Chapter 3 Getting His Goat
GETTING HIS GOAT
LUKE
The rain continues to slash against the inn's windows as I stand in the lobby at twelve-fifteen AM, holding a pair of Wonder Woman underwear and trying to process what just happened to my ‘perfectly planned’ investigation.
This is not the catfishing, balding loser with too much time and CPU on his hands that I expected.
Instead, I find the actual Sage Winters, bumbling inn owner and confused woman. Standing in polka-dot pajamas while a baby goat digging its furry head into my laptop bag.
"The shower tried to murder you," I repeat slowly, blinking at five-foot-four inches of green-eyed mystery.
"Metaphorically speaking." She picks up a pile of underwear that has tacos on it. "The shower-head fell off. There was flooding. Buttercup and I were relocating to avoid the carnage."
"Buttercup."
"The goat." She gestures toward the small white animal currently attempting to unzip my bag. "She's here for tomorrow's goat yoga class. Early arrival due to family emergency with the instructor."
I blink. "Goat yoga."
"It's a thing. Very Instagram-worthy. Or it will be, assuming Buttercup stops eating everything." She straightens up, her arms full of retrieved clothing, and I realize I'm still holding her underwear.
"These are..."
"Mine, yes. You can just..." She reaches for them, her fingers brushing mine, and for a moment we're both holding onto Wonder Woman’s bionic boobs.
"Right." I release them, and she adds them to her bundle, lips souring into a pucker.
"So," she says, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "You're Luke Sterling."
"You know who I am?"
"Well, yes. We're matched on SecureMatch." She says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I tried to set up a date but you never—“
BAAAHH!!
I glance over, wondering how such a big noise can come from such a little animal. Turns out Buttercup has a taste for charging cables.
The four-legged runt’s managed to make her way into my bag, after all, chewing on the tube like it’s curds.
Sage lunges for the goat, but Buttercup is apparently quicker than she looks.
“Buttercup! No! Put that down!”
The small animal bounds away from the bag, trailing my power cord like some kind of technological streamer, and heads directly for the fireplace.
"Shit, shit, shit," Sage mutters, dropping her clothes again in pursuit. "Buttercup, that's a three-hundred-dollar cable!"
I look down at my laptop bag, then at the chaos unfolding near the fireplace, and make a decision that probably violates several cybersecurity protocols.
I help.
"Here," I say, moving to cut off Buttercup's path to the embers. “If we box her in—”
“Don’t box her in!” Sage calls, already skidding in socks across the hardwood. “She gets stressy when cornered!”
“How am I supposed to look non-threatening to a goat?”
“Try not being six-two and glowering.”
I crouch, feeling ridiculous, and immediately realize that looking "non-threatening" to a baby goat is significantly harder than debugging a corrupted firewall.
Buttercup eyes me with what I can only describe as skepticism, my charging cable still dangling from her mouth like a very expensive cigarette.
"Good goat," I say, feeling like an idiot. "Nice goat. Please don't eat my electronics."
Buttercup tilts her head, considering my request, then promptly decides to make a break for it. She bolts past me, heading for the registration desk where someone I hadn't noticed before lets out a strangled squeak.
"Mira!" Sage calls. "It's okay, she's friendly!"
But "Mira"—who I assume is the desk clerk—has apparently decided that discretion is the better part of valor and disappeared entirely behind the desk with a small crash that suggests she took some office supplies with her.
"Is she...?" I start.
"Goat phobia," Sage explains, now army-crawling across the lobby floor in pursuit of Buttercup. “She’s fine with cows, pigs, even alpacas. But goats? Full system shutdown.”
"And you hired her to work at an inn that hosts goat yoga?"
"I hired her before I got desperate enough to host goat yoga," Sage says, making a grab for Buttercup, who evades capture with the grace of a tiny ninja. "Life is about adaptation."
Buttercup, apparently deciding that chaos is more fun with multiple participants, suddenly changes direction and heads straight for me. I'm still crouched in what I hope is a non-threatening position when thirty pounds of enthusiastic goat launches itself in the air.
Right. At. Me.
I hit the ground with a thud that’s half grunt, half masculine defeat. The goat lands square in my lap and sniffs my glasses like she’s assessing their resale value.
"Well," I say, staring into large brown goat eyes that are uncomfortably close to my face. "This is new."
Sage appears beside us, slightly out of breath. "She likes you."
“Lucky me.”
“No, really. She has a sixth sense about people. If Buttercup approves, you’re probably not a serial killer.”
“High bar.”
I’m still trying to process the idea that my character is being evaluated by livestock when Buttercup decides my glasses need cleaning and gives them a helpful lick.
I freeze. “Okay. How do I... exit this situation without offending her royal hoofness?”
