Chapter Nine
FRANKIE
Turner wouldn’t let go of my hand.
Ever since he’d sprinted out of that room, pulling me after him, he’d never stopped touching me. If my hand wasn’t in his, then his palm was on the small of my back. Or an arm was wrapped around my waist. Or his knuckles were brushing my cheek. Or we were sitting and our knees touched, like now.
It was overwhelming. In the best possible way.
Sharon—the Inn’s receptionist—reappeared in front of us and took a seat at the desk in the small room they had brought us into in order to discuss the delicate matter.
We’d been here for an hour, the first half of which Sharon had spent profusely apologizing.
“I’m so very sorry for making you wait,” she said.
“But everything’s a little chaotic today.
Good news is: we have finally gotten in touch with Manchester’s police department.
Bad news is: the only road connecting us to town needs to be cleared.
But so do all roads entering or leaving Manchester so …
” She cleared her throat before smiling tightly.
“They are advising us to exercise extreme caution until they can, ah, investigate the break-in, and whether it presents a real threat.”
“A real threat,” Turner repeated, in that calm and collected voice he’d been using since setting foot downstairs. I suspected it was taking him everything to remain that way. “How is this not a real threat?”
Sharon’s cheeks paled. “I’m just relaying what the police department said, Mr. Rossi.”
The urge to correct Sharon rose, but I sniffed it out.
Her believing we were married was the least of my problems. “Thank you,” I said when Turner went very, very still by my side.
I knew that kind of stillness meant his head was somewhere else, wheels turning.
“We appreciate it. I understand that words on a mirror perhaps don’t exactly account for an emergency expedition through miles of snow, but I promise you, Sharon, that message hadn’t been there last night.
I took a bath. I would have seen it then. ”
Sharon’s face turned even whiter. She seemed out of her depth, and I felt horrible for her.
The Inn was buried in snow, as was the whole area.
None of the employees could get in or out, which had to suck for the ones currently here.
She had to deal with the convention situation, considering no attendees could get here either.
And we were coming to her with potentially an even worse complication: there was a stalker stuck with us.
A shiver crawled down my spine, shaking all of my body.
Turner’s lips were suddenly there, on my temple.
It was alarming how much that calmed me. How much he calmed me. How knowing it was Turner here with me made me not succumb to the panic for an instant.
“Someone broke into the room,” Turner said, voice low, serious, almost just for me. He inhaled slowly. “It’s a real threat. I’m not questioning it, and neither should anybody else.”
“The Inn’s not doubting either of you, Mr. Rossi,” Sharon offered quickly.
“If anything, we’re appalled there’s a possibility this could happen in our establishment.
But all we can do for now is profusely apologize—like we have—and try to make your stay as comfortable and safe as possible.
” Her arms shifted to the keyboard to her right.
“Which starts with assigning you a new room, so if you could—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Turner interjected. “We’ll move to mine. I checked into a different room to surprise Frankie this weekend.”
Sharon’s hands lifted off the keyboard and clasped in front of her. “All right. In any case, please feel free to charge any meal or drink you order during your stay to your room, Mr. Rossi. It’ll be on us.”
Your stay felt like a funny way to describe this.
It felt more like a strange jail I had thrown myself into.
Us into. Me and Turner, and everyone in here.
God, I’d been so stupid. Such a fool, really.
I couldn’t control the weather, but how could I not think about the possibility I could be dragging a psychopath here with me?
From my side, a sound left Turner. I glanced at him, finding his eyes already on me.
He was frowning so deeply, concern screwing all of his face, it made my stomach twist. I smiled at him.
For him. The knot on his brow got even tighter.
He wasn’t buying it. If anything, I bet he was seeing right through me.
He was seeing how absolutely petrified I was.
He turned towards Sharon. “Snowshoes,” he said. “Do you have any?”
“Sir,” Sharon warned, alarm making her eyes wide. “I beg of you—”
“I could make the trek,” he insisted. He faced me. “I could carry you.”
“Mr. Rossi,” Sharon called, her voice going pitch high.
