“Maple,” Sue said. “I have eleven people without rooms. The Comfort Inn in Two Harbors is full because of the conference. Coach Kovak just got here last night and his entire suitcase is currently underwater. I’ll vouch for him. I have known the Kovaks since the brother played in Boston. I would not put a man in your grandmother’s apartment if I did not trust him.”
I looked at Coach Kovak.
He was looking at his coffee. He had put both hands around the mug, like he was warming them or holding on to something.
I noticed he didn’t look at me.
He didn’t look at me on purpose.
He was, I realized, giving me an out. He was giving me the chance to say no without having to say no to his face. He was a man who had been raised, possibly by Russian grandmothers, possibly by hockey coaches, possibly by some grim combination of the two, to make himself small enough that a small woman could refuse him.
It was, possibly, the kindest thing a man had done in my diner in three years.
It was also — and I want to be on the record about this —not why I said yes.
I said yes because I needed the rent.
I said yes because the apartment over the garage was ninety dollars a week if I rented it furnished, and the foreclosure clock was ticking, and I had been going to call the listing service in Duluth that morning anyway.
I said yes because Sue Hartwell does not vouch for men lightly, and if she was staking her reputation on this one, then he was probably not going to burn the place down.
I said yes because my grandmother’s voice was in my head sayingsometimes you have to do the hard thing, sugar.
“Two weeks,” I said. “We’ll do it two weeks at a time. Ninety dollars a week, paid in advance, cash or check. The bathroom faucet drips and there is exactly one space heater that works. You can use the side stairs. You don’t come in my house unless I invite you in. You don’t park in my driveway after eleven, because that’s when Theo Jr.comes home from his grandmother’s on Wednesdays and his mother needs the spot. Are we clear, Coach Kovak.”
He looked up. The blue eyes hit mine. Held.
“Clear,” he said.
“Knox,” he said. A second later. Like he had to think about it.
“Knox,” I said. “Knox what?”
“Knox Kovak.”
“Maple Sutton. Welcome to Frostbite Falls. Your first month’s rent is three hundred sixty dollars, which, since you’ve already given me twenty dollars too much for that coffee, brings your balance to three hundred forty. Cash or check. Sugar.”
It came out of my mouth before I knew I was going to say it.Sugar.I had called this mansugar.My grandmother would have laughed for an hour. My grandmother’s ghost was probably laughing now.
His mouth did the thing. The basement-under-a-smile thing. The heating system thing.
“Cash,” he said.
He pulled the wallet out again. He counted out the rent in twenties on my counter. Three hundred forty dollars in twenties is a lot of twenties. The pile sat there next to his empty coffee mug like a statement of intent. Like he was telling me something without words.
“I’ll get my bags from the inn,” he said. “I’ll be back at around five.”
“Around five,” I said.
“Maple,” he said. He said my name like it was a word in a different language he was learning to use. Slow. Careful. Like it took effort. “Thank you.”
He left a second twenty-dollar bill next to the pile of rent. He pointed at it without speaking. Then at me. Then at the empty mug.
It was a tip.
He turned, and he picked up his second cup of coffee — the fresh one, the one he had not finished — and he walked out.
The bell over the door chimed.
