Page 11 of Hoax and Kisses
She gives me a long look up and down and smirks. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,please.” I drag my belongings behind me and plop my ass on the closest stool. “I just arrived in Pine Falls and—”
The woman snorts. “You don’t say.”
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Take a look around.” She nods at the dining area.
Slowly, I shift on the stool and scan the space.
Okay, yeah. I understand her point. The patrons of the café are decked out in leggings and jeans, many wearing boots similar to the kind that rude guy had on. Backpacks are draped over chairs or set on the floor beside them. Beneath the scent of coffee, the air is tinged with hints of damp wood and insect repellent.
I definitely stand out in a cherry-red dress, matching purse, and the Dior perfume I spritzed on when I left this morning.
It’s fine. I’m used to not blending in. It’s never fazed me before, and it won’t start affecting me now. I think that’s what makes people tick. What forces them to give me their attention when I’m not even seeking it. As if my lack of discomfort breaks some unspoken universal rule that leaves them outraged.
I turn back to the woman—Rosie, according to her nametag—who’s still watching me, her lips twitching in amusement. She seems to be about my age, with purple streaks slashing her black hair.
“Got it. It’s obvious I just arrived. Do you know where I can find this cabin?”
I take my phone out of my tote bag and open the photo album app, fishing for the confirmation email I had screenshotted before I left Vancouver.
“Oh, sure,” she says, leaning over the counter. “You’re a bit far out. Oliver lives on the outskirts of town, about a kilometer from here.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Who’s Oliver?” The listing didn’t mention an Oliver. Only that the rental was the perfect place to enjoy “the true essence of Pine Falls.”
“The owner of the cabin,” Rosie says. “And of Oli’s, the restaurant a few streets up.” She points vaguely out the frontwindows. “Can’t miss it. It’s always packed. If the house is available, he must be away on a trip with Charlee.”
This woman talks to me like I’ve been living in this town forever and would know who these people are, yet only moments ago, she was making sure I understood how obviously I don’t belong here.
“Who’s Charlee?” I ask, locking my phone screen.
Rosie’s brows shoot up. “Charlee Fletcher? You don’t know who Charlee Fletcher is?”
I make a face. “The only reason I know the name is because you’ve said it twice in the span of five seconds.”
With a roll of her eyes, she throws the towel she was holding onto her shoulder and snatches her phone next to the register. She extends it to me, a video playing on her screen.
I watch, and it hits me immediately.
“Oh, I know her.” I look up, sliding the phone back to Rosie. “I saw her documentary on a forest around here last week.”
“She’s our national treasure,” Rosie says proudly. “And Oliver’s girlfriend. When she’s shooting, and as long as his schedule allows, Oliver follows along. That might be why his cabin is available.” Her gaze lingers on my wet hair. “Do you maybe want a cup of coffee or tea? Something hot?”
My damp clothes cling to my skin, and cold sinks into my bones. I should probably find a way to get to my lodgings and change, but Rosie is smiling at me with a warmth I’ve rarely encountered, and weirdly, it makes me want to stay.
I straighten on my stool. “A grande cappuccino with cold foam, please.”
She snorts again. “Who do you think I am, Starbucks?” She lets out a huff. “I don’t complain when you tourists steal all our parking spots in the summer, but I draw the line at cold foam. I’ll make you a cappuccino in a bowl.”
“Will you mock me if I ask for oat milk?”
She shakes her head, her purple hair bouncing. “I wish, but Pine Falls gets a lot of tourists throughout the year, and with them come all sorts of ridiculous requests like hazelnut syrup and cinnamon sprinkles. Gotta meet the demand.” She locks the portafilter in place beneath the coffee bean grinder. “What brings you here, clearly not dressed for the storm coming in?”
Fidgeting with my fingers, I weigh my answer. I did a little research on Pine Falls, and Dad talked my ears off about how vehemently the townsfolk opposed his resort concept. Though when I went through our archives for more information, I didn’t find any traces of that failed deal. It’s strange, since our company’s policy is to keep everything. I meant to ask Dad about it but didn’t have time to connect with him again before this trip.
Based on the digging I did, I’ve gathered that one available plot of land will be discussed during the next town hall. If they’re already a sensitive bunch, I can’t go around saying I’m here to build a hotel. I can’t mess it up before I have the chance to present the project. They need to get on board, even if it means giving them the illusion of a choice. The process will be much smoother if they believe it was their idea all along. You know,marketing.
