Chapter Eleven
The thudding of his shoes against concrete pounded in Zane’s ears. With each long stride the metal of his jogging cleats clicked. He’d forgotten his earbuds and missed the distraction of his running playlist. Music helped him keep a steady pace. He wasn’t one of those people who jogged for fun. It was a chore. He did it to stay fit and to burn off the consequences of his addiction to sweets. Like all the pie he’d eaten after baking for and with Clara. With that in mind, he forced himself to keep going.
This morning, his thoughts flip flopped between his novel and Clara. In both instances, clues had surfaced. His book had hints to the identity of the murderer and Clara had dropped a casual comment about her father hating the holidays. Combine that with her uncomfortable relationship with the man, Zane wanted to dig deeper, find out what had soured her family relationship. Had it been rocky when her mother was alive, or had the dynamics changed later? She was excited to get her decorations up and turn the inn into a holiday wonderland for her guests. He couldn’t help thinking her father and sad past Christmases played into her decision.
The inn sat on the last street on the east edge of town. Beyond it lay small family farms, intermingled with patches of old growth forest. If it were summer, he’d be jogging along the highway. After the recent dump of snow, he had to stick to the sidewalks and head deeper into town and avoid the slushy road and the hazards of being splashed by traffic. He ran into town and up and down the still quiet streets. First and foremost was Sweet Heaven, a chocolate shop. He had a serious weakness for chocolate. Especially salted caramel milk chocolate. Cakes and More, the bakery, called to him. As did Guido’s Pizza. He was truly a foodie.
He turned off Main Street onto Eleventh and ran past Tammy’s, the enticing aromas of bacon and sausages tantalizing his senses, making his stomach growl. After twenty minutes at a steady pace, he circled a parking lot and retraced his steps back to Clara’s. He couldn’t wait to dig into those muffins and whatever other delicious food she was offering for breakfast. Of course, if he continued to eat treats all day, he’d have to jog again later. As much as he preferred running outside, access to a gym would be nice. He could workout inside on more frigid days. Was there a gym in Coyote Creek?
He refused to believe that the beautiful Clara was the reason behind his sudden interest in upping his fitness game. He wasn’t out of shape, not by a long stretch, nor was he as fit as he could be. Okay, truth time. He wanted to be buff for his pretty host.
The ticking of his cleats sounded like a chant. Clar-a. Clar-a. He was doomed. Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? This was not good. Not good at all. He wasn’t looking for a holiday fling or a long-distance relationship. Heck, he wasn’t looking for romance at all.
A sudden urge to make this Clara’s best Christmas ever rushed into his mind. He wasn’t impulsive, usually. His friends often accused him of engineering every decision to death, which was more accurate than he cared to admit. But the sadness on Clara’s face when she told him of missing celebrating Christmas as a child had inspired the idea. He’d take time from writing to help her decorate.
A small town like Coyote Creek must have a dozen things to do for the holidays. He’d find out what they were and take Clara to them.
He mentally congratulated himself on his plan. As an engineer, he specialized in action plans; the best way to get the job done or the puzzle solved, and Clara was a sweet puzzle.
* * *
Freshly showered,Zane returned to the kitchen only to find it empty. He puffed out a disappointed breath. Dang. Where was she?
Muted conversation filtered through the adjacent dining room, and he wandered in that direction. Since Clara wasn’t around to keep him company, he might as well visit with the other guests.
Noah and Wren Underhill sat at a table for four finishing their breakfast. The utilitarian white napkins he’d noticed last night had been replaced with a variety of holiday themed ones in a myriad of colors. A new floral arrangement sat on the buffet and scented the room with cedar. Apparently, the Christmas decorating elves had shown up last night.
“Zane, hi,” Wren greeted him.
“Noah, Wren, good morning.” Zane strode to the sideboard and poured himself a coffee. He set it on the table adjacent to the one the Underhills occupied. He was on his way to the small buffet Clara had set up when Noah invited Zane to sit with them.
Laden breakfast plate in hand, he joined them.
“Thanks for the invite. I’d rather not eat alone.” He scooped a bit of over easy egg onto his fork and tasted it. Delicious. Buttery and the perfect amount of salt and pepper. A man had to love a chef who cooked with real butter. “I’m surprised to see you guys this morning. I thought you’d be back on the road by now.”
“That was the plan.” Wren frowned. “Unfortunately, I was up all night with cramps. We just got back from urgent care. They’re recommending I sit tight for at least two days. Not bed rest, but not hours of traveling either. We’re stuck here for a few days.” She nibbled on a cookie. “At least the food is good.”
“It is. I didn’t expect a feast like this.” Even after yesterday’s delicious cinnamon buns, he’d expected simple fare. Instead, there was bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, the promised pumpkin spice muffins, and fresh fruit. Clara had gone out of her way to provide a full breakfast feast. “Sorry you can’t finish your trip. It might be a mixed blessing. I caught the weather report earlier. There’s a big snowstorm up north. They’ve closed Highway 43. Nothing’s moving. At least not until the snow stops and the plows are out.”
“That’s good to know,” Noah replied. “It makes me feel better about staying longer. Though I’m not complaining about the chance to spend more vacation time with my beautiful wife. Do you want more tea?” he asked Wren.
“What I want is a good shot of expresso. Ideally a triple.” Her tone was a mix of joking and deadly serious.
“Is that good for the baby?” Zane asked before diving into his breakfast. Every bite was delicious. How Clara managed to keep the food hot without overcooking it or drying it out amazed him. Her mini buffet was as good as fresh. Even the eggs were still soft.
“An occasional cup is fine. I try to limit myself to a very rare cup. Today, I could drink a pot. I’m desperate enough to eat coffee grounds.” She laughed lightly, but Zane sensed the truth in her words.
“Babe.” Tender warning rang in Noah’s voice.
“I admit, I know nothing about pregnancy, but would one cup really hurt? Water it down? Maybe that would kill the craving. She looks twitchy to me.” Zane winked at Wren to show he wasn’t serious.
Noah scrunched up his face and groaned. “Fine. Half a cup. With cream.”
“You know the doctor said I can have one or two cups a day.”
Noah sighed, forcing Zane to stifle a laugh.
“One cup. Remember, we agreed to limit the caffeine.”
