Chapter 1 #2
“The mayor,” Arthur said more clearly. “Our guest—Nora Anderson. She said she was going to invite the mayor. If he’s recommending our establishment now, maybe he’ll actually come! All we need is one good showing and things could really turn around for us!”
“Whatever you say.” Salvatore bounced up to his tiptoes and planted a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, angling his gaze down and landing on the Post-it.
“Aha! What’s this?” He snatched it from the desk, the sticky side finding purchase on his palm.
“Cheerful brunette? Suitcase—gray, old? Who do you think you are? Sherlock Houses?”
“Holmes,” Arthur corrected as he scrambled to recover the sticky note. “And I was just making some observations.”
“Observe this, my love.” Salvatore folded the sticky note into a very small rose, then tucked it into the lapel of Arthur’s black suit jacket. “That’s better. A little pop of color.”
Arthur fought the urge to remove the paper rose. He’d thought he’d looked rather spiffing when he got dressed that morning, but next to Salvatore’s ensemble, his was terribly plain, even with the embellishment.
“We have a guest for the first time in weeks.” Sal brushed the lapels of Arthur’s suit jacket in a soothing motion.
“It’s time to stop worrying about strange happenstances and start preparing for this evening’s festivities!
What do you think, should I change? This cravat doesn’t really say party animal. ”
Arthur wasn’t sure what exactly his husband’s cravat was supposed to say, so he just nodded.
“At least we won’t run out of refreshments. You ordered enough wine to get the whole town toasted,” Sal said. “Looks like we won’t go hungry either.”
Arthur followed Salvatore’s gaze to the unassuming cardboard box by the door with Fresh Bites printed in bold across the top. It’s the quality that counts, boasted the thin black lettering.
“Absolutely not,” Arthur said. “We will not drink blood in front of the guests.”
“Guest,” Salvatore corrected.
It was optimistic thinking to assume anyone but Nora would attend the evening’s festivities.
In fact, Arthur was beginning to worry it was too much to hope that the inn’s singular occupant would bother to grace them with her presence at all.
With only Salvatore and the copious amount of cheese they’d procured, it would be a lonely—and gassy—night, indeed.
Salvatore pierced the tape on the package with his nails and withdrew a square card from inside. “Look! We got Geraldine Wilkes from Eugene. She’s a vegan and enjoys cycling. And it’s B positive! Your favorite!”
Arthur’s tongue found the tip of his canine, as it often did when he was hungry—but no. “We can’t scare this one off, all right? She’s our first guest in weeks. We can’t mess this up. If this business fails…” Arthur trailed off, the rest too unthinkable to express aloud.
“Then we move on,” Salvatore said. “We do it all the time.”
They’d moved to the sleepy Oregon town only six months ago, after Salvatore had inadvertently set their Chicago apartment on fire with some pyrotechnics he’d planned to use in his drag show.
Between the two of them, they’d a combined sixty-nine years of life and another six hundred or so of undeath.
In all their time together, they’d never really stopped moving around, so with the insurance settlement from the fire, they agreed on a quiet retirement from traveling in a small town close to the woods.
Salvatore didn’t care what town or what woods, but Arthur had visited Trident Falls many times as a boy, and it had seemed a slice of idyllic peace, tucked away near the mountains.
His father had always insisted on taking Arthur to do all manner of unthinkable things like hiking and fishing and kayaking, none of which were Arthur’s particular idea of fun, but at the end of the day they’d come back to the bed-and-breakfast, where a cozy fire and soft blankets awaited them.
Though it was only for one week each summer, Arthur’s fondness for the Iris Inn had never waned.
The original proprietor, Iris herself, made the most heavenly scones Arthur had ever tasted, and he hoped to one day catch the feeling of home she’d so effortlessly cultivated.
When Arthur had seen the listing for the Iris Inn, it felt like fate, so they’d packed up their limited remaining possessions and headed for Trident Falls.
It was supposed to be their perfect little getaway. Instead, it was a town full of furtive glances under judgmental eyebrows. Salvatore said they could change their minds anytime, but Arthur wasn’t ready to give up so easily. It had once been a cozy and welcoming place; it could be again.
“This was supposed to be the last time, Sal. We’re retired now. Can’t you at least try?”
