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“Oh, sorry!” I laugh and open the right cabinet to get him a tall glass. “Sometimes I get lost in my head and don’t pay attention.”
He doesn’t answer; he just plucks the glass out of my hand and turns around to face the sink. At that moment, a bright flash goes off, startling both of us.
Rose sighs and lowers her phone. “It wasn’t supposed to do that.”
“And yet, I’m blind now,” Nate quips in a dry tone while blinking rapidly. “Who’re you anyway? Don’t tell me you’re staying here too.”
“Oh, no.” Rose waves a hand in front of her face. “I’m Rose, Teddie’s neighbor. I just stopped by to make sure you’re not some psycho. Teddie said you looked normal, but we can’t always trust her judgment.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “She’s an overly optimistic weirdo, who tends to downplay anything negative. I think it’s a coping mechanism. But,eh,what can you do?” Then she turns to me. “He does look normal, so he’s probably not a psycho.”
Nate gets a thoughtful look on his face, and I’m pleasantly surprised when he indulges Rose with continued conversation. “There’s a common misconception about psychopaths and sociopaths, thanks to social media and thinly veiled gossip rags masquerading around as news outlets.”
Rose blinks, looks at me, and jerks a thumb at Nate. “He’s talking, but I have no idea what he’s saying.”
He clears his throat. “What I mean is, psychopaths and sociopathsdolook like everyone else. For all you know—”
My happiness at his contribution to our interesting chat vanishes when I realize where he’s going with this. I clap my hands loudly to disrupt our current direction. The last thing I want is for Rose to be freaked out by my new guest, who is just a tad bit socially awkward.
“So, Nate, what do you do for work?”
Thankfully, he stops talking like a serial killer and hesitantly answers, “I write thrillers, which is why I know so much about psychopaths. I’ve done a lot of research to give my readers authentic characters.”
Rose gasps quietly and turns to me, her eyes bugging out of her head. I’m sure my expression matches hers.
“I’m in the middle of writing a novel right now,” he continues, “and I’m on a deadline. If you don’t mind, I’ll just fill up my glass, and get back to work.”
A smile grows on my face, and Nate starts to look worried.
“You’re telling me you’re a writer who justhappenedto show up on National Authors Day?”
“Seems that way.”
I jump up and down and let out a giggle. “It’s fate!”
“It’s not,” he deadpans.
“Of course, it is! How can it not be when the only writer currently on the island comes to the only house celebrating National Authors Day?” My mind races, trying to think of the possibilities that can come out of this fateful meeting. Maybe I’ll be featured as a character in his next book, or he’ll use the island as the setting for one of his scenes. Or maybe he’ll ask for my help with his plot, and I’ll finally be able to dip my toes into writing.
Nate takes a step back. “Look, I didn’t even book this trip. My idiot brother did.”
I take a step forward. “Because fate guided him!”
Rose interrupts our back-and-forth. “You won’t win with her, young man. Just give up arguing now and save yourself the trouble.”
Nate weighs his options in his head before admitting defeat. “Fine, it’s fate. Now, about my water?” He waves the glass in front of my face.
I step aside and let him access the filtered water attached to the faucet. Without another word, he gets his drink and returns to his room. My shoulders slump as I watch him leave. I hoped he would stay and talk more, but I guess he’s too busy with his work to chat.
Oh, well. It’s not like I can force him to hang out.
Rose stays a while longer, but once she leaves—with a plateful of cookies, of course—I’m left to my thoughts again.
Nate isn’t anything like I’d imagined. Previous guests have been wonderful, interacting with me and asking me for recommendations. They’ve all been so lovely. Well, except for that one couple who, for some reason, thought I was running adifferentkind of vacation spot. Once they explained, I took down all the pineapples decorating the interior and exterior of the house. I only had a slight momentary pause when I considered whether or not Gram knew what the fruit decor meant when she chose it. But, nah, surely notmyGram. That being said, I prefer an awkward misunderstanding over Nate’s silence.
I’m still new to this VRBO thing, so it’s important I make sure my guests are comfortable. I need to find a way to do that for Nate. Every review counts, and I don’t want his poor experience to come back to bite me in the butt. Surely, there’s a way to break the ice. But how?
I look at the pile of uneaten cookies and sigh. “That man is one tough cookie.”
5