“Slowly,” Sage says, leaning in close. Her fingers brush mine again as she scoops up Buttercup, and just like that, she’s in my space.
Unlike the short-haired terror being passed between us, Sage Winters smells nicer. Much nicer.
Like lavender and warm linen and something else I can’t place.
“There we go.” Her voice has a smile in it. “Crisis averted.”
I clean my glasses with the edge of my shirt, staring. “So... this happen a lot?”
“The goat drool or the late-night lobby chaos?”
“Either. Both.”
She flashes a grin that makes concentration that much harder. “Welcome to Cascade View Inn. Where the weird is the norm and the goats come standard.”
“Delightful.” I rise, brushing off goat hair. “Though… full disclosure? I didn’t exactly come here for the five-star hospitality.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “No?”
I look her in the eye. “I came because of you.”
“Because of that last message I sent about being excited to meet you? Because I was. I am.” She frowns. “Though, I’m not sure how—“
“I thought you were catfishing me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, at first, your profile kept appearing in my matches. Over and over. Even after I swiped left."
"You swiped left on me at first?”
"Multiple times."
"Rude."
“It felt like a system manipulation. Or a scam. I-I guess I thought you’d be a four-eyed incel who thought hacking a CEO’s dating profile would be a cheap thrill. I didn’t expect…” his blue eyes rake over me, “…well, you.”
She blinks. “So you drove up a mountain in a storm… because you thought I was committing SecureMatch fraud?”
“Well, when you say it like that…”
“I did work in Big Tech. Back in Seattle.” She shakes her head slowly. “But I used to be a marketing executive. Not a hacker.”
“You left Big Tech for this?”
“I had family…issues to iron out. I also burned out. Traded in my designer blazer for a guest registry and goat yoga. Guess I’m a cliché now.”
“A very persistent one,” I say.
She tilts her head. “You thought I was someone using a fake photo just to flirt with you?”
“I think patterns are suspicious. And my job is to investigate them.”
"And you took the time out of your busy day to drive an hour out of town to, what, catch a weirdo trying to pass themselves off as someone else?”
My jaw ticks—an old memory popping up where it shouldn’t be. “Let’s just say I’m used to people lying to get what they want.”
Sage Winters blinks, mouth opening. Before any sound comes out, a muffled voice behind the desk makes itself known.
"Is the goat gone?"
"Buttercup is contained, Mira," Sage calls. "You can come out."
A head of curly dark hair appears cautiously above the desk edge, followed by wire-rimmed glasses and a face that can't be older than twenty-five.
"Are you sure?" Mira asks.
"I'm sure."
Mira emerges fully, clutching a stapler like a weapon. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
"Oh my god," she whispers. "You're Lukas Sterling."
I look at Sage, who shrugs. "How do you—?"
"TechCast magazine, last month. 'Seattle's Most Eligible Tech Billionaire.' There was a whole article about your new cybersecurity platform."
"You read TechCast?" I ask.
"I study hospitality management at UW. Tech integration in tourism is my specialty." She pauses, then pulls out her phone. "Can I get a quick photo? My business ethics professor will never believe I met you."
"Mira…” Sage starts.
"It's fine. Just... maybe don't post it anywhere?"
“Oh. I already posted it.” Snap. “Tagging the inn and everything. You’re welcome.”
Sage groans softly.
“What?” Mira says. “Free press.”
A long moment of silence stretches between us, broken only by Buttercup's contented bleating.
"Well," Sage comments dryly, “that was…”
“Unexpected,” I finish.
“I was gonna say ‘a shit-show,’ but sure. Let’s go with your version.”
“Well, this has been enlightening.” Brushing off a mound of goat hair, I sling my damp laptop bag over my shoulder. “I should probably go—”
“Stay.”
The word lands like a challenge. Sharp. Unfiltered.
“Sorry, did you just—?”
She shifts, weight rocking to one hip, lips twitching. “Yeah. Stay. It’s late, the roads suck, and Mira’s already put your face on the internet. Might as well sleep here.”
"Room twelve is available," Mira volunteers from behind the desk. "It has the best view of the falls. And blackout curtains.”
“I’m sure.” I look at Sage, who's still holding Buttercup and watching me. “I mean, I could. Long as you don't mind having a paranoid cybersecurity expert as a guest."
The second the words are out, I know I’ve made a mistake.
I’ve got a business to go back home to, a product launch.
A thousand tasks and even more emails, but it’s hard to remember why any of them are important when a small smile curves on Sage Winters’s pink mouth.
“I think we can accommodate that.”
Her lips say “yes.”
But there’s something in the eyes of the mysterious inn owner, that feels like a “no.”
Whatever it is, worry, or guilt, or maybe just exhaustion…I suddenly get the feeling that maybe my ‘catfish’ might be hiding something after all.