Page 5 of Joy
“Oh! Look at you, a bright young thing, taking responsibility.”
Young? I was twenty-five, not sixteen.
A man joined Bridget at the door just then. He was tall and thin, with spectacles and a pipe. Bernard? These two made for quite the pair.
“Who do we have here?” he asked.
“Gideon Joy,” I said, shifting my bag to shake his hand.
“Gideon, nice to meet you. I’m Bernard Bartholomew, the other half of Bridget and Bernard, as you might well have imagined.”
“I did imagine.”
“He’s needing extended accommodations,” Bridget explained, looking up at Bernard. “Poor boy hit a mooseandSilas’s car. You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked next, turning back to me.
“Er—no.”
“Tourists don’t expect the moose and deer. They don’t know how to drive around here,” she whispered. “No offense.”
“None taken, I think,” I replied.
“We can manage something long-term,” Bernard said, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. The smoke had a sort of cherry fragrance. It was nostalgic, which was decidedly strange since I was pretty sure I’d never smelled pipe tobacco before.
Bridget nudged me aside and stepped onto the porch. “We’ll take care of Mr. Joy, Silas. Need me to call a tow truck for your car?”
“No, ma’am. It’ll make it to the shop,” Silas answered. He nodded his head politely and turned back down the walk to his car.
“He’s such a nice boy,” Bridget said, grabbing my elbow and pulling me into the house. “There couldn’t have been a better car on the road to hit!”
Yeah, sure. Not that I had expected him to say,Oh no, you don’t need to pay my repairs. He could have been more polite, though. It was an accident, after all!
Bernard slid behind a counter in the foyer of the huge Victorian home. He flipped through a big ledger, smoke settling around him like a cloud. “How long you think you’ll be staying, Mr. Joy?”
“Gideon,” I insisted. “And I’m not sure. Is town far from here?”
Bernard looked up and smiled. “This is town. Main Street is about a five-minute walk that way,” he said, jutting his thumb to the right.
Oh God.
I swallowed. “Well… if there are any jobs… however long it takes to pay for two car repairs and my time here.”
Bridget hummed thoughtfully. “Babycakes, you’re probably looking at a good month or two.” She moved around to Bernard’s side. “We can give you a discount for staying so long.”
“That’s… really nice. Thanks.”
“You can stay in the Princess Suite,” Bernard answered.
Christ.
THE PRINCESSSuite was pink.
Really fucking pink.
From the wallpaper to the rugs to the comforter—a sea of pink and lace for as far as the eye could see. But the room was nice. Spacious, with big windows, and a great view of the early sunset. A cool breeze stirred the gauzy curtains.
Even with cars more frequent here, and the sounds of people near Main Street, it was still unreasonably quiet.
Calm.
