Page 568 of One More Kiss

Chapter3

Scarlett

I hurryalong the path back to town. This day…well, wasn’t how I expected it to go. “Dad, you planned this, didn’t you? You and your sick sense of humor. Very fucking funny. Let’s have some guy dump his dead parents’ ashes on my daughter so she’s not upset as she scatters mine. Well played. You win.”

I stomp along the damp dirt as I near town. Ugh! I wanted one beautiful moment. A chance for a proper goodbye, not clouded by teenage hormones or the shock of what had just occurred, but a real goodbye. Yet, what did I get, a half a second of peace before being covered by dead people.

I look at my phone. If I hurry, I can catch the next train and get back to my hotel in Edinburgh for the night before heading to London. I need a shower and a stiff drink. This is the land of whiskey, right?

I make it to the train station in record time as the skies open up and rain begins to pour down in torrential sheets.

I walk up to the counter. “One-way fare to Edinburgh, please,” I say to the lady at the counter.

“Oh, my. I’m sorry, my dear. There’s been an incident on the track just south of here. There won’t be any trains going in that direction until the morning.”

“I…I’m sorry. What?” I ask as I blink at the older woman in front of me.

“You could go over to that counter and inquire about a room for the night,” she suggests, motioning to another counter across the way.

Great. “Thanks,” I mutter as I turn and walk to the other counter. A woman who looks way too old to be working still, peers over her rimmed glasses at me.

“We got nothing,” she says.

“I’m sorry. Nothing?” I ask confused.

I feel a presence at my back but I stay fixed on the old woman. “I need a room for tonight. Literally any room will do. I’m not picky.”

She gives a long sigh and types on a computer that looks older than me. “It’s a busy weekend. The festival is tomorrow. Tourists are starting to arrive. All the rentals are booked, too. Oh, wait, there’s one room.”

“I’ll take it,” a deep voice says from behind me.

I turn and look up and gasp. The audacity. It’s the asshat from the beach. It’s official. My life is a fucking bad comedy.

“I’m sorry, but I was here first,” I state as I square my shoulders to make myself appear taller.

“I need the room,” he says as he looks down at me.

“It’s two hundred and seven dollars,” the lady says as she looks between us.

“That’s an odd price,” the man retorts.

She shrugs. “Which one of you all will be taking it, then?”

“I will,” I pipe up and throw down a credit card.

The mystery man grumbles and walks away and back out of the station.

“You lucked out. It’s just down the road. Turn right and then two blocks down, turn left, and it’s the first house on the right,” she says as she hands me a receipt.

“Thanks,” I say as I take the paper and head out in search of this bed-and-breakfast. The Whistleback Inn. Lovely. At least I got a room, I think to myself as I walk along the street. It’s late afternoon. My stomach grumbles. I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so I stop and grab a sandwich before continuing down the street.

I find the place easy enough. It’s an older home, and it looks like it. I sigh. If I get bedbugs, so help me.

I walk inside. There’s a kid at the front desk. Yes, a literal child.

“Hello?” I ask.

The kid looks up from their cell phone.

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