Page 17 of The Detour

I shove my laptop in my bag, wanting to ask her if Saint kissing unsuspected and stranded tourists is part of his MO, but stop myself short. I’ll be here for one night. Not even a full twelve hours. Who cares what Saint does or doesn’t do. All I know is something sparked my creativity tonight, and if it was the kiss—or even the presence of Saint—then this town isn’t all that bad.

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” I ask.

“Ask me the question you keep thinking but are too polite to voice.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Fine.” She picks up my empty wine glasses. “I’ll answer it then. No. Saint doesn’t just blatantly kiss random women who stop by for the night.”

“Oh.” My mouth shocks into an “O”. “That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it was. And the next question is yes, he genuinely is this nice of a guy—all the time. But kissing random strangers isn’t really his thing, so I—uh . . . think he has a thing for you. Lucky girl.” She picks up the tip I just set down for her. “Thank you. That was unnecessary.” She takes a step back. “You have a good night and drive safely to wherever you’re going tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” I watch her walk away and wonder if everyone in this idyllic town is this kind or if I finally got a little lucky, and things might turn a corner for me.

With my belongings in my hands, I struggle between the want to sneak out the door undetected and the need to stand at the edge of the bar and thank Saint for the food and drinks, and silently thank him for the kiss.

I tell myself to keep walking.

I urge myself to enjoy the moment we had—the playful impulsiveness of it—and head to my room for the night so I can get a good night’s sleep before leaving first thing in the morning.

But my feet stop.

Of course, they do.

And right when they do, I look up to find Saint standing there. “You turning in?”

I nod. “Yes. I needed to pay my bill and wanted to thank you for the meal and the wine and—” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder toward where the kiss that was heard around the world happened. “And the inspiration.”

“Glad to be of service.” His smile widens and I melt. “The food and drink are on the house.” He holds up his hands to stop me from refuting. “I’m not budging on it. It comes with the cottage.” His eyes flicker down to my lips and then back up to mine. “Is there anything else you needed?”

You.

Another kiss.

You to knock on my door tonight.

All the above.

“No,” I stutter over the thoughts that want to manifest into words. Words I’ve written a thousand times in my books but would never dare be brave enough to utter in real life. I offer a tight smile instead. “I’m good. Thank you. I . . .” I throw my hands up, obviously at a loss for words. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

His eyes hold mine as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m happy to have provided it.”

Move feet.

Move out the door.

“Good night.” Another smile. A lame little wave that only serves to highlight my awkwardness.

And then I turn my back with Saint’s eyes still on me and leave the saloon.

I’m greeted by the bitter cold immediately. It stings my cheeks and lungs, and my breath turns into white puffs that envelop my head as I make my way to my place.

To technically his place.

“You need help,” I mutter as I put my key in the lock.