Page 26 of Tinsel & Tools
“You’ve been up early the last couple of mornings,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but don’t expect that to continue. I live by a much more casual schedule.”
“Casual?” His brow quirked.
“I’m a writer. My job doesn’t start until my brain decides it’s ready, and since I only answer to myself, I can make my own hours.”
He tilted his head. “What do you write?”
“Queer romance novels.”
I watched him closely to see how he reacted. My friends and parents had all been supportive when I started my writing journey, but I’d have been lying if I’d said I hadn’t had a few negative reviews or comments on social media simply because of my characters’ sexuality.
“That’s cool, and even better you can make a career out of it. I imagine not many people are able to do that.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d been expecting, but I shouldn’t have been surprised by his easy acceptance. For the little bit of time I’d spent with him, he seemed like a good guy.
Before I could think of something clever to say, Allie came around the inn, her dark hair piled into a messy bun on the top of her head, and her two bags in hand.
“Ready?” she called.
“Yep.” I glanced back at Cole. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”
He gave me a small nod. “Drive safe.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “See ya in a couple of days.”
Allie and I loaded up her things and started down Cedar Street. I should’ve been looking forward to the trip home, or at the very least, thinking about all of the things I needed to do while I was there. Instead, I was already counting down the days until I’d be back at the B&B, back to renovations, and back to seeing Cole.
11
Cole
Snow had started falling, thin flakes that drifted past the window and caught in the porch light. The forecast called for the first storm of the season, but for now it was only a light dusting. I fed another log into the wood-burning stove and leaned back, listening to the pop of the fire while I finished my beer and enjoyed a low-key Saturday night, happy I hadn’t gone out to The Tap and been caught in the flurry.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I reached back and picked it up to see I had a text message:
Gavin: Hey sorry to bother you so late. I’m back at the inn and there’s no hot water. Any idea what I should do?
Over the last few days, while Gavin was away, my dad, Ryan, and I had torn everything out of the place, leaving only the framing, electrical wires, and plumbing. Since most of the furniture wasn’t staying, we’d had people come in and take what they wanted, and then took the rest to the dump. I hadn’t done anything to the plumbing, nor had the plumber been out, but I knew the water heater had been on borrowed time from the first day I’d seen it. Since it was so old, it was likely I didn’t have the parts on hand to fix it, so the only thing I could do for the evening was text back:
I’m not sure without looking at it. I’ll come by first thing in the morning and check it out
A moment later, another message came through:
Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was something simple I could do or not
I stared at the screen, debating whether I should leave it at that. Waiting until morning, especially for a weekend, would have been the normal response. Still, the idea of him without hot water stuck in my head. Before I thought better of it, I was typing again:
You can come here if you need a shower
The dots blinked, disappeared, then blinked again before his reply came through:
Are you sure?
Yeah. Everyone looks out for each other around here
I sent him my address and then picked up a little even though my place wasn’t a mess, chalking the offer up to small-town courtesy.
