“Same for me.”
“Great.” The waitress snatches the menus off the table and turns to leave.
“Wait.”
She stops. Her shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath. When she turns, her expression is more guarded than a top-security prison. “Yes?”
“You got a newspaper lying around here?”
She brings over a paper someone left behind on one of the nearby tables. “Here you go. Anything else?” Her eyes are the same kind of mesmerizing blue as the lake we drove past on the way here.
“Thank you. That’s all.”
She walks away and disappears around a corner.
Sandro laughs. “You should have seen your face. Now you know how it is for the rest of us mortals.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. It’s not like I’ve never encountered a woman who didn’t like me. It just doesn’t happen often. “Whatever.”
I open the paper on the table and turn to the classifieds, looking for a lead. Job openings, used cars for sale, nanny for hire…
“Look.” Sandro reaches over and points at one of the listings. “Handy Heroes. Home renovation business for sale. Think that could work? We know a bit about construction.”
“We know how to shake down concrete companies for a percentage of their contracts. Not sure that’s all that relevant.”
“I helped one of the other drivers back home renovate his apartment last year.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. It was fun. I’d have to learn some stuff, but I think I could manage the projects. And you can handle the sales. You’re good at shit like talking to people.”
He’s not wrong. I read over the listing again. Is this going to be enough to keep me from blowing my brains out from boredom?
Guess there’s only one way to find out.
“Let’s give them a call.”
Sandro pulls out his cellphone, and by the time the blond returns with our plates, we’ve got a meeting scheduled with the owner.
The chicken cacciatore smells incredible. Sandro’s no better than a starved animal, digging into his meal as soon as it appears in front of him. The blond looks at him for a moment before sliding her gaze to me.
That blue really is magnificent.
I open my mouth to ask her for her name, but she turns on her heel and struts away before I get the words out.
“So if this Handy Heroes thing works out,” Sandro says, his mouth half full, “you want to find a place to stay somewhere in this town?”
I drag my gaze away from the retreating girl. “Yeah. I think Darkwater Hollow could grow on me.”
CHAPTER 2
4 MONTHS LATER
BLAKE
I’m just getting to the good part of my book—the heroine’s stranded at an inn during a snowstorm, and the morally gray fae prince walks in—when headlights flood through my window. I sit up against the fortress of pillows I’ve piled into the window seat and squint.
Who is that?
