I decided to ground myself in the most responsible way possible—petty vengeance and website moderation.
TripAdvisor loaded with the speed of a guillotine. There it was, bold as sin, a brand-new entry with an enthusiasm I did not trust.
Summer Grove House
A quirky B&B with unexpected amenities. Friendly staff. Cookies A+. Ghosts also A+. In-house flirtation is abundant but not welcomed. Not recommended for newbies who scare easily.
I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I saw stars. “I am going to murder a vampire princess,” I told the desk, which was stoic in the face of premeditated homicide.
The flamingo paddling pool in the corner—Sir Float-A-Lot, per Maggie’s christening—made a wetglorp.Pete, the frog-shaped fiancé, did a slow bob beneath his mosquito net and blinked his golden eye. He might have been agreeing. Or judging. Same difference.
I scrolled. Oh, it got worse. So much worse.
Summer Grove House
White Castle’s answer to relationship goals. Met by a lovely girl with horrific snacks. The owner was seen on the lawn under the light of the full moon, and all I want to know is—damn—where do I get me one of those?
“Very adult,” I muttered. “We’re all so adult.”
Bella hopped onto my desk and sat on the keyboard. The screen filled with [[[[[[[[[[[[*. It was, frankly, an improvement over the content.
“Off,” I told the cat. Bella stared hard at the frog and then harder at me, tail thumping. I slid her to the floor with the practiced ease of a woman who had lost multiple emails to a vindictive feline.
I scrolled again.
Summer Grove House
The residential cat took care of the vermin. Pity that didn’t extend to my ex.
“Concerning, but supportive,” I said. Pete croaked. I chose to believe he approved of pest control.
Next up, and I could feel my blood pressure rising.
Summer Grove House
Pretty home-wrecking vampires with rampant appetites. R offered me a pretty smile and a wink before beckoning me into her bedroom and under her thrall I was naked in thirty seconds flat. I take no responsibility for this. Beatrice, if you are reading, NO RESPONSIBILITY.
“Rebecca,” I hissed, standing so fast the chair shot back and hit the filing cabinet. “Rebecca!”
A muffled “What now?” floated along the floorboards over my head, followed by the swish of silk and the amused click of heels. Of course. She made an entrance like other people breathe.
She appeared in my doorway a second later, blonde and blasé in an ivory blouse and an elegant pencil skirt that molded to her curves and fed into every man’s secretary fantasy. “If this is about the fridge, it wasn’t me. The kale attacked first.”
Kale? I shook my head. Not important.
I shoved the laptop at her. “Explain.”
She read in silence, immaculate eyebrow arching and a grin tugging at her mouth. “Oh, that,” she said, looking delighted.
“You think this is funny?”
She nudged the laptop back toward me and sauntered to Pete’s pool, peering at the hapless amphibian with relationship issues. “Hello, handsome,” she drawled in her best Mary Poppins accent. “Maybe I should expand my tastes.”
“Focus,” I snapped. The last thing needed was a disgruntled elemental and a smitten guy acting like a puppy in my house.
She sighed and returned to the chair before folding herself into it. “First, I haven’t ‘rampantly appetited’ anyone in months. Second, thrall is such a vulgar word. Third, I know exactly who wrote this.”
“Do you?” I folded my arms. “Because the author claims you summoned them with your eyes, whisked them into your bed, and stole their virtue.”
