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Now to acquire lodging for the evening.
I peered through the windshield at the rows of tidy buildings and storefronts as I passed them, most of them dark and closed up for the day. Kellan had mentioned an inn. I’d have to turn on the GPS for that one. Small town or not, there were enough side streets that I didn’t want to be circling around all night.
Assuming I didn’t end up sleeping in my car. I’d probably freeze.
I scratched my chin. Huh, that’d be a new experience. Maybe I could get a song out of it.
One I wouldn’t give to Kellan. He was on his own.
A sign labeled Main Street came briefly into view and I grinned. Thank God. The place Kellan had mentioned was probably near here.
I hoped.
My stomach growled as I slowed to a crawl near the famed lake Crescent Cove was known for, at least according to Kellan. The snowstorm made it seem like a huge dark bowl of wind-whipped water with spots that were flat and dense. Likely parts that were iced over. I squinted at the festively lit gazebo and tried to imagine this quaint little spot festooned for Christmas. Probably quite pretty, if one was into small towns. I’d grown up in one and had been eager to leave it as soon as I turned eighteen.
What was quaint to some seemed like a strait jacket to others. I’d had no desire to live in a snow globe, with or without the flakes.
A sign caught my eye not far from the pier that led down to the gazebo. The Rusty Spoon.
My stomach rumbled again. That would do just fine.
Small rural towns often had diners. And thank God for that. What else would be open at this time of night? Other than possibly some swanky place probably down to a dessert and drink menu at best.
I’d take my chances with the grease and a corner booth—after I found the inn.
It took me another fifteen minutes to find it via GPS and then to locate parking. I was tempted to do a sideways tilt off a snowbank but figured that probably wouldn’t ingratiate me to this perfectly lovely town.
That I could not fucking wait to leave.
The Hummingbird’s Nest bed and breakfast was church silent as I crossed the wide porch to the door with its cheery little bell. That might’ve been because of the innate quiet of a good snowfall or due to the lateness of the hour.
Going inside didn’t change my assessment. I saw absolutely no one in the foyer, or the little gift shop to the left, or the fancy restaurant closed off behind pocket doors to my right.
Then a blond popped up from behind the wide cherry counter. “Hi, you look peaked!” Her curls bounced to match her infernally perky voice. “Weary traveler?”
I blessed myself because Jesus Christ, my heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her. “You could say that. Room?”
“Like room at the inn? Sure thing. What’s your name? Do you have people in town? What brought you this way in a storm like this?”
Far too many questions, offered in a rapid-fire style that made my ears buzz. She was like a living white noise machine. Except her noise was pink, to go along with her brightly colored dress. “Come again?”
“I’m sorry, you must think I’m wacky.”
That was one word for it.
“I’m Sage Hamilton. My husband and I own The Hummingbird’s Nest—where you’re standing,” she added, as if I’d failed to notice the sign on the door. “We don’t get a lot of out-of-towners this time of year, and definitely not this time of night during a storm. But your reasons for being here are none of my business. I’m just a nosy sort.” She smiled and her looks veered from pretty into downright stunning.
“I was meeting an acquaintance near Turnbull but the storm delayed my flight. Then his baby was fussy and I didn’t even know he had a baby. Named Wolf no less. Who names their child that?”
“Mine is named Star.”
“So, it’s a small town thing then.” Made sense.
“Possibly.” Her smile grew as she tapped keys on a sleek computer system. “So, how long are you here for?”
I glanced at my watch. “Twenty-two hours give or take.”
“Aww, you’re going to miss the Sap Fest.”
