Page 2 of Dead & Breakfast
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Arthur cut Sal off. He could forgive his husband almost anything, but not his continual defense of mosquitoes.
“Strange? Not really—when you think about it, mosquitoes have a great deal in common with vamp—”
“Her. Cominghere. On the mayor’s suggestion.” Arthur glanced down at the sticky note on the desk. “And she only had one bag. That doesn’t exactly say long-term stay, does it?”
“I’d say it’s a testament to our marketing efforts. They’re clearly working if the mayor is recommending us.”
“I’d be inclined to agree if we’d done much in the way of marketing recently. Speaking of which, am I right to assume your foray into town was a success? I don’t see any leftover flyers.”
Salvatore gave a little bow and a cheeky smile. “Indeed, there’s not a telephone pole in town without one plastered to it. If no one comes to our wine and cheese night, it won’t be because we didn’t get the word out.”
Arthur looked up in alarm. “I thought you said everyone who’s anyone would be there.”
“And I stand by it.” Salvatore lifted his chin. “After all,I’llbe there, and really, darling, who else do we need?”
“The mayor,” Arthur grumbled.
“What’s that?”
“The mayor,” Arthur said more clearly. “Our guest—Nora Anderson. She said she was going to invite the mayor. If he’s recommending our establishment now, maybe he’ll actually come! All we need is one good showing and things could really turn around for us!”
“Whatever you say.” Salvatore bounced up to his tiptoes and planted a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, angling his gaze down and landing on the Post-it. “Aha! What’s this?” He snatched it from the desk, the sticky side finding purchase on his palm. “Cheerful brunette? Suitcase—gray, old?Who do you think you are? Sherlock Houses?”
“Holmes,” Arthur corrected as he scrambled to recover the sticky note. “And I was just making some observations.”
“Observe this, my love.” Salvatore folded the sticky note into avery small rose, then tucked it into the lapel of Arthur’s black suit jacket. “That’s better. A little pop of color.”
Arthur fought the urge to remove the paper rose. He’d thought he’d looked rather spiffing when he got dressed that morning, but next to Salvatore’s ensemble, his was terribly plain, even with the embellishment.
“We have a guest for the first time in weeks.” Sal brushed the lapels of Arthur’s suit jacket in a soothing motion. “It’s time to stop worrying about strange happenstances and start preparing for this evening’s festivities! What do you think, should I change? This cravat doesn’t really sayparty animal.”
Arthur wasn’t sure what exactly his husband’s cravat was supposed to say, so he just nodded.
“At least we won’t run out of refreshments. You ordered enough wine to get the whole town toasted,” Sal said. “Looks like we won’t go hungry either.”
Arthur followed Salvatore’s gaze to the unassuming cardboard box by the door withFresh Bitesprinted in bold across the top.It’s the quality that counts, boasted the thin black lettering.
“Absolutely not,” Arthur said. “We will not drink blood in front of the guests.”
“Guest,” Salvatore corrected.
It was optimistic thinking to assume anyone but Nora would attend the evening’s festivities. In fact, Arthur was beginning to worry it was too much to hope that the inn’s singular occupant would bother to grace them with her presence at all. With only Salvatore and the copious amount of cheese they’d procured, it would be a lonely—and gassy—night, indeed.
Salvatore pierced the tape on the package with his nails and withdrew a square card from inside. “Look! We got Geraldine Wilkesfrom Eugene. She’s a vegan and enjoys cycling. And it’s B positive! Your favorite!”
Arthur’s tongue found the tip of his canine, as it often did when he was hungry—but no. “We can’t scare this one off, all right? She’s our first guest in weeks. We can’t mess this up. If this business fails…” Arthur trailed off, the rest too unthinkable to express aloud.
“Then we move on,” Salvatore said. “We do it all the time.”
They’d moved to the sleepy Oregon town only six months ago, after Salvatore had inadvertently set their Chicago apartment on fire with some pyrotechnics he’d planned to use in his drag show. Between the two of them, they’d a combined sixty-nine years of life and another six hundred or so of undeath. In all their time together, they’d never really stopped moving around, so with the insurance settlement from the fire, they agreed on a quiet retirement from traveling in a small town close to the woods.
Salvatore didn’t care what town or what woods, but Arthur had visited Trident Falls many times as a boy, and it had seemed a slice of idyllic peace, tucked away near the mountains. His father had always insisted on taking Arthur to do all manner of unthinkable things like hiking and fishing and kayaking, none of which were Arthur’s particular idea of fun, but at the end of the day they’d come back to the bed-and-breakfast, where a cozy fire and soft blankets awaited them. Though it was only for one week each summer, Arthur’s fondness for the Iris Inn had never waned. The original proprietor, Iris herself, made the most heavenly scones Arthur had ever tasted, and he hoped to one day catch the feeling of home she’d so effortlessly cultivated. When Arthur had seen the listing for the Iris Inn, it felt like fate, so they’d packed up their limited remaining possessions and headed for Trident Falls.
It was supposed to be their perfect little getaway. Instead, it was a town full of furtive glances under judgmental eyebrows. Salvatore said they could change their minds anytime, but Arthur wasn’t ready to give up so easily. It had once been a cozy and welcoming place; it could be again.
“This was supposed to be the last time, Sal. We’re retired now. Can’t you at least try?”
Salvatore sighed and placed the card back inside the box of their weekly delivery of ethically sourced blood and faced the kitchen. “I’ll make a charcuterie board.”
