Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
ADDISON
THREE WEEKS LATER
As the woman sitting in front of me checks her lipstick in her phone screen for the third time, I glance around the mostly empty diner, fighting to hold in a sigh.
Travis catches my eye from behind the counter and raises his eyebrows.
He’s not much of a talker, which I appreciate.
But since we recently worked together for a little while, I feel fairly confident in interpreting the eyebrows as him asking, Are you good?
If only I knew a way to silently communicate back to him. No, I’m not. Please give me an excuse to get out of here.
Maybe he could pull the fire alarm.
Okay, no.
That would be a tad too dramatic, I suppose. I can survive one quick coffee date. It doesn’t feel quick, though, because this woman hasn’t said a single interesting thing since she sat down.
I take a sip of my coffee, wishing it was a latte. I respect the simplicity of Travis’s diner, but Mayweather really needs to get a legitimate coffee shop. If I wasn’t working today, I could’ve at least had this date at the bar. Yes, the bar. As in, the only one in this whole damn town.
Seriously, how did I end up living in a place with only one bar?
Technically, I live right outside of Mayweather, though the town I’m in has even less going on.
But honestly, while I may have bitched about moving here after spending most of my life in Chicago, I’ve somewhat started to appreciate the slower change of pace that comes with living in a place like this.
Of course, I could do without Mayweather’s crazy antics, but since I work at the Mayweather Inn, it’s been hard to avoid them.
“So,” I say, focusing back on Madison, my date, and forcing myself to try to keep the conversation going, “have you lived in Massachusetts your whole life?”
“Yup,” she says, smacking her lips.
Okay...
This time a sigh does escape me, but I bring my hand up to my face in an attempt to cover it.
This is all my boss’s fault. Brenden, the owner of the inn, accidentally schemed his way into a happily ever after with Travis.
So now he thinks I should do the same. Well, minus the scheming.
Hopefully. The point is, ever since Brenden fell in love with Travis earlier this year, he’s been annoyingly happy, and now he apparently wants everyone around him to fall in love too.
What he’s failing to grasp, though, is that I already thought I had my happily ever after. I was married. And look how that turned out.
I let my cheating ex-wife keep the restaurant we owned together, because I wanted to get as far away from her as possible. Now here I am, sitting in a small-town diner with a woman I found on a dating app.
There isn’t exactly an abundance of queer women in this area to choose from, so I swiped on the first profile that didn’t look awful.
I’m only doing this to get Brenden off my back.
After this date ends, I can tell him it was a bust, and then I can go back to spending all my time either working or with my cat.
My cat might be a better conversationalist than Madison.
I can’t say she’s not hot. But the problem is that she really knows it.
And it seems she’s made being attractive her entire personality.
She’d be a good choice if I just wanted to hook up, but after finding out how many women my ex cheated on me with, the idea of having sex has mostly lost its appeal for me.
I can only hope I’ll get over that eventually.
I’m only thirty-five. Some days I feel much older, but regardless, that’s too young to never get laid again.
Travis heads over with the coffee pot and asks if we want top-offs. I decline, because I’m already itching to get out of here. It doesn’t look like Madison’s even touched her cup. Probably doesn’t want to mess up her lipstick.
God, I’m being a bitch.
I glance at the clock on the wall while my date tells me about the horrific ordeal she endured yesterday when her pedicurist misshaped her toenails. I truly don’t know how she survived.
This is the most she’s talked the entire time, and I can’t take much more of it. So I cut her off as nicely as possible, letting her know I need to get to work. I pay for the two coffees and tip Travis ten bucks, which is double the bill, then we walk outside.
Freedom is so close, but first I need to make it clear that I’m not interested in going out with this woman again without sounding cruel.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she says to me, twirling her gaudy gold charm bracelet around her wrist. “But I have to be honest, I’m not feeling a vibe here.”
Dumbfounded, all I can do is nod.
Then I watch her get into her BMW and speed off before I roll my eyes so hard I think I pull a muscle.
I’m still annoyed about the time I wasted this afternoon as I head into work.
I nod to the gardeners who are planting sunflowers along the path to the inn’s front porch, then walk inside the large main doors.
When I see Brenden, I’m going to let him know that this was the beginning and end of my dating misadventures for the foreseeable future.
