Page 14 of In Spades

“Teach me your ways, wise one.”

“It’s mainly sorcery,” she giggled. “But housekeeping elves never reveal their secrets.”

I stood up and crossed my arms over my chest. The top of her head came up to the middle of my chest. “I think you just admitted to being in cahoots with the elves.”

“I didn’t admit to anything,” she countered.

“I like cinnamon creamer. You know, just in case the elves are listening.”

Kristin’s voice softened as her eyes slowly raked up my torso. “The elves are good listeners.”

“I bet they are.” My words were thick and laced with unspoken intent.

That baggy polo shirt didn’t hide the heavy rise and fall of her chest.

The slam of a door down the hall shattered the spell we were under. Kristin jumped back like she had burned her hand on a hot stovetop. “I should get going.”

I grabbed my wallet off the desk and flipped it open, handing her a twenty. “Thanks for this.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but I stopped her.

“I know you’re allowed to accept tips. You went out of your way, and I appreciate it.”

Kristin gingerly took it out of my hand and slid the bill into her pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Solomon.”

She backed the cleaning cart away from the door as it closed behind her.

Something stood out about the way she resorted to Mr. Solomon. Like she was frantically building up walls between us. Was she reminding me or herself that there were lines that shouldn’t be crossed?

Kristin didn’t know that I had the employee handbook memorized. There were policies detailing proper conduct for employees while they were clocked in. Plenty of rules outlining best practices for safely cleaning guests’ rooms when they were present.

But there were no rules about fraternizing with guests off the clock.

I needed to get close to someone who would let me into the inner workings of the staff. Someone who could point out the problems that the company policies, books, and quarterly earnings reports didn’t reflect.

All the other employees of the Taylor Creek Inn that I had interacted with were pleasant and professional. But Kristin—she was all that and more.

The way her fingers nimbly folded and tucked each corner of the linens with military precision impressed me. It told me she was an organized, structured person. The way she floated through the room as she worked was hypnotic. Her voice was like a warm embrace, and her laugh put me at ease. Being around Kristin felt like sunshine.

As someone who was always on edge, spending time with her had loosened something up inside of me.

I spent a few more hours fiddling around with the new program I was coding, but the usually calming pattern of keystrokes had given me a migraine.

I glanced at the clock and realized it was dinner time.

I really needed to set alarms for meals. I had the habit of working straight through lunch, dinner, and the average adult’s bedtime. I had been in Beaufort for three days and had barely seen anything outside my room. I locked my laptop in the safe, grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

There was barely any traffic on Highway 101. While it was technically considered a highway, 101 was really a two-lane back road that connected Havelock and Beaufort so that you could skip the traffic lights going through Morehead City.

True to Kristin’s description, I found a run-down shack on a gravel lot with a blinking neon sign that promised cold beer. There was no sign with the name of the establishment. No hours posted on the door. Just a pothole in the parking lot that would break your leg if you stumbled into it unknowingly.

A slightly askew screen door served as the main entrance. The hinges screeched out something profane when I yanked it open.

The bartender, a blonde in a black tank top that said Jokers, looked up from the beer she was pouring. “Can I help you?”

I shoved my hands in my pockets and sauntered toward the bar. “I heard I can get a decent burger here.”

She cocked a stern eyebrow as she slid the glass down to an old-timer at the end of the bar. “Oh yeah? Who’d you hear that from?”

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