Turner’s eyes remained on me, just like mine were on him, while Sharon continued, “There’s several feet of snow out there.
We have been advised to remain inside. I am begging you not to even consider doing the opposite.
Blizzards like this are rare, but they have taken lives in the past. I am from this area, I know what I’m talking about.
The pertinent authorities are working on re-establishing … ”
Sharon kept on going, but her words muddled.
All I could do was stare back at Turner, who was looking at me like he was genuinely considering that trek.
He was deadly serious, in fact. I knew that face.
I knew him, period. Sharon was panicking now?
If we let that man ruminate on this idea for one minute longer, she’d be dealing with a guest carving his way out to Manchester. With me on his shoulder.
“No,” I whispered. And then, without thinking, I bridged the small gap between our heads and kissed him.
The press of our lips was brief and totally inappropriate, but it did the job. Turner melted into me.
“No,” I repeated, now that I had his attention. “We stay here. Like Sharon just said. We wait for the roads to be cleared, and the police to get to the Inn. And then you can take me out of here.”
Turner’s eyelids closed briefly, as if still a little out of sorts. He nodded stiffly. “Home,” he murmured. “I take you home.”
“Yes,” I answered. Even though I wasn’t sure what home meant exactly.
“Okay. Okay, I can do that.”
Relief washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by guilt. Fear. If Turner—or anyone—got hurt because of me I don’t think I could live with it.
“Thank God,” Sharon uttered from her side of the desk. And before she could get any more words in, someone rushed inside the office.
The woman gave us a quick nod, apologizing, then set a hand on Sharon’s shoulder. A few words were murmured back and forth, then the two seemed to reach a conclusion.
“I apologize—again—but there’s some issues I need to attend,” Sharon said, standing up.
“As you might have imagined, the morning shift never managed to make it back, however, I’m having someone locate that list I mentioned last night on the phone.
We usually have a number of requests with events like this one, especially book conventions.
Mrs. Rossi’s gift has to be among them. I don’t know how this will help, and all I’ll be able to get you is a name and a phone number, but it’s what I can offer for now. ”
“Thank you,” Turner said when I didn’t speak. I honestly couldn’t. A name and a phone number? That was good news, but why did it feel like I was going to throw up with anxiety? “We appreciate that.”
Sharon made a wave of her hand, inviting us to leave with her.
“It’s the least I can do, I—” She shook her head, walking with us.
“I’d appreciate if you could keep the matter between us, so we don’t scare the rest of our guests during such special circumstances unnecessarily.
” A door separating the back office section from the main lobby was pushed open.
Sharon’s expression transformed, a bright smile parting her face.
“I’m working with the convention’s organizers on spreading word about today’s cancelled events, but we will let you know about Sunday’s program as the day progresses.
And Mr. Rossi?” She added between her teeth.
“Please remain inside the premises. There’s a covered section of the patio that has been spared from the snow, in case you need some fresh air, but I beg of you, don’t venture out of the Inn. Thank you.”
And with that, she whirled around and promptly disappeared into the relatively chaotic lobby.
“Want to talk about that?” Turner asked from my side, maneuvering me around an elderly couple and a guy who seemed geared up and ready to venture into all that snow.
“Not really.”
“Let’s go check the patio,” he declared, snatching my hand and bringing it to his lips. The kiss was soft and it warmed my skin. “I’m feeling a little cagey. After that, I’ll pack your stuff and we’ll move you to my room.”
“I can pack,” I complained, a little automatically.
He squeezed my fingers. “You can also watch me do it. I’ll even allow instructions.”
I thought of something to say. Something clever or funny.
I came up empty. I’d let him pack my stuff if he wanted to.
No instructions. Which was completely unlike me.
The idea of Turner potentially going through my undies should have sent me into a panic.
I guess it didn’t matter when he’d had his hand inside of them this morning.
I guess it didn’t matter when we were quite literally dealing with a crisis, either.
A crisis of the there’s-a-stalker-in-the-Inn kind.
Potentially.
Or truthfully.