if I was a predator in the woods, scenting my mate.
“How old are you?”
She let out a laugh. “Old enough. Would you like a seat? You must be hungry.”
“Oh, I am.” I just hadn’t expected to be hungry for her more than I was for food. “You didn’t answer the question.”
She tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Neither did you.”
“Yes, I’d like a seat. Usually when women don’t share their age either they’re too young or too—”
“Old?”
“Too tired of bullshit.”
“Oh, well, I’m definitely tired of that. Booth or table?”
“Whatever you’d like to give me.”
Her eyes flashed, and it annoyed me that without my glasses I couldn’t as easily make out their color. I hadn’t expected to need them for any fine details at the diner. Sometimes it was better if you couldn’t see too clearly at a greasy spoon.
But here, I’d miscalculated. In more ways than one.
Silently, she led me to a booth. She leaned across the table to grab a laminated menu out of the rack and opened it in front of me. “We serve our full menu all night long, so whatever you’d like is available.”
“Not sure about that,” I said under my breath as I scanned the offerings. “Black coffee and the big boy breakfast with bacon, please.” I winced and closed the menu. “Unfortunate name.”
“Are you?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
She was scribbling so furiously on her pad I was almost certain I’d imagined the cheeky question—if not for the telltale twitch of her bedroom mouth. “I’ll let management know you’re displeased with the name of your food.”
“Appreciate it. While you’re at it, let them know I’m happy to compensate them for cutting your shift short.” I met her shocked stare straight on. “And I’ll answer that question of yours in private.”
Three
I took the menu from him and tucked it back behind the condiments. Something I did a million times a day. Except everything inside me was jangling in a whole new way.
The jukebox kicked over to the next song. The Zombies and their groovy 60’s rhythm filled the space between us.
He didn’t mean what he’d just said. That was ridiculous.
“Do you need glasses?”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
“First, you thought I was a model. Then you think it would be okay to blatantly proposition me.”
“If you’re offended, I apologize. I misread.”
My lips twitched again. “You didn’t.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Contrary girl.”
“Very.” I grinned and tapped his shoulder with my pad. “No harm. Unfortunately, I can’t close the diner.” I almost said I was the only one here, but he was a stranger. I might be a small town girl, but I listened to true crime podcasts. Far too many to be healthy sometimes, but they were so fascinating. The women from Vee’s baby group had passed around names and episodes like prenatal vitamins. And the worst of the stories happened in a small town.
No thanks.
I rose. “Let me just put your order in.”
“If you must. The idea of you for breakfast is far more interesting.”
“Because you don’t know me very well.” My skin was tingling and I was sure my freckles were literally glowing under my long-sleeved top. I put an extra sway in my step as I walked away.
The Animals piped through the speakers. Mitch had just put the retro jukebox in the diner and the constant rotation of 45’s wasn’t annoying yet. Especially with the number of singles my boss had in his collection. The playlist was forever changing and the colorful machine made him smile.
Mitch in a good mood meant the rest of us were in a good mood.
Once I got to the swinging door, I rushed through and back to the small bathroom. A quick look in the mirror assured me the damage was as bad as I’d feared. “Good Lord, girl.” I debated going back to my purse for my other eyelash, but it was fairly ruined. Damn margarita. I peeled the other one off and groaned. I really needed to start over. Glue and an uneven line of eyeliner belied my very steady hand.
“Fuck it.” How many times was I going to have a hot dude in the diner?
&
nbsp; Especially one who actually looked at me like I was more than just August Beck’s little sister. His hotness factor clicked up a few simply because he didn’t know me or this town.
I rushed back to my locker and dragged out my purse. Of course I didn’t have my good makeup bag on me. I had my baby purse for the bar and I looked like a reject from an Elvis movie.
It had been 60’s night at The Spinning Wheel. Music and games from that era. The entire town was bored as hell this time of year. Barely anything to do but watch snow fall.
And I was very sick of snow.
The Sap Fest was starting tomorrow, so at least there was that. Not exactly in town, but close enough to bring a few strangers into the vicinity. My customer didn’t look like he’d ever gone to a festival in his life. At least not one that included maple syrup.
I dug around with a small prayer. “Yes!” I grabbed the black liner and rushed back to the bathroom. I ended up with a bit of a smokier look than usual, but it was better than the twisted Alice in Wonderland look I was rocking before. I freshened up the deep lip stain with some gloss and smoothed my hand over my tight shirt. It might not be the current fashion, but the green and pink records pattern was funky and the top kept me warm.
I quickly reached back for the strings on my stained apron. That had to go.
I washed my hands and rushed back into the kitchen to pull out the fixings for the big boy breakfast. Cooking was second nature to me. I didn’t run the grill too often, but enough that I didn’t have to think about what I was doing.
Normally.
It wasn’t like there were no attractive men in the Cove, just none that actually made my heart race. I peeked out into the diner to make sure he was okay. He was holding his phone up close to the window. Good luck finding a signal in this storm.
Then I burned the toast and had to trash it.
Pay attention to the food, Ivy. Not to the dude outside.
I poured a juice and a water and backed out through the door.
“Here we go. Your food is almost ready.” Only a little bit of a lie.