Inside the front lobby, I almost trip over a pile of suitcases. “What the h—”
Thankfully, I catch myself before swearing in front of any guests. But this shouldn’t have been left here. Most guests carry their own bags up to their rooms, but if they’d like assistance, there are employees who take care of it. We can’t leave stuff here for someone to get hurt.
And who the hell brings this much luggage for a visit to Mayweather?
“Sorry,” I hear a quiet voice say as I maneuver around the safety hazard.
Turning my head, I spot a woman sitting in one of the lobby’s oversized armchairs.
She’s got one leg crossed over the other, a pair of red cowboy boots on her feet, and she’s wearing a yellow sundress.
I avert my eyes from where the dress has ridden up high on her thigh and scan upward to take in her long, wavy red hair.
A ping of attraction hits me in my gut, but I ignore it. I’ve had enough of high maintenance, hot women today.
I want to say, Are you just going to leave all these out here in everyone’s way? But I’d rather not get fired. So instead, I go with, “Is somebody helping you with these?”
The woman nods, then goes back to scrolling on her phone.
Great.
I glance around, looking for Brenden or Danny or anyone, because I’m sure as hell not going to carry her stuff. If it’s outside of the kitchen or the dining room, it’s not my problem.
Okay, fine, that’s not exactly true. I appreciate this job too much not to do whatever I can to help out. But still. Not today, Satan.
Luckily, before I need to figure out what to do, Brenden comes flouncing into the room, a little out of breath, and looking disheveled with his glasses slipping down his nose and his peach button-up half-untucked from his pants.
I should probably be concerned, but the irritation over how my own day has gone makes it hard to care about his.
“I’m so sorry, Riley,” he says, pushing his glasses back into place as he moves around me to stand in front of the guest. “Everything’s ready for you now.
Again, I’m so sorry for the unexpected delay, but I can assure you that we’re prepared to have everything you need available for you for the duration of your stay. ”
“Thank you,” the woman—Riley—says, still keeping her voice down. “And don’t worry about me. I don’t plan to be any trouble for you.”
I frown, glancing at Brenden for some hint as to why he might think she would be trouble. Other than the obscene amount of luggage.
But Brenden ignores me and continues to address the woman, with his customer service smile spread so wide across his face that he resembles a Batman villain.
“Oh no, we’re not worried at all! We’re so pleased to have you here!
” He turns halfway around, gesturing to the staircase with a grand sweep of his arm.
“If you’d like to head on up, I can show you to your room, and then I’ll make sure we get your bags delivered to you right away. ”
“I can grab some,” she says, rising from the chair.
Her legs momentarily distract me before I snap out of it and turn to leave the room. Because whatever this is, it’s Brenden’s problem, not mine.
But of course, since my day is going so badly, Brenden chooses now to lock eyes with me, and the desperate plea in his halts my escape.
Shifting his attention back to the guest, he insists, “No, no, we’ve got it,” and ushers her up the stairs.
I stay here, waiting for him to return like I’m assuming he wants me to. I’ve got a bone to pick with him anyway over his stupid dating idea.
When he comes downstairs again, he begs me, “Will you please help me bring these up?”
“What the heck is going on?” I ask. “Shouldn’t Danny be here? And why are you more frantic than usual?”
“Please, Addison,” he says, making prayer hands in front of his chest. “If you help me so I don’t have to make a million trips, I’ll owe you big time. I promise I won’t ask you to cook me anything for a month.” At my skeptical look, he amends that promise to, “Okay, well, maybe three days.”
I huff a laugh. “Yes, fine, I’ll help. Lord knows your noodle arms wouldn’t survive this. But seriously. What’s going on?”
“Let’s get everything upstairs, and I’ll explain after,” he says.
Yet as he bends down to grab two of the larger suitcases, he babbles a quick explanation anyway.
“Guests checked out late and left the room a disaster, Danny possibly broke two fingers, long story, and drove himself to urgent care. And this is all terrible timing, since we really need to make sure Riley is happy, because the last thing the inn needs is bad publicity.”
“Publicity?” I question, confused.
But Brenden’s already halfway up the stairs. So I eye the remaining pile of luggage and pick up a bag, as well as an oddly shaped piece that I realize is a guitar case.
Am I supposed to know who this woman is?