Chapter 4 #2
I tap a button on the system, and my car swerves without my full attention on the road. I gasp and grip the wheel, my heart pounding in my chest. That was a stupid move. If I just keep driving, I’m bound to hit Garland. I’ll figure something out from there.
I turn up the radio, and to nobody’s surprise, it’s a Christmas song.
“Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” plays through the speakers.
I reach for the dash to change it when a loud, piercing noise cuts off the song and “Do You Believe in Magic” by The Lovin’ Spoonful comes on.
I curse and rub at my right ear that’s now ringing from that god-awful noise.
At least whatever radio station I’m on now isn’t Christmas music.
I find myself humming to the song I haven’t heard in forever as I crest the top of a small incline. When the road evens out, I find myself blinking, and not because I’m in Garland again, but because I see lights. Not just street lights, either—lights from businesses and houses.
“Is that…?” I squint through my windshield and all the snow falling down as my car inches toward the light pollution. “Good god.” I exhale. “It is.”
It’s a massive Christmas tree. One that looks like it was plucked out of Rockefeller Center.
It’s got to be over sixty feet tall, towering so high it nearly dwarfs the buildings around it.
The Christmas lights covering it are multicolored and bright, so bright I can see them reflecting on the windows of the buildings from here.
I slow to a snail’s pace as I inch toward the town, a town I’ve never seen before—one I for sure did not drive through on my way to Garland. My eyes flit to the side of the road, where a large white sign is lit from the front.
“Elysian Pines.” A chill zips up my back as the name rolls off my tongue. I swallow hard as I begin to feel a little lightheaded. The sensation reminds me of something—or should I say someone.
The man at the restaurant.
His striking eyes, ones that reminded me of evergreen trees, appear behind my eyelids.
He was—for lack of a better expression—hot as fuck.
From what I could hear when he briefly spoke to Holly, he had a British accent.
And when my arm brushed his, I felt a bolt of lightning zap straight to my pussy that made me dizzy.
If I hadn’t been working, I would have given him my card and asked where he was staying. After my stupid ex, I don’t do relationships, but I definitely do one-night stands. Two nights, if they’re lucky.
I clear my throat and shake away the vision, glancing at my GPS as snow crunches under my tires.
Where there weren’t any landmarks when I last looked, now there are multiple ones.
I see the dot that says “Elysian Pines” and blink.
It’s still there when I look again, and there are a few other markers that read “Elysian Pines Inn,” “The Drift Bar I’m sure the bakehouse is closed in the evening.
I kill the engine and grab my coat, noting when I pick up my phone that I have no cell service.
Hopefully I can get an internet connection so I can let Avery know I didn’t die, and more importantly, so I can get the information I wanted her to send.
It would be great to grab a room and get some work done.
I wrap my scarf around my neck and button up my coat before grabbing my purse. Leaving the warmth of my car is a shock. The air is frigid, and the snow is still coming down heavily. I don’t know how those people were walking so casually through the streets. It’s fucking freezing.
I dip my chin into my scarf and brace against a gust of wind, locking my car and heading into the bar. There aren’t any other cars in the parking lot, but when I enter the bar, there are a few people inside. Did they walk, too? Insanity.
I brush off snow from my hair and coat, eyes wandering around the cozy space.
It’s not a large bar, but booths line the perimeter, and on one side, there’s a crackling fireplace with seats around it.
In the middle, a few men stand drinking beer and laughing around a couple of high-top tables.
On the walls are various records and pictures of bands old and new. Clearly a retro theme.
I unbutton my coat when I hear the song playing over the speakers, the same song that was playing in the car as if it picked up exactly where I turned it off.
The Drifters’ smooth vocal tones sing of “This Magic Moment,” and I wonder if whoever owns this place runs the local radio station, too. Clearly, they have a theme.
I take a few more steps inside, and the click of my heels on the hardwood floor has the three men at the high-top looking over at me in friendly curiosity.
I don’t smile or acknowledge them, but a blond one that reminds me of a surfer waves at me.
I don’t wave back, feeling awkward at his friendliness.
I don’t want to make friends; I want food and a place to stay.
My eyes focus on an empty chair four down from a man at the bar.
I can’t see his face from this angle, but the back of his hair is short, the sides faded and silver in color, while the locks on the top of his head are longer and dark with some gray throughout.
The broadness of his shoulders reminds me of the man at the restaurant who made my downstairs happy, but I know it’s not him.
He had dark-blond hair and was dressed in a sweater that looked soft and expensive.
This man has a black long-sleeved shirt on, and his body language screams “back the eff off.” Which I can respect.
I remove my coat and drape it over the red cushioned stool, sitting down as the bartender walks in from the back room. He smiles at me while throwing a rag over his shoulder, his teeth perfectly straight and white.
“Hello there,” his velvety voice greets.
My skin feels alive at the sound, much like it did when I saw the handsome green-eyed man earlier.
He’s broad shouldered as well, and the green Henley he’s wearing highlights the lithe muscles of his body and trim waist. God, he’s tall.
Like really tall. And also hot as fuck with shoulder-length caramel hair, sun-kissed skin, and a well-trimmed beard.
He stops in front of me, large hands on the bar top as his eyes take me in. Unfortunately for me, my stomach chooses the exact moment my eyes connect with his deep-brown ones to growl so loudly he very obviously hears it.
“Well.” He chuckles, the sound curling my toes. “I was going to ask if you wanted a drink, but maybe food is in order?”