I beam back, because I can’t not, and cross over to her. “That’s me.” I reach out my hand to shake hers before realizing I’m still carrying an armload of trash. “Oh, sorry. Is there somewhere I could throw this away?”
“Of course.” She gestures for me to hand it over.
I fumble a bit, dropping an empty bag of peach rings. By the time I pick it up and hand it over the counter, the rest of the evidence of my terrible road-trip snacking has been disposed of. “Thank you so much. And yes, I’m Emmy Harper.” When I stick out my hand this time, grasping for some semblance of professionalism amid the nerves, the woman pushes it away, instead coming around the counter to wrap me in a warm hug.
“Welcome, Emmy. I’m Linda Parkson, and we are so excited to have you here.”
“I’m so excited to be here, Ms. Parkson.”
“Linda, please, dear.” She crosses back around the counter and starts fiddling on her computer. “You are the first one to arrive, and I would say that gets you the best room in the house, but truth be told, I already assigned you the best room in the house.”
I lean both elbows on the counter. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, but I certainly don’t require any special accommodations.” Not that I’ve ever been one to turn down a free upgrade. It’s not often that writers get special treatment, so twist my arm and give me the fancy room.
“Nonsense. You’re the reason all of this is happening.” She taps for a second on the keyboard before pausing to give me a conspiratorial look. “I managed to charm a copy of that script you wrote out of your location scout, and I think it’s absolutely delightful.”
Heat rises in my cheeks at her kind words. “Well, thank you. I’m glad you liked it. And I have to say, your inn is exactly what I imagined as I was writing it.”
“I can’t wait to see you bring it to life.” She hands me a key, a real metal one, on an actual keychain. “Your room is upstairs, down the hallway to the right, last door on your left-hand side.”
“Thank you so much. I’m just going to grab my bags from my car, and I’ll head up and get settled.” I tuck the key in the back pocket of my jeans and give Linda a little wave before turning back toward the front door. I don’t register the tinkling of the bells until my head connects with a chest. A very hard chest, luckily covered by a very soft sweater. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry.” Taking a step back, I tilt my head up. And up. And up. “Oh. Shit.”
Competing emotions roil around in my brain like glitterin a snow globe that’s just been turned upside down and shaken. Violently.
Because attached to the hard chest is a gorgeous face.
A gorgeous, scowling face.
A gorgeous, scowling face that takes me thirty seconds of open-mouthed staring to properly recognize.
“What the fuck areyoudoing here?” I blurt out before I consider who else might be around to overhear me.
That gorgeous, scowling face furrows. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
My mouth drops open even farther. “Do youknow me? Is that some kind of joke?”
Perfectly crystal-clear blue eyes squint before looking me over from head to toe. “Nope. Not a joke.”
A throat clears over my shoulder, and Linda steps up next to me, placing a soft hand on my forearm, which may or may not be tightened and about ready to punch something. Or someone.
“Grayson West, I’m Linda Parkson. The producer called me earlier about the change, and I have your room all ready for you.”
“What change? What producer?I’mthe producer!” I look back and forth between the two of them. “This inn has been reserved for cast and crew only. You are not allowed to be here.” Linda’s soft brown eyes are trying to telegraph something to me. Probably something along the lines ofPlease don’t punch this man in my lobby.
Grayson’s eyes are looking everywhere but at me, roaming around the room, his furrows growing even deeper by the second.
“This was a mistake,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was a mistake?” My voice rises in volume and pitch as Linda digs her nails into my arm.
The bells over the door tinkle once again, and our fearless director, the woman who is supposedly my best friend—although what happens in this room in the next five minutes could very well change that fact—strides in, shivering and rubbing her arms for warmth. “Fuck, it’s cold here.” She pauses for a second, taking in the scene before her.
Grayson, avoiding and furrowing.
Me, rabid and glowering.
Linda, holding me back.
“Fuck me.” Liz sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I was hoping to beat you here, Grayson.”
