Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Spencer
I press the phone closer to my ear, like that will somehow make the terrible reception better. “So let me get this straight. You’re telling me the power is off for this whole neighborhood, and there isn’t an estimated time you expect it to be back on?”
The customer service rep, some guy named Frank, sounds either drunk or high or both, and like he would rather be doing literally anything other than talking to me, but probably playing video games.
“The storm took . . . crackle crackle . . . line . . . crews are backed up. They’re getting out there in a few days. ”
A few days? I peek through the blinds. The nearest house is right beyond some birch trees lined up near the edge of the property line, at least an acre away.
Some of my parents’ friends live in this neighborhood and are well into their eighties.
“People can’t live like that; it’s below freezing.
” Worry pulses through me. I’ll have to go check on everyone. Isn’t Dorothea on oxygen?
Frank sighs. “The power company is . . . crackle . . . at the local inn. Do you . . . number?”
“The power company is putting people up at the local inn?”
“I guess, man.”
My shoulders relax an inch. Well, that’s something. I’m still going to check to make sure everyone is okay. I don’t trust Frank for reasons that have become apparent during this conversation. It started when he told me to chill out, bruh and went downhill from there.
“If there are people still at home, can I have them call you?”
“They can just show up there.”
“The inn has a finite number of rooms.”
“Huh?”
I resist the urge to strangle my cell phone. “Nothing. Thanks.” I hang up.
After doing a cursory check around the farmhouse—everything looks like it did the last time I was here, covered and dusty and quiet—I lock up and head back to my car.
Once the power is restored, I’ll have to turn the water back on, get some cleaners in, and uncover all the furniture. Pointless to do anything right now. It may be another week, at least.
Hopefully, Quinn got Vivien a room at the inn, if there is one left.
I dial the office once I’m back in my car, rubbing my hands in front of the heater.
“Montgomery and Son, this is Quinn.” Quinn’s monotone echoes across the line.
“Hey Quinn, it’s me. The power is out all over the Regency Park neighborhood. I’m going to make sure everyone here is all right. The power company said they are sending affected residents to the inn while it gets sorted, but I want to double-check, so it might be a couple hours before I get back.”
“Okay. That makes sense then.”
My hands tighten around the steering wheel. “What makes sense?”
“The inn was full when I called to get a room for Vivien tonight. They had to block out a bunch of rooms for anticipated guests. She’s going to have to stay here at least another night or longer.” She pauses. “Are you okay with that?”
I swallow. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”
I’m too okay with that, which means I am not okay at all.
Part of me is thrilled she’ll be staying at my place a little longer. But the rational part is waving a giant red flag that reads bad decision in bold, bright, all-caps letters.
The people in this town treat gossip like a competitive sport. A ridiculous one, like curling or hobby horsing. If Vivien stays under my roof, the rumor mill will hit Olympic levels before breakfast.
And that’s the minor problem. The major problem is that being near her is like standing next to a live wire: too bright, too electric, and far too easy to get burned.
I cannot be attracted to a client.
“Because she’s hot and you’re hot and you’re both single, and everyone is going to talk and exaggerate, and before long there will be some story floating around town about how she’s pregnant with your baby and you ran out on her to join a cult and kidnap a submarine full of hedgehogs and get a tattoo of a nude woman on your neck, not necessarily in that order. ”
“Are you done yet?”
“I guess.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all purely professional.” There won’t be a hint of impropriety, even if it means I have to move in with Carter and sleep on his couch. “I’ve got to go. I’ll check in later. Call me if you need anything.”
I stare out the windshield. The plows haven’t made it this far yet. People could be stuck, have no way to get to the inn, or they may not even realize it’s an option.
George had shoulder surgery last month, and Peggy hasn’t driven since she mistook the brake for the gas pedal and took out the mailbox at the post office. She’s fine, just freaked out. I’ve picked her up three times in the past week to get her to the bookshop.
Dorothea will definitely be an issue. Her ears are strictly decorative at this point.
I have to knock like the feds serving a warrant every time I go over there, or she won’t hear it.
Her granddaughter bought her a cell phone last year, but she thinks it’s a calculator, so calling is out of the question.
I should probably try her first. Before I shift into drive, a loud humming fills the air.
I glance at the dashboard, looking for some kind of warning light, but there’s nothing. No “emojis,” as Quinn would say.
The buzzing gets louder. It’s coming from behind me. I twist in my seat. A four-wheeler barrels down the road. Behind it, someone has tied a bright red snow tube to the hitch.
In the snow tube is a person bundled head to toe in a neon pink snowsuit.
You’ve got to be shitting me.
That’s Peggy.
The ATV roars past, snow spraying into the air. That’s Jerry’s ATV. He’s driving, and George is in the passenger seat, whooping like they’re frat boys instead of retirees.
The tube fishtails wildly behind him as Peggy raises both arms in triumph.
They careen around the corner and disappear down the next block.
I sigh and shift into gear. I guess Peggy is overcoming her fears?
I should probably follow them.
It’s going to be a long day.
By the time I get the elderly misfits all settled at the inn—George with his arm in a sling, Peggy acting like all of this is a party, and Dorothea loudly insisting she didn’t require my assistance—I can’t believe it’s only just after lunch. I’ve lived three days in one morning.
