4. William
4
WILLIAM
T he noisy rumble of the housekeeping cart carried into my room as it rolled down the hallway. It came to a stop in front of the room before mine. I smiled as I listened to Kristin’s three-rap knock, the cheerful way she announced herself, and the rhythmic opening and closing of doors. She had her job down to a science. The way she cleaned was methodical.
I was ready for her today.
The door to the room next to mine slammed shut. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Huh, it only took her nineteen minutes to turn that one over.
The squeaky cart rolled to a stop outside my door, followed by an unusually long pause—as if she needed to compose herself.
Knock, knock, knock. “Housekeeping!”
“Come on in!” I hollered from my spot at the desk.
The door beeped and clicked as she let herself in, propping the door wide open.
“Good morning, Mr. Solomon,” Kristin said pleasantly. Her bright tone seemed at odds with the dark circles under her eyes.
“Just Will, remember? ”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. A light blush spread across her cheeks like spilled watercolors. “Will.”
I picked up the mug of coffee I had been nursing all morning and took a sip. “I’m actually glad to see you this morning.”
“Oh?” Kristin slipped into the bathroom, making quick work of the towel situation.
I waited until she grabbed the tray of complimentary soaps and coffee before pointing to the minibar. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
She craned her head around the corner and glanced at the full-size coffee maker that had mysteriously replaced the standard single-serve machine. Smiling, she slipped back into the bathroom and rearranged the mini toiletries on the vanity.
Kristin had the most innocent look on her face as she hummed something noncommittal. “Must be your lucky day,” she said.
I couldn’t fight the smile that worked its way across my face. “I think a sneaky housekeeper may have had a little something to do with it.”
Kristin pulled a stack of coffee filters and a bag of coffee grounds off her cart. The grounds were from the cafe down the block. She casually arranged the items next to the coffee maker as if she did for every room.
She turned and looked me dead in the eye. “Hmm, interesting theory.” Her deadpan was excellent. She could fool a polygraph with ease.
My eyes narrowed in on her. The little minx was trying her hardest to keep that stone-cold mask on, but I saw right through it. “So, tell me this: what if I mentioned that yesterday I tried to be a gentleman and help a damsel in distress, and I left without asking for her number? Would her number just happen to show up like a certain coffee maker?”
That made her giggle. Kristin turned her back to me as she started stripping the sheets off the bed. “If you’re implying that I had anything to do with the fulfillment of your caffeine-related needs?—”
“Are you gonna deny it to my face?”
She laughed as she scooped up the bedding and dropped it in the housekeeping cart. “You saw me leave yesterday. It couldn’t have possibly been me.”
“Your minions, then. Perhaps some sneaky elves.”
Her face turned serious, and she nodded like we were discussing nuclear codes and state secrets. “I’ve heard that elves work in mysterious ways. Maybe if you had mentioned how you take your coffee, there would have been creamer in the mini-fridge.”
“Creamer, but no phone numbers, huh?”
Kristin grabbed a stack of neatly folded sheets off the cart and walked back into the room. “Housekeeping elves tend to be very private. They rarely dabble in the distribution of contact information.”
I leaned back in the desk chair and kicked my ankle up to rest on top of my knee. “How’s the car?”
She plastered on a fake smile. “It’ll be fine. I have a friend that’s great with cars. He always gets it running again.”
“That wouldn’t happen to be the friend who duct taped part of your engine back together, would it?”
Kristin laughed. “That patch job was all me and YouTube.”
I chewed on my lip. “Is it the same friend who picked you up yesterday?”
“Who? Chase?” Kristin shook her head. “No, he just lent me his truck.” She snapped the flat sheet in the air, unfurling it and letting it float down until it landed smack dab in the center of the king-sized mattress. She made quick work of tucking it around the fitted sheet, creating perfect corners and creases that could have been angles in a geometry textbook.
“How nice of him,” I mumbled, watching as she fluffed the pillows and smoothed the comforter with her hand. The linens were so tight and crisp you could bounce a quarter off the top.
Every movement, every touch was intentional. She took great care in making sure the rooms were perfect. As good as it would have felt, I knew she wasn’t giving me special treatment. Kristin was simply a woman who took pride in a job well done.
“How long have you worked here?” I asked. “I mean, it took you two minutes to make a king bed. You didn’t even have to flop on top of it like a starfish to get the sheet across.”
Kristin laughed. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Let me guess, you know how to fold a fitted sheet, too.”
