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“I have you down for two nights,” I say, confirming the booking Gram set up before I arrived.
“Perfect. It might be extended once I’ve had a look around Dallas...would that be a problem?” he asks.
I tear the printed receipt out of the machine and slide it toward him.
“Not at all. Breakfast is served every morning at eight o’clock sharp, and there’s a printed guide in your room of local restaurants for other meals.” I nod at the table behind him. “Don’t miss out on the fresh cookies. They’re always available.”
He slides the signed receipt back to me, tilting his face up for a sniff.
“They smell sinful, but are there raisins?”
The look on his face says he doesn’t like them.
“Sorry, yes, there are. I can make another kind in the next batch if you’d like?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” He digs in his pocket and pulls out a small bag. “Actually, I’ve grown pretty fond of these infused almonds for snacking. You tried them?”
I glance at the bag. “No, never heard of them...”
He dumps a couple almonds on the counter.
“Go ahead, but be warned. They’re terribly addicting.” He pops one in his mouth, his sculpted jaw chewing with delight.
Oof. I’m a little surprised at the food offer, but when a handsome man who’s also a paying customer offers you some expensive-sounding nuts...well, why not?
I pick up the other almond and palm it onto my tongue.
I almost gag.
As soon as it enters my mouth, this bitter clingy taste like a bag of salt soaked in two-day old coffee grounds assaults my tongue.
Hiding my disgust—barely—I pick up the receipt and turn around to grab a key from the credenza behind me.
“This table is exquisite. Couldn’t help but notice,” he says, still crunching his snack that tastes like ass and dry rot.
Knowing he means the cookie table, I take a second to discreetly grab a tissue from the box and spit the almond yuck into it.
“Like I said, my grandfather was a collector. He loved anything older than him.” I flinch slightly at the sting of pain in my lower back as I start to walk around the desk.
That damned pig. That damned man.
Hopefully this stiffness works its way out during the day. I pass him the key.
“We’re still pretty old school when it comes to room keys. No fancy electronic cards here. Hope that’s all right?” I say.
“Thank you, and of course it is.” He takes the key with one hand, but his gaze returns to the table. “Tell me, are any of your antiques for sale?”
I blink at him.
“I mean, they’re...they aren’t really mine. I just work here. They belong to my grandmother.”
“Ah, of course. Forgive me for assuming you were the owner. I’ve stayed in too many highway motels lately that were a one-person pony show,” he says with an easy smile.
Right.
Both Marty and I were concerned when Gram suggested opening the B&B. Neither of us liked the idea of her living alone with strangers in the house on a regular basis.
Still don’t, which is why Marty stops over practically every night.
