Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
JACKSON
Despite the wary looks I receive from the townsfolk now that news of my involvement with the inn has spread, my day started out relatively good.
After a short, doctor-approved workout at the gym in town to work on getting my strength back up, I hit the café for some breakfast. And coffee. Can’t forget the coffee. Even strolling into the inn, I was looking forward to what greeted me.
Any contentment falls out the window as soon as I step into the office.
Meyer sits behind the desk, holding herself in that janky chair as if she’s resting on a throne, presiding over her kingdom. All around her are bankers boxes. An excessive amount of bankers boxes.
“What is all this?” I ask, slowly perusing the room.
Meyer’s eyes hold a thread of mischief I haven’t seen before. So far, I’ve been met with nothing short of contempt. This almost feels…playful. I’m not entirely sure what to do with that.
She sits straight in the chair, a sly smile curving her lips. “ This is Fraisier Creek history, Vaughan.”
I eye a particularly large stack of boxes to my left. “What did you do? Rob the archives?”
I’m not sure a town the size of Fraisier Creek even has archives, but clearly Meyer managed to get all this from somewhere. She must’ve been up half the night hauling all of this in here since she also managed to beat me into the office.
“You wanted data,” she reminds me. “So I brought you data.”
I’d be annoyed if I wasn’t half in awe of her.
“I did say that, but I didn’t mean every town record dating back to its inception. I was talking about the inn.”
Meyer wags her finger. “See, I think that’s exactly what you need. To understand the inn is to understand the town.”
She pulls the lid off the box closest to her and reaches inside. Then with a thud, she lets the various books and piles of paper hit the surface of the desk. A cloud of dust shoots into the air, indicating these materials haven’t been touched in a good long while.
“Seriously, where did you get these?” I ask again.
“It’s like I told you. Everything is personal in Fraisier Creek, and it’s all about who you know. I would think someone like you would be all too familiar with that concept.”
I sigh. “Meyer?—”
“As a bonus,” she continues, as if I hadn’t spoken, “I even brought my old diaries so you can read all about the crush I had on my math teacher in grade eleven.”
“As much as reading your teenage ramblings appeals to me,” I say, “don’t you think this is a waste of my time?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Why?”
She stands from the chair and rounds the desk. When she’s in my space, I can clearly see her eyes—always so startling blue. Now, they have a spark of retribution in them.
“Because, Vaughan, I want you to know exactly what you’re trying to destroy.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as another sigh falls out of me. “I’m not destroying anything.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
It seems no matter what I do, Meyer is always going to have this idea of me in her head. This role I’m meant to play. As long as she keeps this wall between us, we aren’t going to get very far, and I only have a limited amount of time here.
“Ashley called in sick, so if you need me, I’ll be covering in the restaurant,” she says. She does a little condescending finger wave. “Happy reading.”
She leaves the room with a flourish, and then it’s just me and all the boxes.
When I settle into the chair she just vacated, it makes a slow descent to the lowest setting, as if it, too, is mad at me. Instead of sitting comfortably at the desk, all I can manage is to rest my chin on the surface.
I huff out a frustrated breath as I stand again, pushing the broken chair to the side. Then I drag one of the other chairs around to sit behind the desk .
Number one on my to-do list: order a new fucking chair.
As I sit and contemplate all the boxes surrounding me, I realize something. The key to getting her to cooperate is understanding why she’s so reluctant in the first place.
It’s not the town I have to study—it’s Meyer. And I happen to be a very good student.
Hours pass, and I make them count. I don’t touch the town history like she wanted me to, but I do succumb to my curiosity and flip through her old diary. I normally wouldn’t, but the temptation was too great, and she left it right there on the desk.
Teenage Meyer was exactly as I expected. The perfect blend of angst and rage at the world, mixed with a certain kind of vulnerability that comes with trying to find your place in it. If I had to guess, the adult version of her isn’t as different as she wants everyone to believe.
When Meyer enters the office, I don’t even have to look up. Partially because I can smell her intoxicating floral perfume, but also because I have begrudgingly developed a sixth sense for her. Since that first day, my body has become finely attuned to her presence.
“You’re kind of a workaholic, Vaughan.”
For the first time in my life, that sounds like a bad thing.
I set aside the book I was holding and lean back in my chair. “You’re one to talk.”
She crosses her arm, cocking a hip. “What’s that supposed to mean? ”
“You haven’t taken a single day off since I got here.”
“How would you know?”
I hesitate. The real answer is something I’m not sure I should divulge. I’ve been watching you admittedly sounds a bit creepy. But I can’t help it. She intrigues me.
“All my staff interviews have one thing in common,” I say instead. “They literally all mentioned your inability to relax.”
This makes her tense. “You talked about me?”
