Page 56 of No Room in the Inn

I just stare at him, speechless. Does he know how much I needed to be asked that question?

But of course he does. He probably understands mourning better than I do. He waits patiently while I look at him.

“Music,” I finally say. “I want to drive around and listen to music and not talk.”

He nods immediately. “Done. What kind of music? Sad or angry or upbeat?”

Tears sting my eyes. “Sad.” Because I need to cry. I need to get it all out—all the pain over Myrtle, the pain of guilt over how I’ve treated my parents, even the stress over the inn. I need to purge; I need to cleanse.

Nixon nods again. “Okay. Give me a second to download a playlist.” He fiddles with his phone for a few minutes before turning on the stereo. A Sarah McLachlan song comes on, the one they use in those animal cruelty commercials.

And I’m gone. Nixon just drives while I cry. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t look at me. He takes back roads I’m surprised he knows, winding around and through town time and time again as I cry myself weak in the passenger seat. My tears slowly fade as my sadness is replaced by sheer exhaustion, and I close my eyes, letting myself drift.

I’m vaguely aware of the car stopping, of my door opening and Nixon unbuckling me and lifting me in his arms. I should walk on my own or at least protest, but I’m too tired, too drained. So I just snuggle closer into his chest, letting his scent wash over me. And when he puts me in bed and pulls the covers up over me, I fall asleep immediately.

Chapter 26

Willow

Friday rolls around more quickly than I’d like. The guy who came to look at the inn made an offer, and I have to admit, I was tempted. I told him he would hear from me by the end of the month. Nixon wasn’t too happy about that. I’m still not completely sure what I’m going to do, though I do know which way I’m leaning right now.

Repairmen are in and out of the inn every day now, and while it’s coming along nicely, I don’t love the noise. So I spend some of my days with Sarah at the daycare. Today she attempts in vain to convince me that Gerty Nixon’s party is going to be fun.

“Gerty is harmless,” Sarah says. “And I think it will be good for you. You know…” She trails off, looking at me sympathetically. “Get your mind off of Myrtle for a bit.”

I swallow, nodding at her. I know she’s right. I’ve been preoccupied the past couple days, worrying about Myrtle, hanging out at my parents’ while they’re at work so I could be with her. My poor baby. She’s suffering, and it kills me to see. We’re going to need to put her down if this goes on much longer.

“It will be fun,” Sarah says, pulling me back to the present. She’s hard to hear over the wails of the two kids she’s now separating. “Bennet, stop that,” she says firmly to the little boy now flailing his arms wildly in an attempt to get to the little girl opposite him. “Maria isn’t trying to take the toy from you. She just wants to play with you.”

I bend over, picking Maria up so that Sarah can use both arms to calm Bennet. Maria calms down once I’ve got her on my hip, and I sway back and forth, hoping to keep her content.

“Okay,” I say to Sarah. “But Gerty specifically implied that she wants to play matchmaker. I don’t want Gerty Nixon springing a man on me.” Because other than for the distraction, I’m really just going for the food. I am not a social creature, but if you throw in some cookies, you can bet I’ll be there—early, and with a purse so I can sneak some extra food home with me.

Sarah shrugs as she smooths one hand over Bennet’s hair. He’s finally calming down. “Then just tell her you don’t want to date if she says anything. Or better yet, just tell her to direct all single men to me.”

I grin in spite of my less-than-cheerful mood. “That sounds like a plan.”

We stay at the daycare until five, after which we head to Sarah’s. I text Nixon to let him know I won’t be home for dinner.

That’s too bad. I was going to force feed you all your least favorite foods, he texts back, and I grin.

“Things seem to be going well with Hot Santa,” Sarah says, eyeing me as she stirs macaroni on the stove. Her words are part statement, part question.

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess,” I say. “We get along well as long as we don’t talk about selling the inn.”

Sarah grimaces. “Are you considering Nixon’s offer?”

I sigh. “I am,” I admit. “A lot, actually. I just feel…icky when a potential buyer comes to look at the inn. Especially when I can tell they’re probably going to tear it down.”

Sarah nods slowly. “It’s not a terrible idea,” she says.

“I know. There are pros and cons.”

Sarah nods again. “Well, what are they? The pros and cons?”

I sit up straighter, glad to have someone to discuss this with. “Pros: the inn will get turned back into the bed and breakfast, and Nixon will be able to stay there like he wants to. I’ll still get paid for the property, just not right this second. Cons: I won’t get paid for it immediately.”

Even as I speak, I can tell what I should do. It will suck not getting that financial boost, but turning it over to Nixon is really the best option. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if someone tore the inn down. Plus, when I think of how passionate Nixon is about it, I know he’ll take good care of it. And honestly, I think it’s what Granny would want.

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