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“Hi, Noah.” Bethany appears suddenly at our now very crowded table. “Can I get you anything?”
My brother looks up politely, offering a small smile. “Hey, Bee, I’m alright, thanks. Just forgot to grab an espresso before I left.”
“I’ll get that for you,” she chirps.
Dad cocks his head toward his other son but keeps his eyes on me. “Approachable.”
That’s because Noah is in and out of here in three seconds on a typical afternoon and Bee was just being proactive. As the only affordable lawyer in town—he’s always busy. So after a long day of working in the office on his high profile city cases, he heads home to work on pro bono cases for the town locals, stopping for a caffeine spike here at the inn.
“Dad, leave him alone. He’s just pissy because his game’s been off the last few weeks.”
“Just the last three games and piss off before I call Bee back and tell her you want to try her special today.”
“You know it wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to the female population.”
“I am nice.” I lean back with a smirk. “When it counts.”
Dad stands with a sigh. “That’s my cue.”
Noah kicks me under the table. “Why do you have to get like that in front of Dad?”
Ignoring him, I check the time. “I’ve got to get to practice.” The Denver Kings arena is forty-five minutes from town. I won’t hit traffic around here, but closer to the city, I’m looking at, at least a twenty-minute delay. Polishing off my coffee, I grab the keys to my Harley off the table.
Noah stands first. “You’re comin’ back for poker night tomorrow, right?” he asks. “Levi wants to go over the guest list too. Says there’s a suspicious number of single moms coming this year.”
I zone out for a minute, remembering my game schedule. “Tomorrow’s Sunday? Yeah. I’m good for Sunday.”
Bailing on game night isn’t an option unless I have a direct conflict. It was Elliot’s thing and we vowed to keep it alive. We just call it ‘poker night’ now.
“Crashin’ at my place again?” He looks down at me in expectation…or maybe as a challenge.
“Yeah, maybe.”
He and I both know I don’t sleep at the cottage that Elliot left me. I can barely stand in that house for more than five minutes without reliving the last time I saw him in it. The night before his accident.
Two minutes after Noah leaves and I’ve double-checked which days I have games, I’m considering a second attempt at telling Dad about Elliot’s place when a car door slams on the quiet street outside, followed by the sound of screeching tires. From my vantage point, I catch a glimpse of the yellow taxi from the big city race its way out of town.
Soon after, the bell to the front entrance chimes announcing a new patron, which means it’s clearly not the right time to approach Dad about my plans for the burden that was left for me.
A relived sigh carries across the room. “Oh, thank God, this place is still open.”
The voice. It’s breathy and alive. Desperate and determined.
Familiar.
“Please, please, please tell me the Inn upstairs is still open.”
An old vision creeps into my mind before I look up. Of the small-town girl with the easy smile, long wavy red hair that reminds you of an autumn sunset in Hideaway Springs; breezy, colorful…naturally beautiful.
“Still in business,” Dad answers. “But I’m afraid—”
“Fabulous.”
I turn to find the visitor at the counter. I only see the back of her bleached-blonde head, but there’s no mistaking who it is.
Pepper Woods.
She’s wearing crisp white running shoes and a pink velour sweatsuit. Her hair is loosely bobby-pinned in various places. Her cheeks are shimmery and rose-powdered. And I’m almost positive that’s a veil poking out of her tan leather backpack.
