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“I like to call it my outsider special,” Maria said, tossing her dishcloth onto the counter before spooning the freshly sauced pasta onto a plate. “Something I came up with when I was first starting out with Ophelia. Instead of just offering breakfast in the morning, I do dinner, too, for any guests who might want it. It’s usually the outsiders.”
“Do you get many?” Grace asked. “Outsiders?”
“You’re my third. Here.” Swooping around her, Maria set the plate on the table in front of Grace. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
The two of them were in the kitchen. When Maria gave her the option of having supper in her room or being served in the dining room, Grace’s first reaction was to say that she was fine, that she didn’t need anything more than to lay down and go to sleep. Of course, her stomach chose that moment to let out a huge growl, as if angry she was trying to get away with not feeding it.
Maria laughed, then insisted that Grace follow her. She led her through the first floor of Ophelia, pointing out rooms like the Lavender Room and the Peony Room, before showing off an immaculately decorated dining area. Already feeling twitchy from the long, long day, Grace was worried about sitting down at the elaborate spread. What if she dropped one of those crystal-looking glasses or something?
To her relief, Maria kept going, bringing her to a cozy kitchen near the back of the bed and breakfast. A round wooden table took up half the space; the rest of the kitchen boasted professional, stainless steel equipment. Grace found herself ushered into one of the two chairs set on opposite sides of the table. Within a few minutes, Maria had set a chopped salad and a glass of water in front of her.
The two protein bars had held her over for most of her drive, but it was late now and she was starving. As Maria went about cooking dinner, she dug into the salad. By the time she was licking the vinaigrette off the back of her fork, her hostess was plating their main course.
Grace looked down at the dish Maria put in front of her. She saw a hearty mound of steaming pasta in a rich cream sauce resting on a cream-colored plate with pumpkins drawn along the rim. It matched the festive decorations in the kitchen. Maria had pumpkin-printed napkins and her orange dishcloth, plus a set of salt and pepper shakers shaped like ghosts.
October, Grace remembered. Halloween. It was cute. Now that she put enough space between herself and Tommy, the idea of someone coming to her door while wearing a mask wasn’t as terrifying as it might’ve been.
Her stomach tightened at the mere thought of him. And she thought, maybe not enough space then. She shivered, her skin crawling, the old familiar fear rushing over her. Halloween was nothing when Tommy’s handsome face hid a mind
so twisted and a heart as black as tar.
I won’t let him find me. I can’t.
Grace swallowed roughly, shoving the uncomfortable feeling aside. Know what? She was going to eat this pasta because her hostess had so generously made it for her. And if she made herself sick by forcing it down? At least each individual room in Ophelia had its own bathroom.
Once Grace took her first bite—and, holy crap, was it good—Maria returned to the stove. A moment later, she joined Grace at the table with a plate of her own.
Maria picked up her fork, though she didn’t start eating right away. Instead, she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about it. I know Lucas sent you,” she said, “but he wouldn’t have wanted to. Nothing against you, sweetie, but—”
Grace quickly swallowed her bite. “Hey, it’s okay. He made sure to warn me about Hamlet.”
“Right. So you must understand our surprise. Mine. Sly’s too, even though he was an outsider himself once. It’s not very usual for people to stumble upon our village.”
Grace thought of the cones blocking the exit, and the gaping hole that created the fork in the road. A lost traveler got around all that, then they really had a reason to find Hamlet.
Just like she did.
“They have to be sent,” she guessed.
“Yes, and that’s the funny thing. Lucas, he’s my brother, and I love him dearly. But he’s like so many of the people here who have called Hamlet home for generations. Our grandparents were some of the first to settle here. Even if he’s gone, Hamlet is forever his home and he’s very protective of it. Protective of me, too. He wouldn’t have wanted to share.” She paused, expertly twirling her pasta around her fork before taking a bite. “Are you enjoying the fettuccine?”
“What? Oh, yes, thanks. It’s delicious.”
“That’s good. Mangia. Eat up. If you have room later, I’ve got a pumpkin cheesecake I baked last night just waiting to be sliced into.”
When was the last time she had cheesecake? It had to have been more than fifteen years now. Even after retiring from the ballet, Grace was careful about what she put into her body, whether it was food, pills, or booze. A lifetime’s worth of habits was difficult to break, and she stubbornly held onto the hope she’d be on the stage again someday.
But after being forced to run so suddenly? Driving for what felt like an eternity only to end up in a small town two states over from Dayton? Bring on the goddamn cheesecake.
Half of her portion remained on her plate. She scooped up a mouthful, not even attempting to try to twirl the noodles like Maria had done, and shoved it in.
And that’s when Maria said, “By the way, you haven’t said anything about Lucas’s wife yet,” and she nearly choked on her pasta.
It went down the wrong pipe, forcing her into a coughing fit to try and dislodge the noodle stuck there. Maria pushed the glass of water closer to her. Grace snatched at it, gulping half the contents down.
“How did you know?” was all Grace could say when she could breathe again.
Maria laughed. “Please. My brother, he thinks he’s so mysterious. So aloof. The moment he left home, I knew what he’d done.”
