Page 15 of The Fine Art of Faking It
Davis opened his eyes again and stared up at Eden like a baby deer in headlights.
“I was here making breakfast, cleaning up from breakfast, and baking,” Eden said in a chilly voice. “I have about a dozen witnesses that can place me here all morning.” Vader plopped down at her feet and leaned heavily against her leg for moral support.
“That’s good enough for me, for now,” Layla said, all business. She flipped her notebook closed. “But you might want to compile a list of your guests and a way to contact them… just in case.”
Eden’s fingernails worked their way into her palm. “I’ll be right with you,” she said pleasantly to her curious guests, pretending that she wasn’t ready to give Layla a real reason to arrest her.
“I’m gonna go talk to the fire inspector,” Layla began, jerking her thumb toward the door. “See what she’s got for us.”
“Where’s Donovan?” Eden asked. The sheriff of Blue Moon wasn’t investigating the only potential arson in the history of the town. That in itself was weird.
Layla cracked a grin. “Would you believe me if I told you Cardona got married about two hours ago?”
“What? Eva and Donovan?” Eden blinked. Astrological forces were definitely still in play. Eva and Donovan had been dating for barely a month, and Blue Moon’s sheriff wasn’t exactly known for being rash. A movement on the front porch caught her eyes. Ellery was waving her arms wildly as Bruce grabbed at the tufts of hair behind his ears.The apocalypse was definitely still in play.
“Yeah,” Layla continued. “He and Eva tied the knot in a spontaneous little ceremony this morning. They’re either still locked in their bathroom having newlywed sex, or they’re out to brunch with the family.”
Eden rubbed a hand over her forehead. Davis gave a little snore from the chair. His face was stained with blood and soot. But damn if he still wasn’t painfully, stupidly attractive.
She hated that about him.
“Is he allowed to sleep while he has a concussion?” Eden asked.
Layla shrugged. The radio on her belt chirped. “Deputy, you got things under control out there at the winery?” Minnie Murkle’s voice crackled. She was Blue Moon’s dispatcher, police station office manager, and in the running for town’s busiest busybody.
“I gotta take this,” Layla said, pointing toward the door. “Good luck with him. He’s gonna need a place to stay for the next few weeks.” She jutted her chin toward Davis and gave Eden a little salute before vanishing through the front door.
“What do you mean ‘good luck with him’?” Eden called after her.
Bruce and Ellery returned, both of them beaming at her. “So, we’re going to go,” Ellery said, clasping her hands in front of her black cat skeleton turtleneck.
“What about him?” Eden asked, pointing at Davis.
“Well, he’s going to need a place to stay,” Ellery said, sliding closer to the front door.
“And what does that have to do with me?” Eden demanded. More guests were clustering around the desk, whispering. She took a deep breath to control her panic.
“You know, Eden. Voting on Blue Moon Business of the Year is happening next month,” Bruce said, rubbing a hand over his rotund belly. “I imagine a lot of Mooners would be very impressed that you opened your inn to your neighbor in need.”
Those sneaky, manipulative tricksters. Dangling the carrot she most wanted right in front of her. She’d been gunning for Blue Moon Business of the Year—a prize that the winery snatched up year after year—for the last six years. She was the Susan Lucci of Blue Moon’s chamber of commerce, and this year was going to be her year.
“So, we’re gonna take off,” Ellery said again, pointing both index fingers in the direction of the front door. She slid one Frankenstein boot toward the door and then the other. Eden was powerless to stop them. She watched them scurry out the door like the sneaks they were. Davis made a sad little whimper noise next to her as he tried to curl his six-foot-plus frame into the chair.
“Everything all right?” one of the guests asked. Melissa from Missouri on the upstate New York leg of her Girlfriends Tour, Eden recalled.
“Everything’s great, Melissa,” Eden assured her with a confident smile she didn’t feel.
Everything was horrible.
9
Eden prodded Davis into the cramped bathroom. She’d reluctantly given him the small suite next to her living quarters so his smell wouldn’t upset the rest of the guests. Sunny, her part-time front desk help who also waited tables at John Pierce Brews, had arrived in the nick of time distracting the guests that lingered with Eden’s charmingly cartoonish maps of Blue Moon and chocolates while she hauled the smelly mess away. She would manage the situation. It was what she did best.
Eden reached around him and twisted the knobs in the skinny shower. “Get in there and don’t come out until you don’t smell.”
“’K,” he said and shucked his jeans right there in front of her.
“Holy hell,” Eden stammered and clapped a hand over her eyes. Davis Gates apparently didn’t bother with things like underwear. “Jesus, Gates! Wait until I leave the room.”
