Perched on a stool at the ornate wooden bar, I couldn’t help but overhear a couple of dudes debate the merits of leaf blowing versus raking. My to-buy list burned a hole in my pocket: gel, hair oil, a hammer, batteries, and other house-fixing supplies. I texted Heaven.
Me:the only biz in town open is the bar. :(
Heaven:Is there a post office? I need a much larger crystal and some pyrite. And some lotion. Did you even pack me extra underwear?
Me:idk. order what you need to the house. use my card.
Heaven:omg
Me:kissy face
I ordered a Macallan scotch. I couldn’t eat food anymore, but I could drink. The scotch tasted of the earth, of the sacred soil of which Vlad had spoken. I shut my eyes and felt my humanity deep within me, still there.
“Scotch, huh?” A deep voice interrupted my reverie, and I looked up to see Tyrone. In the dark, he’d been a snack. In the warm glow of the tavern, he was a full meal, with broad shoulders and eyes that sparkled with wit and charm. He smelled of evergreens and iron.
“Yep.” I sat up straight and gestured at the seat beside me.
He took the offered seat and flashed two fingers to the bartender. “Two more of whatever the lady’s having, Gary.” He sat down, briefly towering over me. Big men were always my undoing.
“You look refreshed,” he said.
“An extended cross-country road trip isn’t exactly a beauty treatment.” Gesturing to the room, I said, “I forgot the Vermont dress code.”
“Don’t apologize for looking good.”
Gary, the bartender, slid two generous pours across the bar with a wink for Tyrone. They were clearly friends.
“What he’s saying is you look hot,” Gary said, sounding pretty sassy for a man who looked like he had passed hunter safety and had a closet full of puffer vests. He winked at me. “Love the satin. Work it, girl.”
“Was I being cagey?” Tyrone laughed. “Gary’s right. You look hot. A little weird for sure—”
“Hey!” I protested.
“—but hot.”
Tyrone’s compliment hit harder than the alcohol, warming me all the way to my toes. “It’s good to be back.” Looking him dead in the eye, I said, “I missed all the flannel.”
“The flannel, huh?” When he threw back the rest of his whiskey, hetilted his head and exposed his throat. His neck was thick and muscled, and a five-o’clock shadow dusted his jaw like powdered sugar on a delicious treat. When he swallowed, his blood bloomed with the warmth of the alcohol. I swallowed in turn.
“What have you been doing for the last few years?” he asked, setting his glass down on a thin paper napkin.
“I was just joking about being a mortician,” I said. “I actually went out to LA to be an actress, but you know how that goes.”
He nodded sagely.
“I’ve been working at a blood clinic for the last couple of years,” I said, sprinkling in some truth among the lies. “When I inherited the inn, I was more than ready to get out.”
Just then, a table behind us erupted into laughter. Tyrone leaned over the bar and shouted out an order for fries above the din.
A second later, Gary slid a plate of fries onto the bar between us. “On the house.” I think I liked this Gary.
Tyrone raised his glass. “Thanks, man.” Turning to me again, he said, “Oh, I met your friend.”
“My friend?” My brain scrambled to catch up. “Do you mean Heaven?” I glanced around, trying to disguise my panic.
Tyrone’s neck was unmarked. That had to be a good sign, but still. Heaven was not ready to be out.
Like it was no big deal, he said, “I stopped by your place with a housewarming gift.”
