Page 78 of How You See Me
Being with Josie and utilizing the van’s assets for more than transportation has been on my mind far too oftenthese days.
“It would be nice to have air conditioning for a night and to wash the sheets and towels. The hotel might have a laundromat, or we can find one in town.”
“Good idea,” I say, though my voice sounds off, even to me.
My mind is still caught somewhere back on the side of that highway with her limbs tangled around me. My hands in her hair and roaming every inch of her. The ghost of my flashback still lingers, echoing like an invisible bruise. But it’s nothing compared to the aftershock of our kiss and the feeling that I finally let go of something.
“Ithasbeen hot at night,” I offer, more to fill the silence than anything else.
“Not as hot as you, though.” She grins, proud of herself.
“You really need to stop that.”
“Why? Is it going to your head?”
And other places.I squirm in my seat.
We pass a mechanic and a laundromat on our way through the town, but no hotel. Josie finds a bed and breakfast on her phone, and we pull into the driveway moments later.
“Isn’t this the cutest?” Her hands clasp under her chin as she takes in the old craftsman-style home, its flower-lined walkway, and the canopy of trees overhead. “I bet the inside is full of antiques.”
“Let’s go find out if they have room before we haul everything in.”
The sign on the door saysCome In, so I push open the door. Josie walks in ahead of me and stops between the staircase and living room, hands perch on her hips.
“What’s wrong?”
She gestures to the rest of the open area. “It’s . . . modern. No stained-glass windows, stained baseboard trim, or twentieth-century furniture. It’s white and chrome, not brown and brass like it’s supposed to be. Its soul has been stripped away.”
“How about we talk about that in the room?”
Footsteps echo from the back of the house, and soon an older woman in an apron appears. Her gray hair is in that complicated braid where it starts on top of her head and runs down the back.
“Hi there. Welcome to the Happy Little Trees B&B. We’re big fans of Bob Ross if you couldn’t tell. We even have several prints of his work. Want to see them?”
“Well, yeah!” Josie’s sunrays burst back through now that art has entered the conversation.
We get a tour of the spotless home and the owner’s art collection, learning along the way that there’s only one room available.
“We stay booked almost year-round, but you’re in luck. We had a cancellation this morning.”
“Only one room?” The question blurts out of me, despite myattempt not to sound panicked. But I’m panicking.
“Yes. They had a family emergency.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Josie's hand presses over her heart like she truly feels for the family. Knowing her, she probably does. “Your home and hospitality are lovely. It’s no wonder why people want to stay here.”
The woman beams. “Thank you. Where are y’all from?”
“Virginia. We’re on a road trip, but one of our tires blew a few miles back.”
“Oh no. Tim!” the woman yells, tilting her head back.
A man about her age with the same color hair, but rounder in the middle, soon appears in the doorway.
“Howdy, folks.”
She gestures toward us. “This beautiful couple needs a tire. Call Pete and get him on it.” She comes back to us. “Pete’s our town mechanic, but the shop is closed tomorrow since it’s Sunday.”
