“You can’t stay here,” I said, frustrated.
“I thought the booking was non-refundable? Can you afford to turn away guests?”
His question stung, mostly because it was true that the inn couldn’t afford to hemorrhage cancellations. I’dinherited this place after my gran had passed and keeping it alive had become equal parts pride and punishment.
Still, I wasn’t about to roll out the red carpet for Noah Byrne.
“You tricked me,” I said.
“You wouldn’t have let me book otherwise.”
“Aye, you’ve got the right of that,” I snapped.
I glared at him across the counter. Christmas music played softly from my Spotify playlist, an inane song about a snowman looking for his nose, and outside, an icy blast of wind rattled the windows. The small village of Kingsbarns carried on as if the world hadn’t just tilted off its axis.Why him? Why now?Why here?He could go anywhere in the world.
Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I looked closer. Fatigue radiated in tension lines crossing his forehead and shadows smudged his eyes. This was a different category of tired. Not rock-star-on-tour tired. Not hungover tired.Soultired.
And damn it, that’s what made me hesitate.
One look. That was all it took. His eyes, heavy with things I didn’t want to name, broke through my armor in the same way his songs had all those years ago.
Except for one song.
The song that cracked my heart open and spilled my vulnerabilities for the world to see.
He’d even had the gall to name it after me.
Skye.
The song the entire bloody world had sung along to while I’d tried to buy milk at the co-op without crying.
I’d hated him for writing it…and hated myself for knowing he hadn’t been wrong.
I dragged in a breath. “One week,” I said.
His mouth quirked. “The reservation’s for a month.”
“Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.” He looked down briefly and toed the guitar case, shrugging in that nonchalant way he had.
Seemed like disaster had just checked in.
By the time I’d handed him his key, his silence matching my own, my nerves were stretched as tight as a guitar string ready to be plucked. A thousand thoughts crowded my head, but I hated that the one that rose to the top was the one I’d tried to bury the deepest.
I’ve missed you.
“You’re in room three. First floor, end of the hallway,” I said. “Tea’s on from four to half six.”
Noah grunted in response and then left without another word, having to carry his guitar in front of him to trudge up the narrow stairwell. I listened to his footsteps down the hallway, each step dropping like intro beats to a song, and tried to breathe normally.
Noah Byrne.
My first love. And my biggest heartbreak.
Which was saying something, given I’d been married and divorced since I’d last seen Noah.
Plopping my chin in my fist, I gazed out the wide front window that overlooked the wee village. Kingsbarns in December was small, cold, and nosy. It’s the place where everyone knew when you changed your curtains, much less when your rock star ex-boyfriend slunk back into town.
