“Yes, I am assisting Acosta Melios for at least a week.” I shifted from one foot to the other, impatience tinting my words. “Can you please register me?”
“Figures,” he muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Sure, yeah.” I tapped my fingers on the desk as he pulled out an ancient card reader. He handed my card back to me—taking care to not let his fingers brush mine—and then slid a key attached to a thick bit of plastic bearing the number 1 on it. “Room number one just to the left. Housekeeping will bring clean towels. There’s a coffee pot in the room. Melanie’s Bistro serves meals. Just on the other side of the fire hall and take a hard right.”
“Thank you. Where would I find barn boots?” I asked while tucking my wallet into my bag.
“Is that a purse?” Pimple Boy enquired.
“It is not a purse. It’s a Jackson Buffalo leather satchel.”
“Huh.”
“Boots? Where can I find boots?”
“Feed store has some boots and such. Might be able to find some ladies boots to fit.”
That was a slam. I knew it. I’d heard those kinds of veiled insults a million times before. The urge to slap that red cap off his head was strong, but I took the high road. “Thank you for your time. I’ll go shower. Can those towels be delivered within the hour?”
“Yep.”
We stood there looking at each other for a moment before I opted to just leave. My room was about twenty feet away from the lobby. It was…serviceable. Nothing grand but the bedding was clean, the bathroom spotless, and the carpet rather new looking. I cranked up the heat, unpacked my clothes—hanging my suits on a small rack in the corner—and spent several minutes staring out the window as I tried, yet again, to get in contact with my family.
I fired off a slew of angry texts to anyone with the surname Fitzgerald. A rap on the door startled me. I finished sending a text to my brother wherein I called him a rotten shithead for fucking with my file on the Melios situation before peeking through the peephole to see Pimple Kid standing outside with a stack of towels. I grabbed my wallet and pulled out some cash.
“Thank you,” I said after cracking the door to allow him to pass the towels through. He tried his best to scope out the room behind me, probably expecting who knew what, but I blocked his snoop with a smile and a little tip of five bucks. “For exceptional service. Do you have a name?”
“Kyle,” he mumbled as he stared at the money in his hand.
“Well, Kyle, thank you for the towels. I’m going to shower and then dash to the feed store. I hear there’s a holiday party at the fire hall. Good foods being catered. I think I’ll stop by there as well. Will I see you there?”
His sight snapped back to me from the fiver. “You going to the party?”
“I am.” I gave him my most brilliant smile, closed the door, and snickered to myself at the notion that Kyle was probably sending out warnings to the town that a queer city slicker was going to crash the Christmas party. It would be fine. I’d walked into tougher places than a dinky fire hall in a rural Pennsylvania hamlet. I eyed the mint green suit hanging on a bent wire hanger. It was one of my favorites and perfect for this time of year. Paired with a white shirt and pink paisley tie, it spoke volumes. Was it a bit too gay for this part of the state? Most assuredly. Did I give two fudges? Not at all. Decker was who Decker was. Like it or lump it. The fine folks of Miller’s Lake would have to either like it or lump it. It was time someone shook this burg up a little bit. Might as well be me! I rather liked being the one who stirred the pot on occasion.
ChapterNine
When I enteredthe Miller’s Lake fire hall, two things hit me right off.
One was that folks in their holiday finery packed the place, so my mint green suit wasn’t quite the eye-catcher that it might have been. Hand to God there were women in bright red dresses with glass Christmas balls dangling from their ears while the gents paraded about in truly horrid holiday suits. Seemed the good folk of Miller’s Lake took the yearly Christmas party as a way to pull out their most atrocious clothing.
The second thing that grabbed my attention was the fact that Acosta Melios was standing behind a long, bowing buffet table looking perfectly edible in a hideous blue and white snowflake suit. The slim fit blazer hugged his lithe frame well. His lower half was hidden behind a blue and white striped apron. It wasn’t so much the suit that stunned me—that was just making my fashionable eye twitch—it was the fact that he was smiling. A big smile. One of those that rounded your cheeks and crinkled the corners of your eyes smiles. Pausing just inside the door I watched as he spooned up something from one of about twenty serving pans then dropped it onto the plate of an older woman dressed up like an elf. On either side of him—several feet apart—was a tall man with a proud nose and skin the color of perfectly toasted rye bread. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, just like the tresses on the woman handing out cups of coffee on Acosta’s left. She was smaller than the towering man with the big nose, vibrantly pretty for a woman her age, and possessed with a smile that brightened the whole area.
His parents, if I had to guess. I made my way through the crowds, nodding at whoever looked my way, and plenty of folks gave me the once-over. Strangers never were greeted kindly I had come to learn on this job.
“Oh hello!” Mrs. Melios called as I neared the buffet table. I almost stopped to look behind me, but no, she was speaking to me. “Come, get in line! Acosta, your houseguest has arrived!”
Houseguest? Had he actually used that term for me?
“Mama, he’s not a houseguest. He was just a…rescue,” Acosta groaned, his face pained. His mother waved him off. I frowned at the term. Rescue my ass. If anything, it wasmewho was going to rescuehimfrom poverty, the rockheaded galoot.
“Pash. Ignore him. He’s a grumpy goatherd. It was good for you that Acosta found you.”
“Yes, he does seem to enjoy being the savior of the stranded and unwanted.” I fired a cocked eyebrow at Acosta. His brow wrinkled as his jaw tightened.
“Oh yes, Acosta loves to help those in need. Have some food, Mr. Fitzgerald. Mind that shirt. You look so handsome.” She beamed at me. I couldn’t help but grin back. Acosta gaped at me openly, his scowl growing deeper.
