Page 9 of Jaded Alpha

Perhaps he did this for the love of…love.

Once I took a quick shower and changed into some jeans and a light sweater, I made my way downstairs, following my nose to the kitchen.

“Put me to work,” I said, going right to the sink to wash my hands despite the shower.

“How are you with chopping?” the older man asked. Bear shifter, if my nose was correct.

“I’m an excellent sous chef.” I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a large wooden cutting board. It had the name of the inn burned into the corner with a design that mirrored the outside of Franklin’s home.

Franklin brought over an array of vegetables and said to cut them however I wanted. They were for roasting and would go nicely with the turkey he’d had in the oven all day.

“It’s a little early for Thanksgiving,” I said, snickering.

“I wonder why people only make turkey for Thanksgiving. It’s a lovely meal. Perfect for an autumn supper with company. Same with ham. It’s not just for Christmas and Easter.”

“You know, you’re right. And there are tons of leftovers.”

Franklin stopped kneading his bread dough, sourdough judging by the tangy scent. “I like you. And I’m making turkey and dumplings tomorrow night. The best soup. No arguments.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

Franklin and I worked side by side for hours. The afternoon turned into evening and, once everything was finished, Franklin crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “Well, I suppose the other guest is late. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s dig in. Hopefully he makes it.”

“Do you sometimes have no-shows?” I asked, grabbing the already sliced bread and bringing it to the set table.

Gods, this place was a comforting country dream.

“How about a bit of music? When I’m alone, I play some tunes in the background.” He had not, I noticed, answered my question, but I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer anyway.

“Sounds good.”

We ate together, sharing a lovely conversation about all kinds of things. He had me tell him more about my career as a barista. He wanted me to teach him how to make those hearts in the top of a cappuccino even though they weren’t trendy anymore.

He made me laugh. I expected a prim-and-proper eating style from him but instead, he grabbed two large pieces of sourdough from the middle of the loaf and proceeded to make a turkey breast, roasted veggie, and red-pepper jelly sandwich fit for a king.

I had to mimic him. The damned thing looked delicious.

His gaze drifted to the window over and over. “Well, I’m grabbing the blackberry cobbler. You in?”

“Of course.”

We’d made it halfway through large servings of cobber à la mode and cups of steaming dark-roast coffee when a pair of headlights sent shards of light through the front window.

“I knew he would show,” Franklin said. “They always show.”

Chapter Nine

Van

When I sank back into the comfortable leather seat of the town car, I thought my troubles were over and that all I had to do was chill until I got to the inn where I could continue to chill. But no sooner did the driver pull away from the curb than it became apparent that he was more tour guide than chauffeur.

The drivers who worked with the band were consummate professionals who rarely spoke to us, which, now that I thought about it, made me wonder… Had they just chosen to be silent, or had someone told them to? The idea sent a frisson of unease through me. We were generally pretty tired, and it could have been that the drivers were just respecting our privacy, but it was also possible that they were stifled, and that I did not like.

“So, have you been to the area before?” he asked, and something told me to say yes, but I just didn’t want to lie. Or maybe I didn’t have the energy.

“No, first time.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.” He signaled and turned left out of the airport. “We’ll be on the highway in a few minutes, but would you like to get something to drink or eat along the way?”

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