“Shit!” Bree ducked behind Lainey, which was impressive, because Lainey was about six inches shorter than her. “I didn’t know Larry was going to be here. He’s looking right at us. He’s gonna corner me about his stupid tours again.”
Across the room was Larry Pometti, a stout man with olive skin and little hair to his name. He was both the high school theater director and the proprietor of a fledgling architectural tour company. He was always angling for more access to the exclusive Groff Retreat, and Bree was always avoiding him like Lainey did debt collectors.
“I’m going to sneak out the alley door with the smokers,” said the pregnant woman before stuffing a disconcerting amount of mac and cheese into her mouth. “Meet me at Caribou Coffee in ten minutes.” Then Bree disappeared.
“Should she be drinking coffee?” Elliot asked, watching the swinging door.
“She likes their Lemonade Refreshers. She says if she’s tired enough she can pretend it’s a margarita, and in the offseason, Caribou’s one of the only places open until seven that’s not a bar.” Lainey waited for him to say whatever it was he’d come to say, but suddenly they were alone again and it was as though he’d forgotten how to speak to other human people. “Have you hit the buffet yet?” she asked when the silence became unbearable.
“I don’t really do buffets,” he answered, activating an anticipatory rage response in Lainey’s chest at whatever outrageous explanation he was about to provide. “The only food that’s left is what everyone else didn’t take.”
Lainey took a deep inhale through her nose. “I’m not sure what that says about you, but I’m certain it’s incredibly revealing.”
“You’re probably right.” The corner of his mouth pulled upward. Was that the first genuine smile she’d earned from him since the gas station? “You know that guy is still looking at us, right?” Elliot shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with even the smallest amount of scrutiny.
“Larry’s probably waiting for Bree to come back to talk Groff business. When she doesn’t, he’ll—”
“Beeline directly for us?” Elliot asked out of the side of his mouth.
Larry appeared at her side as if conjured.
“Elaine Davis?” he asked, with the energy of a man who would lay down his life for a youth production ofOnce Upon a Mattress. When she didn’t respond instantaneously, the man curled a brow. Prior to this moment, Larry had never had any reason to care about Lainey, and contrary to what movies and television would suggest, she didn’t personally know every citizen of Timber Creek by virtue of living in a small town.
“That’s me,” she responded.
“You’re the owner of Forest’s Bridge?” he asked so dubiously she ought to have been offended. Just because she was wearing a vintage Hamm’s Beer T-shirt featuring a bear playing baseball didn’t mean she couldn’t be a serious person in possession of architecturally significant real estate.
“That’s right.”
She waited for Elliot to object or offer some qualification, but to her surprise, he didn’t. He simply stood beside her, eyeing Larry up and down like a security guard assessing a threat.
“Good.” Larry clasped his hands together with a loud clapthat made Lainey jump. “We should talk about tours. I’m already working on adding Forest’s Bridge to the listing. Vincent Groff lovers are going to go nuts for this one. It would be nice if you put out picnic tables or Adirondack chairs so visitors can rest. They love those extra touches.”
As much as Lainey wanted nothing more than to cut Larry off, this was a man whose primary job security hinged on the success or failure of a winter meat raffle and was no stranger to the odd side hustle. Lainey had begrudging respect for that brand of enterprising spirit.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I want strangers wandering in front of my house—”
“Lainey and I were actually in the middle of something important,” Elliot cut in, wedging his body physically between her and Larry. When he was stretched in front of her to his full height, she was reminded of how tall he was, and she wasn’t exactly seeking reminders.
“If you’d excuse us,” Elliot said to Larry. Elliot tilted his head in the direction of the front door, lifting his bent elbow to Lainey expectantly.
“Uh, yeah,” she said back. She hooked her hand through, managing to avoid sustained contact while following him out of the VFW on wobbly legs. Each incidental press of arm against arm hit her body with a zap in their private game of upright Operation.
“I’m not sure if there’s too much taxidermy or not enough,” Elliot commented, taking in the dozens of stuffed creatures displayed on the walls: deer, muskrats, and one grizzly bear torso mounting its escape from the side of the building.
She dropped his arm when they were finally through the door and out on the sidewalk. “Yeah, it’s a real delicate dance betweenalarming and kitsch. So is this the part where you fess up? Why are you hovering around me? What are you plotting?”
“Do I need to be carrying out some plot to talk to the only person I know at a town event commemorating a failed crow genocide? How about a thanks for extracting you from that conversation you obviously didn’t want to be in?”
“I can’t be the only person you know. That’s too sad,” she said, ignoring the second part about owing him a thank-you.
“It’s not great. I’ll give you that.” The sidewalks were damp with spring melt, and the sun was low in the sky, leaving the lamplights questioning whether it was their time to glow against the darkened storefronts. His eyes were on her, but he wasn’t speaking. She was no longer sure why she was still standing there. She moved slowly in the opposite direction, giving him one second, then two…“Will you let me get you ice cream or something?” he asked her.
She turned back and attempted to dissect his expression for clues. “Another peace offering? If this goes the way of the last one, I think I’m good.”
“Are you going to let me buy you ice cream or not?” he griped with her in a way that was becoming, if not friendly, at least familiar.
“Fine.” She held back a grin. “I still have to meet Bree, but I know a spot that’s on the way.”