I study her. Her posture is rigid, but something a lot like worry flashes in her gaze. She’s quick to mask it, but it’s too late—I’ve already seen.
I want to set her mind at ease. I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to go behind her back to dig up information on her. She already doesn’t trust me. That would push her over the edge.
“I’m pleased to report that everyone loves you. So much so that they were all very unsure about talking to me. I essentially had to beg for information.”
A bit of hyperbole on my part, but what the staff think of Meyer is nothing short of the truth. They essentially all told me that Beatrice had been an excellent employer. Since Meyer took over the day-to-day operations, it’s been no different. This town sure loves its Ellisons.
“What else did you talk about?”
There’s still a wariness about her, but her tone now borders on curious. I’m counting that as a win, small as it may be.
“I asked them the same question I asked you,” I say. “What their favourite thing is about working here. If they had any suggestions of ways we could make their jobs easier to do.”
“Asking for their input isn’t a revolutionary concept around here. We have a suggestion box,” she says. “And I make a point to check in with them all the time.”
I nod. “They told me that, too. But sometimes that makes it harder.”
Now, she truly can’t hide her curiosity. I have to stop myself from smiling. “How so?” she asks.
“As I said, they all loved your mom. They love you. So it’s understandable that they would be a little apprehensive about suggesting any changes.” When she still looks confused, I elaborate. “They don’t want to hurt you.”
This catches her by surprise. She looks like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t. She just studies me, like maybe she’s seeing something different than she has all the times before.
I stand from the desk, ready to call it a night. My stomach is seconds away from eating itself, but my body also craves sleep. Sleep I haven’t been able to give it.
“You know, we’re not all that different, you and I."
At this, Meyer scoffs. “We’re not even remotely the same. The things we want couldn’t be more different.”
“How do you know what I want?” I counter. “You’ve never asked.”
“I just do.”
I nod. “Right. Very sound reasoning you’ve got there.”
With a roll of her eyes, she says, “ Fine . What do you want out of all this? ”
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been goal-oriented. I lock onto something and sprint in its direction—damn anyone or anything that gets in my way. But in the face of Meyer’s question, I’m more lost than I’ve ever been before.
I sigh. “Truthfully, Ellison, I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want to be the villain in your story, but I don’t know how to do that."
She’s quiet for a beat, following me as I exit the office and start down the hallway. “I don't know either,” she admits.
We let the silence settle between us as we head for the stairs. We ascend, and then we start toward my room.
I glance sidelong at her. “Is there a reason you’re walking me to my room?”
She doesn’t look my way when she replies, just keeps her gaze trained on the patterned carpet under our feet. ”Because you look like death, and I can’t have you keeling over in my inn.”
In danger of seeming like she cares too much—scratch that, cares at all —she opens her mouth to add a sarcastic remark, like she often does. I seem to have the same idea.
“Too much paperwork,” we both say at the same time.
It’s a stupid, unoriginal joke. Lame, even. But in my tired state, it sounds hilarious . Meyer seems to think so, too, given the slight upward curve of her lips that she tries to hide.
“Get out of my brain,” she huffs.
I grin. “See? Not so different.”
She reaches out and shoves at my shoulder. I can almost feel her touch through my sleeve. “All that proves is your boringness is rubbing off on me.”
When we make it to my room, I unlock the door and push inside. Turning, I lean against the doorframe as I look down at her, ready to bid her goodnight.
Meanwhile, Meyer not-so-subtly tries to peer around me into my room. I open the door wider and take a step back, sweeping an arm out. “Since you seem so interested, you might as well come in.”
She accepts the invitation, gaze searching the room. “You haven’t let housekeeping in since you’ve been here. I was just curious as to why.”
I shrug. “I’m going to be staying here for a while. They don’t need to constantly be cleaning up after me.”
“Hmm,” she hums as she continues to walk the room.
I turn to hang my jacket in the wardrobe, and then I spin back around. She’s standing by the bed now.
I eye her warily. “Are you feeling alright? This sudden concern for my wellbeing is concerning in itself.”
She rolls her eyes. “Excuse me for trying to be nice. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I laugh as she heads for the exit. “Goodnight, Ellison.”
She waves over her shoulder and then shuts the door behind her.
I should go find something to have for dinner, but my body is calling for my bed, so I flop onto the mattress and settle against the pillows. I inhale deeply and then let it out slowly, trying to convince my body to relax.
It isn’t until the next morning that I wake, actually feeling rested for once. When I turn toward the window, I notice the sun is high in the sky. It’s long after I should’ve been roused by the beep of my alarm. I turn to the bedside table, and a scowl tugs at my lips.
Last night while she was in my room, Meyer unplugged my fucking alarm clock.