"I know."She ended the call and stared down at the dark screen for a second longer than necessary, watching her own reflection in the cracked glass.
"No luck," Colby said quietly.Not a question.
"Maggie's house is full."Sabrina slipped the phone back into her pocket."Half the town has a stomach bug, apparently."
He tipped his chin slightly."Any other friends you could try?"
She thought about it.Thought about the couple she knew from the chamber of commerce meetings, another inn owner who lived forty minutes out of town, and a few people she saw regularly at Lila's café for coffee and small talk.Faces she recognized.Names she knew.Acquaintances, not the kind of people you called at midnight and asked for a bed.
"They've all got families.Or tiny houses.Or both," she said."It's fine.I'll figure something out."
"Like what?"
"Maybe the Copper Moon Hotel has an opening."She tried to make it sound casual, like she hadn't already considered and dismissed that option three times.
"It doesn't."
She frowned."How do you know?"
"Because I spoke to the owner this morning.He came down here to see what had happened to the competition."A faint edge of distaste colored the word."I asked him if he had a room available in case you needed it.He's booked solid through next weekend."
She processed that—the fact that he'd thought to ask, that he'd been planning ahead while she was still trying to remember how to breathe."I'll manage."
"There it is again," he said.
"What?"
"'I'll manage.'"
"It's true."
He watched her for a long beat, something working behind his eyes."It sounds like you're saying, 'I don't know what to do, but I'd rather bite my own arm off than admit it.'"
A thin, unwilling huff escaped her."You're very sure of yourself."
"I'm very familiar with stubborn."
She bristled, shoulders drawing back."You think I'm being stubborn?"
"I think you just watched your entire life burn down and your first instinct is still to tell everyone you're fine."His tone stayed mild, not accusing, but the words landed anyway."That's a kind of stubborn."
She looked away, jaw tight, and fixed her gaze on the smoldering pile that used to be her home.
Footsteps approached on the gravel, quick and purposeful.A familiar voice called out, "Sabrina?"
She turned.
Bree crossed the taped-off area from the parking lot, her blond hair pulled back in a messy knot that was coming loose on one side, and a paint-stained sweatshirt hanging loosely over black leggings.Concern sharpened her hazel-green eyes as she took in Sabrina's face—the pallor, the shadows, the careful way she was holding herself together.She stopped short for just a moment, then closed the distance and wrapped her in a careful hug.
"Oh, sweetheart," Bree said against her hair."I'm so sorry."
Sabrina held on for a second, breathing in the familiar scent of turpentine and the lavender lotion Bree always used after washing paint off her hands.Then she eased back."How did you?—"
"Hank called Diaz when he saw the smoke from the marina," Bree said."Diaz called me after they got you out, told me you were okay but shaken up.I should've been here sooner, but we had to close up the gallery, and Brian was out on an errand and..."She shook her head."It doesn't matter.I'm here now."She glanced at the ruins and swallowed hard, her throat moving visibly."I can't believe it.All those beautiful rooms.All that history."
Sabrina followed her gaze to the jagged silhouette against the darkening sky."Join the club."
Bree looked back at her, studying her face with the careful attention of an artist cataloging details."Where are you staying tonight?"
