I see her out and go to shower and change, wondering if after today I’ll ever be able to afford a dinner out again.
Chapter Eleven
Griffin
I’m sittingin my car, pondering my next move. I need to figure out my sleeping arrangements before I become the only homeless person sleeping in a Jag. I look out at the snowy slopes. The ski lift has shut down, the town lights flickering on. Then I see the sign again.
The Timberline Inn. Finally, something going my way.
The GPS gets me there in a few minutes. The place looks historical and newly renovated with a wide wraparound porch, large windows, and pine garlands along the railings. Christmas leftovers that somehow still work in January.
I park behind a pickup truck, grab my briefcase, and step inside. The lobby smells like cedar and paint. A beautiful old reception desk gleams beneath newlyinstalled pendant lights. Construction materials sit neatly stacked near a side hallway.
“Hi, can I help you?” a man in his early thirties asks. Brown hair, easy smile, flannel shirt rolled up to his forearms. He’s holding a toolbox.
“I’m Griffin Renshaw. I saw your banner on Main Street.”
He laughs. “Hard to miss. My fiancée thought it was a good idea.” He offers a hand which I shake. “I’m Nick, the owner. Sorry but we’re only opening on Valentine’s Day.”
“I was hoping we could work something out.”
A quizzical look. “There’s a lodge in the next town over.”
“I already called every place in the county. No rooms. Except the apartment above the animal rescue.”
Nick winces. “Right. There’s a ski competition this weekend. I’m really sorry but?—”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
I pull out my wallet, platinum card gleaming. “Two weeks in advance,” I say, glancing around the beautifully renovated lobby. “Looks like you’ve invested a lot in this place. Probably costing a bundle.”
He eyes the card. “I’ve got one room that could work. Used it for promotional photos so it’s all set up. I can get a cleaner in there. Only thing is there’s no food service yet. You’ll have to handle breakfast yourself. Eggs in the fridge, pan on the stove.”
“How about running water?”
“Yep. Got that.”
“Done.”
Before he can change his mind, I hand him the card, sign a paper, and head back out, fully aware I just committed to two whole weeks of Mayberry, USA.
Ruby is alreadyat the Blue River Bistro when I arrive. She’s wearing a polka-dot sweater and a long skirt with a poodle on it. I can’t tell if she’s aiming for retro or if she actually time-traveled. Her lipstick is bright red, her smile brighter. She’s a unique sort of pretty.
“Hello, Griffin. No room at Paws and Claws?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Word travels fast in small towns.” She sips something pink and fruity through a straw.
“Actually, there was room. If I was willing to share my personal space with a bevy of cats.”
She nods as if that’s perfectly reasonable. “Sorry I didn’t wait to order my drink. Long day and I needed something stronger than the mocktail I had earlier.”
I don’t ask. I’m ninety-percent sure I’m the reason.
We sit in silence, which is fine with me. Ruby, on the other hand, is looking anywhere but at me and sucking down her drink like she just crossed the Mojave.
“Shall we get down to business?” I ask. “Or we could order first. Are you hungry?”
