Page 10 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
Images of gold-flecked hazel eyes came to mind, along with cinnamon-scented lips curled in a crooked smile. If anyone could tempt me to break my self-imposed no-fraternization rule, it was him. I imagined what it would be like to lean into him and kiss those lips. To feel those strong arms wrap around me and pull me close. To explore and taste and surrender control.
When my core warmed to uncomfortable levels and my nipples started pebbling, I lowered the window. The cool night air dragged across my soaked shirt and made me shiver, but it was as effective as a cold shower to put the kibosh on my steamy thoughts. I could take those romantic fantasies out and unpack them later, along with everything else I’d shoved far back into the corners of my mind. Only once I had a shower and slipped beneath the covers would I allow myself the luxury of reflection and erotic delusions.
Even then, I had to be careful. I couldn’t do anything that would blur the line I’d drawn around myself.
I turned off the mountain road onto the winding drive, past the empty manor house, nothing but an inky silhouette in the silvery moonlight. I continued to the cottage, taking comfort in the soft glow of the carriage lights. I had them on timers so I never had to return to a dark house at the end of a shift.
I parked the car and began my nightly routine. I scanned the area, pleased when I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Pepper spray in one hand, my COP—Club of Persuasion—in the other, I made a quiet pass around the cottage, checking the little things I’d placed around the exterior that would let me know if anyone had tried to get in. Only once I was satisfied that everything was as I’d left it did I go inside.
I repeated a similar process from within, checking doors and windows with the same results.
I sighed in relief. I had no reason to suspect that my stalker had found me, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. The ten-minute safety check was worth the peace of mind it gave me.
Peeling off my boozy clothes, I tossed them in the washer, then indulged in a hot shower with scented shampoo and body wash. Donning my favorite flannel nightshirt, I fixed myself a cup of warm coconut milk, added a teaspoon of vanilla bean sugar, then got a fire going in the fireplace—a skill I’d acquired since coming here—and sank wearily down onto the comfortable sofa.
This was my favorite place to be. The low-cost accommodations where I typically stayed rarely had more than a bed and a cheap desk, let alone a fireplace and a sofa that didn’t make me want to put on a hazmat suit before stretching out on it.
I would miss the cottage when I left, which, after tonight, I knew would have to be sooner rather than later. I’d dawdled long enough. Even if I wasn’t inclined to believe Jessie’s prediction that a mysterious stranger would enter my life and change everything, my window of escaping unscathed was closing.
Maybe Jessie was right after all, I mused.Maybe the loudmouthed asshole was the impetus that would jump-start the next phase of my journey.
I could leave Shadow Ridge tonight with enough cash to get me through the next couple of months, fond memories, and zero regrets. At worst, I’d occasionally indulge in vague and wistful what-if scenarios.
But that was all they would ever be. Despite this pesky, innate reluctance to get back on the road, I needed to keep moving. I couldn’t afford to let anyone get close because I wouldn’t allow anyone to get hurt because of me again.
Images of Steve tried to slip into my thoughts, but I wasn’t ready to give myself over to those yet. I picked up one of the prepaid burner phones I’d bought in Albany and called Angie instead.
“Hello?” Her voice was sleepy.
I glanced at the clock. It wasn’t that late, not for a night owl like Angie.
“Hey, Ang. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”
A yawn. “Yeah. I must’ve fallen asleep, watching TV.”
“I can call back another time.”
“Don’t you dare! Just give me a sec.”
I heard her moving around, and then the sound grew muffled, as if she’d put her hand over the microphone. I could have sworn I’d heard a male voice murmuring, and suddenly, I realized why my night-owl friend had been in bed before midnight.
“Okay,” she said clearly, the background noise now silent.
“You’re not alone.”
“No,” she confirmed.
I felt my lips curving into a smile. “I want details.”
She laughed softly. “No, you really don’t. And I’d much rather talk about you. Where are you?”
A tiny frisson of annoyance, laced with guilt, skittered through me. She knew I wouldn’t answer that question or any other that might put her in harm’s way, yet she always asked.
“I’m still in the northeast,” I replied vaguely.
“Still? I thought you were planning on heading south.”
“I was running low on cash, so I decided to pick up some seasonal work.” It was mostly true.
