“Yeah, he’s a big reader and he loves those books. But if you ask my mom, she’ll tell you I’m named after Ian Anderson, who was the lead singer for Jethro Tull.”
“What happens if I ask the question when they’re both in the room?”
“I change the subject.” She laughed, and he joined in. “But actually, I don’t think it’s ever come up when they’re together.”
She picked up a glass that was set on the end of the bar and, after taking a sip, set it down closer to his. “So what do you do when you’re not on vacation?”
“I’m a welder.”
“Really? Like a sculpture kind of welder or do you weld broken metal things back together?” She smiled. “Or maybe you’re a welder by day and a dancer by night, like inFlashdance.”
“Trust me, the only people who are going to pay to see me dance are the folks who love watching those internet compilations of people being ridiculous.”
“I don’t know. I’d probably pay to see it.”
He held up his glass. “If you’re hoping for aMagic Mikesituation, I’m going to need a few more of these first.”
As soon as he said it, he wanted to slap his palm to his face.Magic Mike? Really? But she laughed again, and that made his embarrassment worth it.
“There are more bottles downstairs,” she said, amusement still rich in her voice. “This sounds like a challenge in the making.”
He wouldn’t mind stripping for her behind closed doors, but in the dining room with three guys who’d probably pause their card game to laugh at him, he was going to keep his clothes on. “It’s my first night here at the lodge. We should save something for in case boredom sets in.”
The way her eyes crinkled told him she’d been about to say something else that would either make him laugh or make him blush. Or maybe both. But at that moment one of the guys pushed back his chair and started toward them.
“Hey Nola, can I get three more, please?”
“No problem.” She stepped away and then bent to take three bottles of beer from under the counter. He could see that they were cold, so he assumed there was a mini fridge under there. She popped the caps off with an old-fashioned bottle opener that could probably double as a cast iron murder weapon if it wasn’t screwed to the wall, and then handed the bottles over.
He watched her as she made a note in a small ledger—which he assumed listed their room numbers and any purchases made—before tucking it away. Then her full attention was back on him and her gaze warmed him in a way the woodstove in the front room couldn’t. This was a deep heat that curled through him and filled him with a languid contentment that gave him zero desire to move off the stool anytime soon.
“So, Ian,” she said in a low voice. “Tell me more about yourself.”
They talked until the other guys had called it a night and then for another hour after. She had a stool behind the counter, and the way they sat across from each other—him nursing a drink and her a water with lemon while making small talk—felt like a first date to Ian.
And it was the best first date he could remember having, even if it technically hadn’t started out that way.
He talked about his welding business and his life in Connecticut, trying to find the balance of letting her know he was single without sounding like he was desperate for a woman’s company. She talked about her job at Whitford’s town hall, and about her house on the river. And she told him how her cousin Laney had come to the lodge to help for a summer but had ended up falling in love with the new paramedic in town so she’d never left.
Maybe it was the lodge, he thought as he drank in the sound of her voice as though mesmerized. It was a romantic sort of place.
“I have to work in the morning,” she said with obvious reluctance. “So I should probably lock up and get going.”
“I’ll get out of your way,” he said, pushing his empty glass away. It had been empty for at least fifteen minutes, and that sucked because his mouth suddenly felt dry. “We’ll see you tomorrow night?”
“Definitely.” Her gaze lingered on his face before she gave him another one of those warm smiles. “Goodnight, Ian.”
“Goodnight, Nola.”
He was back in his room before he realized he’d never even unfolded the snowmobile map, never mind plotted a course for tomorrow.
Three
Wednesday, the 16thof December
“Maybe we should takethe clock off the wall and prop it up in your line of vision so you don’t have to keep turning your head to check the time.”
Nola looked at Amy, her deputy town clerk, and frowned. “What are you talking about?”
