“You’re…early. Oliver.”
Five
Oliver
I am extremely early.
By all rights, Iris should tell me to take a hike. She could cancel my reservation for what amounts to trespassing. I wouldn’t even be mad about it.
Iris is stone-faced and intense. But also, too beautiful to be real.
Am I dreaming?
“I am. I came through town to get a look at the galleries and kill some time before check-in, but none of them are open yet.”
Her hard expression softens. “Google Maps is wrong. On festival days, they open later,” she explains.
“I see.”
“But they stay open later at night. For the crowds,” Iris adds.
“Got it.”
She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. A shy smile pulls at her lips. “I would let you check in early, but I had guests last night, and I haven’t had time to clean.”
“I understand. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll go grab a bite at the Jaybird…something.”
“Bluejay Cafe,” she says.
A pause hangs in the air for a moment. Her companions, a man and a woman who were understandably wound up a second ago, hang back and relax now as they listen to our conversation.
“Bluejay. Right.” I make a move to leave.
Iris protests, “Wait. Absolutely not! Come on in, and I’ll make you a plate.”
“I don’t want to impose…”
She laughs. “Don’t be silly. Come on inside and have breakfast with us. It’s the least I can do for you until the festival opens.”
I follow Iris up the steps of the wide back patio and through the French doors. The other guests eyeball me as they follow us inside.
Six
Iris
I’ve seen men eat. And then there’s Oliver.
I’m so pleased at how much food he can put away. At least nothing will go to waste.
Is it weird to invite a guest inside who is eight hours early? Maybe. But I make my own rules. I always have.
After breakfast, Oliver says, “Let me thank you for your hospitality.” His voice is dripping with manners that somebody taught him.
“Oh, that’s not necessary, I?—”
But he’s not hearing me.
I watch as he runs out the way he came in, through the yard, out the gate, and opens the trunk of his car.