Salvatore sighed and placed the card back inside the box of their weekly delivery of ethically sourced blood and faced the kitchen. “I’ll make a charcuterie board.”
“Thank you.” Arthur squeezed his husband’s arm as Salvatore turned to go, then shouted after him, “And don’t slice the cheese into any fun shapes this time, all right? Something classy.”
“Don’t worry, my love. I am the epitome of class!” There was a long pause filled only by the sound of kitchen drawers sliding open and shut, then Salvatore peeked around the doorframe, wearing an apron and a sly smile. “Which is classier, would you say, bats or fangs?”
Arthur let out a long breath as he leaned against the front desk. “I’ll just do it myself,” he grumbled, and followed his husband into the kitchen.
Arthur arranged the Iris Inn’s cozy living room full of carefully selected antiques with optimistic expectation—charcuterie laid out, wine, lemonade, and iced hibiscus tea waiting near the entryway with glasses stacked nearby.
As a finishing touch, he wheeled out the old record player, removed the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack (or as Sal called it, his “hype mix”), and replaced it with an Ella Fitzgerald vinyl.
“Perfect,” he murmured to himself as the opening notes played, soft and smooth.
With a last cursory glance around the room, he admired his handiwork.
The couches and armchairs were arranged to provide maximum mingling opportunities, and the refreshment table was an inviting rainbow of snacks and beverages that matched the decor.
“ ’Scuse me, coming through.” Sal elbowed past him, arms laden with paper plates and napkins.
“I already set up in the corner.” Arthur pointed at the tall round table opposite the drinks where he’d piled plastic cutlery and paper dishes with a simple floral design.
“Yes, I know, but those are so drab. Why not go with a more festive theme?” Sal flashed a plate his way and Arthur caught sight of a set of cartoon bats mid-flight.
Arthur recalled the jubilant look on Sal’s face the day he’d brought them home from a post-Halloween sale.
“Now we can dine in style year-round!” he’d proclaimed.
Arthur hadn’t had the heart to tell him no, so instead he’d hidden them as far back in the pantry as he could, pretending to have lost them.
They were all well and good for a Halloween party, but it was April—and in an establishment such as theirs, they were more likely to draw unwanted attention and inspire inappropriate threads of conversation that Arthur would rather avoid with their new guest.
“That’s a bit much for tonight, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s exactly right for us, darling.
” Salvatore, who now wore an outfit a few centuries older than his afternoon ensemble, resplendent with a maroon-and-gold doublet and matching codpiece, gestured to Arthur’s jacket.
“Is that what you’re wearing? I can finish up out here if you need to change. ”
Arthur glanced down at his black suit and tie. He could swap it out for a fresh outfit in another neutral color palette, but short of raiding Salvatore’s rather substantial and overwhelming side of the closet, his options were limited.
“I think I’ll stick with this.” With Sal dressed like he’d stepped directly from the sixteenth century, Arthur hoped his professional, modern look would serve as an adequate counterbalance.
Arthur wasn’t certain that Sal’s fashion truly reflected history or if Sal had a propensity for lace doublets not shared by the elite of yore.
Either way, historical accuracy was clearly not the point, as Sal had braided little neon threads into his coiffure, which weren’t period appropriate to any era but the 1990s.
“And let’s not swap the plates,” Arthur said as gently as possible. “We don’t want to draw attention to what we are. We want to fit in here.” He couldn’t help but think of the mayor and his imminent arrival. First impressions were everything, after all.
“Well, if that’s the case, perhaps we should find more appropriate themed paperware.
Maybe something with culs-de-sac and khaki capris?
What else do humans like around these parts?
Largemouth bass? Is that a thing?” Sal continued to suggest banal American human themes, rattling off everything from sports to mayonnaise, but he did at least take the bat plates and napkins back to the pantry.
Nora, who’d been in and out of the inn all afternoon, came downstairs a few moments later clad in a cozy green sweater instead of her blazer. “Oh, this is a lovely spread. Is that an antique?” she asked, gesturing to the record player as she entered the room.
“Yes, we pulled it out of storage for just this occasion.” Salvatore swanned back into the living room. “I knew I was saving it for something special.” He met Arthur’s eye, and a rush of warmth having nothing to do with blood circulation filled Arthur’s chest.