Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Why not?” Aidan said. “We’re not driving!”
The waitress turned away with smile and a wink and it suddenly occurred to me that our car was here, which meant that even if we had a working cell—which we currently did not—taking an Uber to Claremont Landing would mean having to take one back in the morning. Whether one of our phones turned on or not, an hour round trip seemed impractical, especially being that our luggage would be unavailable to us until morning. Perhaps I should have inquired as to whether this Jim person with the truck hitch could retrieve and deliver our bags, but that ship had sailed.
I saw the woman come out of the kitchen and put my pool cue down as I made my way over to where she was now spraying a table and wiping it down.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I said to her when she looked up, her brows raising, “but since our car is here in your town, we’ll need a place to stay.”
She tossed the towel over her shoulder, stuck the spray bottle in the large pocket on the side of her apron and smiled prettily. “Mimi Jenkins rents a room over her garage to out-of-towners. I could see if it’s available.”
A room over a garage? I almost scoffed, but I refused to play into her obvious assumption that we were snooty Ivy League types. Also, it was only for one measly night. I could cope. “How many rounds will it cost me?”
“Not more than two.”
I laughed. “You’re a shyster.”
She laughed too, shooting me another wink over her shoulder as she walked away. I returned to my table, catching sight of myself in the glass of a framed photograph on the wall and realizing I was still smiling. Apparently, I liked being bamboozled.
By her. You like that saucy little smile and those crystal-blue eyes. And you like it when she turns them in your direction, even if it means another swipe of your credit card.
Pitiful. And I’d rarely been pitiful. I was always tempered, always even-keeled. And yet…
“What are you smiling like a loon about?” Aidan asked.
“I’m happy because I’m about to kick your ass in pool,” I said, picking up the cue and chalking it. “Move aside.”
Another couple rounds of shots showed up and I decided to forgo both so that one of us remained sober. I mopped the table with Grant, both because I was better than him and he was beginning to slur his words and when I sunk the eight ball, I looked up to see the little shyster herself delivering yet another round. “Mimi is leaving the key under the mat,” she said, as she set the last shot on the table. “There’s a dryer in the garage and your room is up the stairs to the left. Throw your clothes in the dryer before you go to bed. Don’t mind the dog. He’s…mostly friendly. I vouched for you, so don’t make me look bad.”
“Why’d you vouch for us?” Despite having no problem charging me for rounds for the locals, she didn’t seem to like us all that much.
She tapped her tray against her thigh. “You don’t look like the types to stiff an old lady on a bill, Ivy League.”
I leaned closer. “Assumptions can be dangerous, Cakes.”
Her smile was slow and knowing and made me feel like she’d taken a sledgehammer to my chest and knocked the air from my lungs. “Don’t I know it,” she returned smoothly.
I smiled back, even if mine felt both sort of wobbly and a little dazed. Something went flying past my cheek, pulling me from the fog I’d been in just as it lodged in the wall next to where I stood. What the hell?
I whipped my head over my shoulder to see Grant squinting at the dartboard, another dart poised in his hand to throw. The dartboard wasn’t anywhere near my head, but that hadn’t stopped him from nearly impaling me. “Whoa, sharpshooter. Put the weapon down.” God, my friends were sloshed. Grant lowered the dart, leaning on the wall next to him for support.
“I should settle out my tab,” I said to the woman.
Her lip quirked as she watched Trent slump into a chair. “I’ll say. Hold on and I’ll print up your bill.”
When she came back, I scrawled my signature on the line, wincing when I saw the total. I should’ve passed Trent what-are-the-odds-of-getting-two-flats-in-a-week Howell the bill, but I wouldn’t. I was the one who’d willingly allowed the little scammer to play her game with me. And truth be told, I wasn’t even annoyed about it.
“These are on the house,” she said as she handed me a white paper bag.
I looked at it dubiously.
“Cakes,” she said.
I took the bag. “Ah, Cakes and Ale.”
She gave me a quirk of her lip. “It’s a Shakespeare thing. Anyway, we make them in-house. Enjoy.”