Page 35 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
I didn’t see him, but the blaze in the hearth and the pot of freshly brewed coffee suggested he hadn’t been gone long.
I poured myself a cup and took a moment to appreciate all the kind things he’d done for me over the past twelve hours. The man was definitely a keeper.
That was when it hit me. Really hit me. I wanted more. I wanted to take a chance and see where things went. There was a connection there, a connection I hadn’t felt with anyone else, and it went deeper than surface attraction or appreciation for his kindness and generosity. Ifeltdifferent when I was around him. I didn’t want to keep him at arm’s length; I wanted to pull him closer.
But as much as I might want something more, it wasn’t feasible. I was in the wind, running away from an obsessed psycho and trying to protect my friends. I had too many secrets, secrets that not even I knew. How could I consider a potential relationship when I was such a hot mess?
The only answer: I couldn’t. Not in good conscience. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
I sipped my coffee—the man even made good coffee—and looked out the window. Graphite-gray clouds hung low and heavy; last night’s ferocious storm had calmed into a steady, soaking rain. Tomorrow’s forecast called for sunshine and clear skies.
That seemed symbolic somehow. I had to get through my own storm to see the sunshine again. All I’d been doing thus far was trying to outrun it. Last night, I’d already decided that things had to change. I was ready to remember. Ready for this to be over, once and for all.
One thing at a time, Casey.
I began making a list of things to do.
Get my car towed and fixed or find another ride.
Talk to Rose and put an end date on my employment there.
Return to Chicago and meet with my family’s lawyers.
Maybe, while I was there, I’d reach out to a forensic hypnotherapist. It was possible there was enough incriminating evidence locked away in my traumatized brain to identify my stalker and put him away.
Then, and only then, could I think about coming back to Shadow Ridge … and Steve.
I was on my second cup of coffee when Steve came through the mudroom with an armful of firewood. He looked as fresh and handsome as ever in his faded Levi’s and state university hoodie.
“Good morning,” he greeted warmly.
I imagined what it would be like to hear him say those words, sleepy-eyed and naked in my bed. It was a nice visual.
“It is,” I agreed, “thanks to you.”
He deposited the logs in the circular holder beside the hearth and shrugged as if it was no big deal. It was to me. When he joined me at the counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the living space, I handed him a cup of coffee.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said. “I get the impression you don’t allow many people to do that.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Why is that?” he prompted. “Did someone hurt you, Casey?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to lie, and telling him the truth would only spawn more questions. Instead, I said, “You’ve done so much already, but can I ask you for one more favor?”
His eyes narrowed, letting me know he didn’t like me evading his question. “Of course.”
“Would you give me a ride into town? I need to see about getting my car towed.”
He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. I was momentarily distracted by the way his muscles flexed against the cotton.
“Are you going to tell me who you’re running from?”
“Who says I’m running from anyone?”
His eyes narrowed further until they were barely more than slits. “So, it’s going to be like that, is it?”
“Like what?”