“Like a pro,” she said with a wink.
“Teach me your ways, wise one.”
“It’s mainly sorcery,” she giggled. “But housekeeping elves never reveal their secrets.”
I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest. The top of her head came up to the middle of my chest. “I think you just admitted to being in cahoots with the elves.”
“I didn’t admit to anything,” she countered.
“I like cinnamon creamer. You know, just in case the elves are listening.”
Kristin’s voice softened as her eyes slowly raked up my torso. “The elves are good listeners.”
“I bet they are.” My words were thick and laced with unspoken intent.
That baggy polo shirt didn’t hide the heavy rise and fall of her chest.
The slam of a door down the hall shattered the spell we were under. Kristin jumped back like she had burned her hand on a hot stovetop. “I should get going.”
I grabbed my wallet off the desk and flipped it open, handing her a twenty. “Thanks for this. ”
She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but I stopped her.
“I know you’re allowed to accept tips. You went out of your way, and I appreciate it.”
Kristin gingerly took it out of my hand and slid the bill into her pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Solomon .”
She backed the cleaning cart away from the door as it closed behind her.
Something stood out about the way she resorted to Mr. Solomon. Like she was frantically building up walls between us. Was she reminding me or herself that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed?
Kristin didn’t know that I had the employee handbook memorized. There were policies detailing proper conduct for employees while they were clocked in. Plenty of rules outlining best practices for safely cleaning guests’ rooms when they were present.
But there were no rules about fraternizing with guests off the clock.
I needed to get close to someone who would let me into the inner workings of the staff. Someone who could point out the problems that the company policies, books, and quarterly earnings reports didn’t reflect.
All the other employees of the Taylor Creek Inn that I had interacted with were pleasant and professional. But Kristin—she was all that and more.
The way her fingers nimbly folded and tucked each corner of the linens with military precision impressed me. It told me she was an organized, structured person. The way she floated through the room as she worked was hypnotic. Her voice was like a warm embrace, and her laugh put me at ease. Being around Kristin felt like sunshine.
As someone who was always on edge, spending time with her had loosened something up inside of me .
I spent a few more hours fiddling around with the new program I was coding, but the usually calming pattern of keystrokes had given me a migraine.
I glanced at the clock and realized it was dinner time.
I really needed to set alarms for meals. I had the habit of working straight through lunch, dinner, and the average adult’s bedtime. I had been in Beaufort for three days and had barely seen anything outside my room. I locked my laptop in the safe, grabbed my keys and headed out the door.
There was barely any traffic on Highway 101. While it was technically considered a highway, 101 was really a two-lane back road that connected Havelock and Beaufort so that you could skip the traffic lights going through Morehead City.
True to Kristin’s description, I found a run-down shack on a gravel lot with a blinking neon sign that promised cold beer. There was no sign with the name of the establishment. No hours posted on the door. Just a pothole in the parking lot that would break your leg if you stumbled into it unknowingly.
A slightly askew screen door served as the main entrance. The hinges screeched out something profane when I yanked it open.
The bartender, a blonde in a black tank top that said Jokers , looked up from the beer she was pouring. “Can I help you?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and sauntered toward the bar. “I heard I can get a decent burger here.”
She cocked a stern eyebrow as she slid the glass down to an old-timer at the end of the bar. “Oh yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”
I laughed under my breath. “Is this one of those places that you can’t get service at unless you’re born and raised here?”
The bartender cracked a smile. “So, you are an out-of-towner.”
I raised my hands in defeat. “Guilty as charged. I’m staying at the Taylor Creek Inn for a few weeks.” I looked around the dingy honky-tonk. “Heard good things about this place. Figured I’d come check it out.”
“You allergic to anything?” she asked.
I shook my head.
I probably should have questioned it when she stuck her head through the kitchen pass-through window and shouted something about a burger. But hey—when in Rome.
She wandered back my way and asked, “What can I get you to drink, new guy?”
“Just a beer.”
“Any preference?”
I shook my head. “Surprise me.”
She grabbed a glass and stuck it under one of the taps. “So. You’re staying at the inn?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “It’s a great place.”
“You got a name?”
“Will.”
She slid me the beer. “Nice to meet you, Will. I’m Bridget. You behave yourself and don’t make my job harder, and I might just let you come back.” She finished the offer with a wink and a half-cocked smile.
I chuckled and tipped my glass toward her. “Much obliged.”
“So, Will from out of town who is staying at the inn, who’d you hear about my bar from?”