I step out of the inn office and back out into the cold, pulling my coat tighter.
Carter leans against the driver’s side door of my 4Runner in a thick black jacket, arms crossed over his chest. “Forget something?” he calls out when our eyes meet.
Dammit. “I’m sorry, man. I got sidetracked.” We were supposed to meet at Betty’s Diner an hour ago.
“Mm.” He nods toward the inn. “Looks like you personally relocated half the town.”
“They needed help.” I come to a stop a few feet in front of him.
“They always need help,” he says. “You ever notice how you’re involved in every problem within a ten-mile radius?”
“I couldn’t leave them out there without power. They wouldn’t have lasted the night.”
“They would have made their way over here eventually. They’re grown-ups. They’re old enough to be grown-ups three times over.”
“Only legally and literally. Emotionally, I think they’re fourteen.”
He chuckles. “You fixed Mrs. Halvorsen’s mailbox last week.”
I shrug. “So? She asked.”
“You walk Mr. Wu’s dog nearly every week.”
“He needs someone—”
“You helped Jerry file a permit for the shed he wants to build in the spring.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“You’re an estate attorney. Quinn could have done it. Hell, he could have done it himself, he just didn’t want to.”
“Quinn has school,” I say, “and her mom.” The excuses are feeble, even to my own ears.
“You don’t have a life,” he says.
“I clearly have a life, one you just elucidated quite well, actually.”
“You have responsibilities,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I barely have time to breathe.”
“That’s exactly my point.” He straightens. “You spend all your time working and taking care of everyone else instead of yourself.”
“All this because I missed lunch?”
“Would you even eat if I didn’t plan a regular time to share a meal?” he counters.
Before I can respond, a loud thud echoes from the street.
We both look over.
Daphne is parked across the street, standing next to her open trunk, hands on her hips. She’s facing down the street where Noah is unloading a box from the back seat of his pickup and passing it over to Vivien.
It’s huge; she can barely get her arms around it.
Noah turns away, sticking his head back into his truck, oblivious.
Vivien makes her slow way down the street toward Daphne.
I can’t look away. It’s an accident waiting to happen. The box is too big for Vivien to see in front of her. She’s barely holding on, and she’s traipsing through plow-packed slick snow.
Carter sighs. “You want to go help her, don’t you?”
I lift a hand toward the spectacle occurring across the street. “Don’t you? Can’t you see this?”
“Daphne is right there if Vivien needs assistance.”
“But she’s not helping.”
He steps next to me so we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Vivien will ask. She knows how to use her words.” He shrugs. “Or she won’t, and she’ll drop the box, and then they’ll pick it up and move on. You don’t have to fix everything for everyone all the time.”
I groan. “I can’t help it. It’s part of my makeup. I see a problem, I want to fix it.”
“Sometimes people need to fix their own shit. Otherwise, they’ll never figure it out.”
“I don’t think helping someone carry a box is that deep.”
As if Carter’s words were prophetic, the box slips from Vivien’s hands, falling on the ice and tipping over. Green and yellow veggies scatter around her.
She stands there for a second, stunned. Then her head tips back, blond hair cascading down her back, and she laughs so loud, it echoes down the street.
Surprise punches me in the gut.
Dammit, she really is beautiful.
My legs are already moving in her direction.
“You’re a sucker, Spence,” Carter calls out behind me.
“I’ll meet you at the diner in ten.”
By the time I cross the street, Daphne and Vivien have managed to clean up most of the mess. I pick up a stray zucchini and hand it to Vivien right as she’s standing up.
“Thanks.”
“Let me help you.” I bend over and heave the box into my hands. “Where are we taking this?”
Daphne points. “Over to my car. Thanks, Spence. Always a hero.”
I sigh. I really have made a name for myself, I guess. “I’m glad I ran into you.” I explain about the power outage in Beverly’s neighborhood, and how the inn is full. “You can stay with me until it gets sorted. It shouldn’t be for too long.”
She bites her lip. “Are you sure? I hate to impose.”
Daphne snorts. “Are you kidding? He lives to be imposed upon.”
I set the box in the open trunk and wipe my hands on my jeans. “It’s no trouble. The rooms upstairs are sitting empty, anyway.”
“You should let me pay you, at least, whatever I would have spent at the inn.”
I wave a hand. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Even though I probably should charge her, in order to keep everything purely professional, but my sense of chivalry overrides any business sense.
“How about I cover dinner, at least for some of the nights I am here? I make a mean carbonara.”
“Sure. That’ll work.”
She sticks out her hand and I shake it. She’s wearing gloves, and yet even her covered fingers squeezing mine makes my stomach dance and my chest ache.
Dangerous.
I step back. “I’ll see you later.”
She and Daphne wave, and I stalk back across the street, focused on getting to my car and going to meet Carter for lunch, even though my mind is already moving forward to potential dinners with Vivien.
It’s a terrible idea. I should keep my distance. Only give her the letters, keep it all business, that’s it.
Distant laughter has me glancing back to where Vivien is standing, her hand on Daphne’s shoulder, bright humor suffusing her face.
I’m fucked.