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“I imagine he goes out to eat. I’m sorry I’m not good at winkling information from our guests, Flo, but he’ll be here for a while. You’ll have your chance.”
“Do you think he’s a…vampire?” The word came out in a hushed tone as if he could hear her from the other side of the building. For a woman in her late sixties, she had a vivid imagination, fed by the paranormal romances she loved to read. The guest looked the part, with his black hair smoothed back from a widow’s peak and parchment skin stretched over a face that could belong on a male model. She was about to make a laughing response when a tingle at the nape of her neck warned her of approaching danger. Not a vampire. Unfortunately. Bonnie was certain she could handle a vampire far easier than Xander Mac.
“A vampire? Granny dearest, you obviously need to cut down on your reading and get back to the real world.”
He meandered into the over-furnished sitting room with all the swagger of the cowboy he’d never been. Unfortunately, he did it well, mesmerising his audience. A tight-fitting white T-shirt was tucked into tighter jeans, with a tartan-checked flannel shirt loose over the top. This was Xander Mac at his most appealing, his blond streaky hair damp from the weather and a wide smile that could sell a million albums before he opened his mouth to sing.
He gave his grandfather a quick hug and leaned over the back of Flo’s chair to kiss her on the cheek. “Good to see you, Gran.”
Blue eyes stabbed at Bonnie’s heart, pushing it to a gallop, bringing back memories she’d tried so hard to suppress. “Hi, Xander.”
“Hi, Bonnie,” he mimicked with a sly smile. Before she realised his plan, he swooped to kiss her on the corner of her mouth, the tang of his warm breath so familiar she froze under its spell. He wasn’t usually a touchy-feely person. She was one of the few exceptions here in town, and she was never quite sure if it were a good thing or bad. His lips lingered a little too long for a merely friendly kiss and she fought against the temptation to turn into it, to taste him again. Definitely bad.
He saved her from humiliation by spinning away to sit across from his grandparents at the small table crammed into the corner of their private apartment. “Tell me what’s been happening, people. Seems like forever since I was here.”
He looked around with a softness in his expression that surprised her. Years ago, in his teens, he couldn’t get away fast enough, the duty visits few and far between. As his grandparents aged, he’d come back more frequently and stayed longer. That hadn’t changed, as far as she knew, in the years she’d been away. This last tour of North America had been longer, on top of a previous tour covering four other continents.
He’d called them regularly, at least once a week. He’d never asked to speak to her, though he must have known she was staying at the inn. He’d be twenty-six now, almost twenty-seven, nearly a year older than her. Ready to settle down? Surely not. He had years ahead of him, his career still on an upward trajectory. The rumours in the press about it being a farewell tour had to be mere speculation brought on by the tragedy.
Trying not to disturb them while they talked, she collected the plates and headed into the kitchen to make tea for the older couple and coffee for Xander.
She was collecting the plates and cups from the dining room when the tingle came back. She smiled at Mr Tsiarkas when he murmured a polite thank you, tearing himself away from his smartphone to make the token gesture. Not good for her ego, even though she wasn’t interested.
Xander leaned against the door into the hall, ankles and arms crossed in a classic cowboy pose. Did he never stop posing for a moment? The trademark smile was absent, until he saw her looking and it sparked up like he turned on a switch. Probably had a whole set of switches for his Xander Mac persona.
“Can I help you?”
“Gran says you’re in my room, so I was wondering where I’m sleeping.”
“Sorry, things have been frantic. I can shift the rest of my things now. Let me get rid of this tray and I’ll come straight up.”
His glance at the loaded tray suggested he might offer to carry it, but she turned towards the swing door into the kitchen. “Take your luggage upstairs and we can sort it out.”
He was waiting for her at the door of his bedroom, a large black case with airport labels and stickers identifying it as a frequent traveller and a battered backpack at his feet.
“You could have gone in.”
“I didn’t like to intrude.” The smile was missing again. Now they were alone, he wouldn’t think it worthwhile doing his Xander Mac thing.
She went past him into the room and pulled a suitcase from under the large four-poster bed. It was furnished much like the guest rooms, but Flo didn’t inflict the florals on Xander, decorating it in a deep-blue damask all year round. “I don’t have much, it won’t take me long to shift everything.”
“Where are you going to sleep?”
“The little back room.”
“Show me.”
She grabbed a bundle of shirts from a drawer and led the way down a side hallway past a couple of storerooms and a bathroom to the back of the house. He reached past her to open the door when she hesitated, both hands occupied with her clothing.
“You plan on sleeping here?”
“It’s not that bad.” It was small and old-fashioned, with twin beds and a vintage timber wardrobe with half hanging space and the other half drawer and a mirror set inside the door of the hanging space. The main disadvantage was the lack of an en suite bathroom. “Tamara used it before she got her driver’s licence. Now she goes home. She cleans the rooms.”
He ran long elegant fingers down the silky oak wardrobe. “Tamara still works here?”
She straightened, wondering at his surprise. “You know Tamara?”
“She took over some of the housekeeping when you left four years ago. Working after school and on the weekends. It would’ve been hard to miss her.”
