Page 7 of Maneater

I spot the turnoff and find myself on a dirt road. It’s well-maintained, but it makes me wonder how vacationers manage to find the place. The small wooden sign with an arrow pointing toward the resort would be easy to miss in the middle of the day, let alone driving past it at night. I’d almost missed it, and I was looking. A place on the verge of going out of business doesn’t bode well for job security.

With a new coat of dust on my vehicle, I finally reach my destination. The parking area is also dirt, but there are four cars and a truck. Staff or guests?

The quaint, small wooden structures that dot the woods behind the main building appear well-maintained, but in no way could they be considered luxurious. More like glorified camping, with a private bathroom. At least, I assume that’s the case.

As I make my way to the office entrance, I glance at the adjoining café and catch a whiff of whatever is cooking. A slightly garlicky aroma is making me drool. Meatloaf? Stew? Pot Pie? Chicken and dumplings? I want them all. The sign in the window announces that their food is homemade, and I don’t doubt it.

I lick my lips and try to ignore my rumbling stomach. Gross coffee isn’t exactly the heartiest breakfast. Too bad I can’t afford to eat there, because I bet it’s amazing. Right as I pass the door of the restaurant, I catch sight of their daily specials on a sandwich board.

Freshly baked mulberry pie.

That’s evil. Pure evil. I’ve always wanted to try some.

I close my eyes, give myself a mental slap, and with determination, pull open the door to the office. A group of tiny bells jingle—a decided improvement over the annoying buzzer—and a massive hunk of a man rises from where he’s been sitting behind the counter.

Holy shit.

My mouth goes dry for some reason. He’s maybe late thirties, early forties, well over six feet, and on the rugged side. A small scar runs diagonally down one cheek, and although he’s thick around the middle, his hard pecs and biceps can’t be in his snug tee-shirt. I’m not scared of him—it’s more… I tilt my head.

Oof. Those are some intense dark eyes. Large, set perfectly apart beneath his bushy, chestnut-colored eyebrows. And that hair. Full and wavy, the strands fall past his shoulders, with a portion pulled back in a man bun.

“Good afternoon. Can I help you?” He smiles as he rises to his full height, which is somewhere between tall and gargantuan.

Apparently, my jaw has been hanging open, because my teeth clack when I snap it shut.

“I uh…” I clear my throat and remind myself that whatever weirdness is going on with me can wait. I need a freakin’ job. “Hi.” I make my way to the counter and smile up at him. If I end up getting the job, I’ll develop a crick in my neck. “I saw on the local website you’re looking to hire a desk clerk? I’d like to apply.”

His smile grows wider. “Wonderful. Let me grab you an application.”

He turns, then bends over the desk, shuffling some papers around. I don’t care about the papers. There's something much more intriguing to stare at.

I wince. What the hell is my problem? Not that I’ve never thought a man was attractive before, but it’s usually just a passing thought. A generalized appreciation rather than something to pursue.

Pursue? Oh no no no no no.

“Here you go.” He hands me a piece of paper requiring the most basic of information to fill out. Then again, I suppose the job doesn’t require a curriculum vitae. “My name is Rex, by the way. Rex Clawson.”

He holds out a meaty paw for me to shake, and I accept his offer, the strong fingers wrapping around mine.

Aaaaand… I’m blushing. Awesome.

I fight the compulsion to roll my eyes at myself.

Unintelligible gibberish falls from my lips until I self-correct and am able to form coherent words again. “I’m Darien Ridgefield. Nice to meet you, too.”

Rex’s features softened. “Darien. I gather you’re new to the area? Tell me a bit about yourself.”

This was a question I was prepared for. I’d already planned on the locals inquiring about the Ozark newbie.

“Well, I only moved here last week from California, but I love it already. I’m hoping the Ozarks will be my home for a long time.” I wave my hand toward the outside “It’s even more gorgeous than I thought it would be, the perfect setting for me.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh? Why’s that?”

“I was born and raised in Los Angeles, and I’m not a fan.” I wrinkled my nose as if I’ve just caught a whiff of rotting cheese. “Too crowded, too noisy. Basically, I’m not a city person. I spent every weekend going to the mountains, but even they were getting crowded.” I sighed. “Living away from all the chaos has been my dream for a while.”

Rex stares at me as if I’m that piece of mulberry pie I was lusting after.

”I can’t imagine living in a city. I’m glad you were able to find somewhere you want to call home. I haven’t met many hum—” He coughs into his fist. “Er… people who move here, or that are so committed to living out in the middle of nowhere. Even here, I’ve watched the local kids grow up and move away the second they can. Not many stick around.”