“It looked disgusting, Mason. And I didn’t want to be mean.”
“Do you have any idea how many restaurant managers I’ve lit into about not properly labeling allergens on their menus?”
“Three?”
“For the love of…you know what, never. It’s fine.” Mason doesn’t shift me off his lap, but I can almost sense him withdrawing emotionally, if not physically. “I’ll make a note to update your contract rider later.”
Chastened, I let him go back to glaring out the window. Mason usually responds well to my antics. When I stumble, he is always there to catch me. So I sometimes lose my balance on purpose, just to remind myself he’s still there.
But I’m realizing now that I might be abusing that privilege.
I gently touch his wrist. “You okay? You’ve been weird since the captain mentioned Harmony Harbor.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re doing that thing where you clench your jaw and give me two word answers to every question.”
He blinks at that, before squeezing my hand. “I’m not trying to do that.”
“You’re literally doing it right now.”
Mason unclenches his jaw with visible effort. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Mason—”
“Here we are,” Earl interrupts. “Best view of town you’re gonna get.”
We crest a hill, and suddenly Harmony Harbor spreads out below us. It’s actually pretty in that quaint New England way—white church steeples, colonial buildings, a harbor full ofbobbing boats. Lights twinkle along the waterfront, and I can see what must be festival preparations in the town square.
“It’s like Stars Hollow, but with significantly more decapods,” Atticus murmurs.
I glance at him, still annoyed at his existence. “I don’t know what any of those words mean.”
“Decapods are crustaceans with legs,” Atticus explains slowly, like I’m a complete idiot. “And I assume you’re familiar with Gilmore Girls.”
“Never seen it.”
“You’ve never…how have you never seen Gilmore Girls?”
I scoff. “Maybe I was too busy being on TV for the free time to watch it.”
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah well, you’re the saddest thing I’ve ever seen…so there’s that.”
He just shakes his head, a mocking smile on his face. “Good one.”
“There’s the inn,” Earl announces, pulling up in front of a three-story building that looks like it belongs on the front of a brochure for the tourism board. “The Seafoam Inn. Best place in town for travelers to stay, though that ain’t saying much since it’s the only one.”
The Seafoam Inn looks like someone took a Victorian dollhouse and supersized it. Wraparound porch, gingerbread trim, the works. There’s even a swing hanging from chains and window boxes overflowing with some kind of purple flower that’s probably survived the cold through sheer New England stubbornness.
I slide off Mason’s lap and out of the truck before Earl can offer to help. My legs are wobbly, either from the cramped ride or the lingering adrenaline crash, but I manage to stay upright as I climb the porch steps. The wooden boards creak undermy heels in that charming way that says character rather than lawsuit waiting to happen.
The lobby smells like lavender and fresh bread. Actual bread, not that fake scent they pump into hotel lobbies to make you feel cozy. There’s a stone fireplace crackling away in the corner, mismatched armchairs arranged around it, and more doilies than I’ve ever seen in one place. It’s aggressively quaint.
I approach the front desk, where a woman with silver-streaked hair and reading glasses perched on her nose looks up from a crossword puzzle.
“Well, hello there! Welcome to the Seafoam.” Her smile is warm and genuine in a way that makes me immediately suspicious. “Checking in?”
