Page 39 of The Inn Dilemma

“Kent, I didn’t realize you ever ate anywhere outside your office,” Mom says haughtily.

“I didn’t realize you were having an affair right under my nose,” Dad shoots back.

The restaurant goes silent. All eyes are on us.

A sick feeling fills my stomach. “Go back to your meals, people. Nothing to see here.” When they go back to how they were—minus a few Nosy Nellies—I say, “Mom isn’t having an affair. She and Trevor are justfriends.”

The look in Dad’s eyes makes me shrink inside myself. “I thought you called them ‘work associates.’” He puts the words in air quotes, then pulls out his wallet and slaps a one hundred dollar bill on the table. “We’re done here.” He directs the words to no one in particular, which means he’s dismissing all of us.

We haven’t even gotten our food yet and this lunch has completely blown up in my face. He storms out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

Shame is painted all over Mom’s face, but Trevor doesn’t seem to notice. As arrogant as he’s proven to be, Trevor wraps an arm around Mom’s waist and leans down to whisper something in her ear. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t push him away.

Irritation boils inside of me. “I feel like someone just sucker punched me in the chest.” Searching Mom’s eyes for any sign of regret, I add, “I know Dad is far from perfect. You and I know that more than anyone. But this just…” I look between the two of them. “You both make me sick.”

Mom’s mouth falls open and regret immediately fills her eyes.

With that, I grab my purse, turn on my heel, and follow in Dad’s footsteps. Once I’m outside, I power walk back to the parking garage where I left Aunt Birdie’s car and drive to the nearest art store. It’s been too long since I played with paints, and painting is the distraction and comfort I need right now.

I want to go back to the office and try to talk to Dad, but I have no idea what to say. Any of the minimal progress we made today has gone out the window.It will take a miracle to save their marriage from this. Or bring something remotely normal from the ashes of our past.

It’s a quick drive to the store. As I browse the aisles, I ask the Holy Spirit to intercede for me.

I don’t know what to ask of my Heavenly Father. He’s already given me so much. With all the good and grace Jesus has shown me, how can I ask anymore of Him? Will I reach a point where I’m asking too much? Does His grace ever run out? Am I truly forgiven?

My fingertips halt on a bottle of paint. I may be making my own money now, but I should also be smart about how I spend it. I scan all the colors and settle on six instead the usual twelve or more.

After gathering the rest of the supplies I need, I check out. When I reach the car, my phone notifies me of an incoming text. I drop my shopping bags in the backseat and slide into the driver’s side before locking all the doors.

When I open up the text, I can’t help but smile at what it says.

Holt: I’m always praying for you, SuperNova. But I’m praying extra hard for you now. Come over when you’re done. I know exactly what you need to feel better.

Me: I’ll be there soon.

Chapter Thirteen

Nova

Idrop my shopping bags off on my counter before practically running over to Holt’s cabin. My plan was to change out of this dress into something more comfortable. But from the moment Holt’s text came through, the need to be with him has overwhelmed me. He’s my shelter in the storm. My safe place. I need my safe place more than ever before.

The wood beneath my feet groans as I step to his door. My fist doesn’t even touch the wood before Titan and Tootsie’s alternating barks announce my arrival.

The door swings open, and Holt stands there wearing a white T-shirt that clings to all the right muscles—his broad chest, large biceps, and chiseled waist, to name a few. He’s wearing black sweatpants that look way more comfortable than the wrap dress that’s been slowly suffocating me all day.

Holt widens his stance and settles his hands on his hips. Even though I’m slightly surprised by his comfy-cozy look, it doesn’t compare to the shock I feel when my gaze lands on his feet. He’s wearing socks covered in…Sasquatches that say “Gone Squatching.” I stare down at his socks, blinking at the absolutely unexpected hilarity of this situation. As if he doesn’t even care that I’m staring at his feet, he wiggles his toes. Slowly, my eyes travel back up his massive form, and the smile he wears shocks me beyond words.

“You, Holt Graves, are full of surprises. I had no idea you believed in Bigfoot.”

“Who said I did?”

Without a word, I point at his socks.

He shrugs, then turns, and I’m left staring dumbstruck at him as he practically swaggers into the house. There’s a tattoo on the inside of his forearm and I see a pattern of what appears to be dots on his inner bicep. Two tattoos I’ve failed to see before. Two tattoos more than I knew he had.

Titan and Tootsie follow me in and make themselves cozy in their doggy beds.

The rustic interior makes the cabin even cozier on the inside than the outside. Sure, there’s a ton of flannel, but it’s the type of thing that makes me want to curl up on the couch and wrap myself up like a human burrito with a good book and hot cup of cocoa. It’s homey. I follow Holt into the kitchen and hop up onto the counter next to the stove.

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