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My stomach tumbled over with the urge to ask Dakota.
Not yet.
It would be stupid to put my trust in her so easily.
Forcing the easy smile I’d been wearing back onto my face, I did my best to keep my composure. “I think the stack of cash sitting in my pocket right now would dispute that claim.”
I couldn’t stop the swell of gratitude that pressed at the empty hollow of my chest. Weighty and full. She’d hired me without reservation. Given me a chance.
And maybe it made me a fool, but that counted for something.
“How about we just agree that we’re both getting mad benefits from the arrangement?” she said.
“Deal.” A soft chuckle slid out with it.
I went to leave when she called out again, “It is really great to have you here, Savannah. I truly hope you love it.”
The problem was, I thought I might.
“And I hope you have a great night with that man of yours,” I told her, changing the subject to the one I knew would distract her. I’d heard all about Ryder Nash. It was safe to say Dakota was crazy in love.
Giggling, she flushed. “I plan to.”
Without saying anything else, I turned and headed from the kitchen and back through the store. Beth had gotten off an hour ago, and it was fairly slow at the moment during the shift change, a lull right before there apparently would be another rush for dinner.
I was out the door and climbing into my car by five-forty, my attention skating the lot like I might lift my head and catch sight of Jessica.
Ridiculous, but finding her was the only hope that I had, and if I lost that…?
I dug into my bag and pulled out the note Ezra had given me. Such a senseless, imprudent girl with the way my heart squeezed. I stared at his strong print inscribed on the paper, as if details about the man might be hidden in the script.
I had no idea where he was sending me or why he cared. I mean, it wasn’t normal, right? Someone being that thoughtful? Finding me a job and a place to stay?
But maybe as the Sheriff, he really was concerned about me trespassing or loitering or just in general mucking up the peace of the gorgeous town.
That had to be it.
And if I was going to stay here, I would need an actual place of my own because the run-down motel where I had been staying wasn’t going to cut it, and thanks to Hot Cop, sleeping in my car had quickly become an unviable option.
So I plugged the address into Maps and followed the directions through town.
My attention wandered as I traveled beneath the endless sky that had just begun to gray and pink.
Time River seemed a million miles away from Houston.
A different plane.
A different universe.
Quaint shops and restaurants lined each side of Manchester. People strolled, their paces slowed and smiles on their faces, as if they all might know each other, and if they didn’t, they would be happy for the introduction.
An alternate reality from what I knew.
The entire time, I scanned, clinging to that hope.
I had made it to the opposite side of town when I was instructed to make a left into what appeared a family neighborhood. The houses were all one-story and well-kept, far from flashy, but cozy and comfortable. Each were surrounded by soaring trees and fronted by green, manicured lawns.
I made the next right before You’ve arrived echoed through my speakers.
Confusion knit my brow.
It wasn’t more than an alley that ran behind a house enclosed by a high, white wooden fence. I’d been expecting some sort of apartment building or duplex, though I noticed a small sign staked at the side of the drive that confirmed the address.
Making the left on the dirt alleyway, I inched behind the fence that ran along the backside of the property before a tiny house facing out into the alley came into view.
A guest house, I realized, situated behind a larger house with a big yard separating them. A really freaking cute guest house that was painted white with blue trim and had a pitched roof and a miniature porch out front.
It even had a rocking chair.
So adorable and welcoming that my chest panged. It was funny that I’d always imagined a place like this. A place that whispered of home.
I used to murmur stories to Jessica at night, in the times when we’d lie there awake, shaking and afraid. I’d plant dreams in her ear that one day we would find a place to call home. A home like the ones we’d sometimes see in movies and TV.
Shutting off the engine, I cranked open the door and stepped out. The soles of my shoes crunched on the loose gravel as I moved a couple steps closer so I could take in everything. The front of the guest house was situated out toward the alley, and even though I couldn’t see over the high fence that surrounded it, it seemed the small house shared its backyard with the main house, their back porches directly facing each other.
