Fern strode across the reception area, forcing a bright, hopeful smile. ‘Hi! Please tell me that sign outside is a mistake.’
Lena gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry but it’s not. We’re fully booked.’
The hope in Fern’s chest died a swift and tragic death. ‘Fully booked?’
Lena nodded. ‘It’s the annual Cosy Crime Enthusiasts’ Convention this weekend. Every room’s taken.’
Fern stared at her, waiting for some kind of punchline. When none came, she exhaled slowly. ‘You’re telling me I have nowhere to sleep because of amateur detectives?’
Lena, bless her, looked genuinely apologetic. ‘It’s a very dedicated crowd. They come dressed as their favourite sleuths, and spend the weekend solving fictional murders and debating the best way to poison someone without getting caught. Harmless fun… mostly.’
Fern blinked. ‘Mostly?’
Lena hesitated. ‘There was a small incident last year involving a very realistic crime scene and an actual police response, but I’m sure they’ve learned their lesson.’
Fern laughed but she was still disappointed there was no room at the inn because of murder mystery enthusiasts. ‘Not even a tiny room? A cot? A broom cupboard?’
With a smile, Lena shook her head. ‘I’d offer you my own sofa if I could, but someone has already claimed it.’
Fern deflated. ‘Just my luck.’
‘I know the hotel on the island is also full, but I have a list of other B&Bs over in Sea’s End you could try? You’re more than welcome to grab yourself a drink and use the living room to make a few calls.’
‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’
Fern spent the next hour calling every B&B and hotel within reach. Nothing. No last-minute miracle. No backup plan. She was going to have to go back to No. 17 Curiosity Lane with her tail between her legs. She thanked Lena for her help and headed back outside, the now familiar sound of her suitcase rattling against the cobbles providing a soundtrack as she slowly made her way back to the shop.
As she stepped through the door, something unexpected hit her– the rich, savoury scent of garlic, herbs and something undoubtedly delicious. Leaving her suitcase by the stairs she followed the aroma through the shop, pausing in the kitchen doorway.
In the corner of the kitchen, a small wooden table had been set for two. Two steaming plates of pasta. Two wine glasses. A bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. And there, standing by the table, was Daniel.
‘Took you long enough,’ he said.
Fern blinked. He had done this for her?
‘I had a feeling you’d be back,’ he continued, pulling out a chair. ‘Also figured you might be hungry. You’ve had a long day, and no doubt only eaten that half sandwich and KitKat on the train. You must be starving.’
She hadn’t expected this and barely knew what to say.She settled on ‘This looks amazing.’
‘You wouldn’t get this treatment at the B&B,’ he said smugly. ‘Take a seat.’
She sat down and her stomach betrayed her for the second time that day, growling loudly.
Daniel smiled as he poured them each a glass of wine then placed a salad on the table. ‘Tuck in.’
She didn’t need telling twice. Fern picked up her fork and took a bite. The pasta was silky with a sauce that was rich andperfectly seasoned. ‘This is so good.’ She glanced at him. ‘You make the best sandwiches, you cook the best pasta and you play the guitar? I’m impressed.’
‘I take it the B&B was full of crime enthusiasts?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll thank them later.’
She grinned. ‘You make sure you do.’ She held his gaze longer than necessary, savouring the moment of awareness. She really enjoyed flirting with Daniel, but the reality of sharing a bed with a complete stranger was something else entirely, and worries about what she was going to do were still looming in the back of her mind.
After they’d finished the food, she helped to wash up, her mind turning over her options. Finally, she had to admit there was only one choice. She took one last fortifying sip of wine then looked Daniel in the eye. ‘Okay. Ground rules. Technically, I own this place?—’
‘Hasn’t taken you long to assert authority, has it?’ He grinned, taking any sting out of his words.