I raised my eyebrows. “You’re the owner?”
Bridget laughed and shook her head.
“Housekeeper at the inn,” I said between sips. I wiped the foam off of my five o’clock shadow with the back of my hand. “Told me Revanche is great if I’m feeling fancy, and this place is good if I’m not.”
That made her really laugh. “Must’ve been Kristin, then.”
“You know Kristin?” I said all too quickly.
Apparently, my question made a lightbulb go off in her mind. “ Tell you what. You let me take your picture and that drink is on the house.”
Beer caught in my throat, and I choked and sputtered. “Excuse me?”
It was too late. She had her phone out and snapped a photo of me sitting at the bar.
“Thank ya kindly, hon,” Bridget grinned as her fingers flew across her phone. “Kris is gonna kill me, but this is so worth it.”
“I, uh, I met Kristin the other day while she was working. Do you know her well?”
Bridget shoved her phone in the back pocket of her ripped up jeans and grabbed a few empties off the bar, tossing them in a bus bin. “Depends on why you’re asking.”
Before I could get another word in, the door shrieked again and Kristin’s friend, Chase, strolled in. His gun and badge were prominently displayed on his hip.
Bridget sucked in a sharp breath. She looked expectantly at the door, as if expecting someone else to appear.
I took a gulp from my glass as Chase sat down, two stools to my left.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said to Bridget as he loosened his tie.
Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the hem of a bar towel. “Hey. You drinkin’ alone?”
Chase nodded. “Steve’s taking Erica out tonight. He made reservations at Revanche.”
Bridget looked at him a moment longer. “Good for them.”
“Yeah.” Chase’s voice was low. “Real good.”
Thankfully, the cook slid a plate into the window, catching Bridget’s attention and breaking the trance. I cleared my throat while Bridget slipped away to grab my meal.
“Chase, right?” I said turning to him. “From the inn yesterday?”
A slow smile crept across his face. “Solomon. Thought I’d find you here. ”
I raised my eyebrows. “Am I in some kind of trouble or something?”
He turned the screen of his phone toward me. My face stared back at me. It must have been the photo Bridget took. “Not unless you call five crazy women discussing your bangability trouble.”
“Bang-a-what?” My voice went up an octave like some sort of unfortunate reverse puberty.
Bridget reappeared with a burger that made my stomach growl. “If it makes you feel better, I gave you a great score.” She smirked as she grabbed a bottle out of the ice chest behind the bar and popped the top.
Chase reached out to grab the bottle and their hands touched. It was like watching a slow-motion movie sequence. His thumb brushed the backs of her fingers and lingered. “I appreciate it, darlin’.”
Bridget jerked her hand away like she had been burned and hurried off to check on the patrons on the other side of the bar.
I grabbed a fry off my plate and took a bite. “She your girl?”
Chase stared at Bridget, pausing and swallowing before he said, “Nah. She’s not mine.”
We turned away from each other and went back to staring at the liquor shelf behind the bar. Kristin wasn’t lying—the burger was damn good. The company was a bit odd, but I didn’t mind. Most people found me to be a bit odd considering I kept to myself all day, every day.
“Alright,” Chase said, clearing his throat. I had made it halfway through my burger before he spoke again. “Be straight with me. What’s your interest with Kristin?”
“What do you mean?”
Chase drained the last drops out of his bottle and set it back on the dented oak bar. Were those boot marks on top of the wood? “You were sniffin’ around her car yesterday, and today I hear from Bee that you’re name-dropping her at our bar.” There was a dangerous edge to his voice. “Who sent you? Cheryl or Bill?”
I wiped my mouth with the paper napkin. “What are you talking about? No one sent me. Yesterday I asked Kristin where was good to eat in town and she mentioned this place. I stopped at her car to see if she needed a hand.” I shrugged. “Didn’t mean to freak her out.”
Bridget eyed us suspiciously from the other side of the bar. Apparently, she didn’t take kindly to newcomers crashing the bar and asking about pretty girls.
“Did I set off some kind of small-town gossip chain or something?” I said, on a laugh before washing down a fry with a sip of beer.
Chase stood up and dropped a few bills on the bar before stuffing his wallet back into his pocket. “Nah, but we take care of our own.”
“Is that a threat?”
He shook his head. “I have no reason to threaten you. Like you said, you’re just a guy out for a bite to eat.” He waved at Bridget then pushed the barstool in. “Just like I’m just a guy who’d do anything to protect his friends.”