Page 32 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Traffic moves forward, but I listen as Kelsey fills me in about a fallen beaver, a taxidermy tour, and the six-to-one ratio of men to her.

“I’m having dinner with Grant. I think he’s the least scary of them.”

Grant. So, it’s already happening.

“Someplace close to the lodge?” I open the map again.

“There’s a bar with burgers right here.”

My chest tightens. “Your date is at the hotel. Is he staying there, too?” That’s close proximity to beds.

“You know, I’m not sure he is. I get the impression that these locals hang out here.”

Traffic starts to loosen as we hit the suburbs. “You sure this guy is all right?”

“No, but I have a plan to extricate myself if I need to.”

“Tell it to me.”

“I went over the fire escape map, and it looks like there’s a hallway between the bar and the public bathrooms, and on the other end is a back staircase that I can use to return to my room.”

“So, you can say you need to visit the bathroom and then just escape.”

“Exactly.”

“He doesn’t know which room you’re in?”

“No, and I don’t plan to tell him.”

I suppress my sigh of relief. “Tell me what you’re going to wear.”

I follow Kelsey’s happy chatter about her dress and her ideas for hair and makeup all the way to the desert. By the time our reception gets spotty, she’s off to have dinner.

And I’m well on my way to reaching her.

Chapter 11

KELSEY ANDIT’SALLPOISONHERE

When I descend the stairs to the lodge’s lobby, different men lounge below.

The camo men are gone. Their replacements are dressed a little nicer, as if they’re all about to go on Thursday-night dates.

Gaston is still there, though, and he sits on the biggest chair, a high-back with leather cushions lined with metal nailheads. Like a throne.

He whistles long and low as I reach the bottom, elbowing a new man, this one in khakis, possibly from Target, $29.99, and a white button-down with no distinguishing features.

“That’s the one I was telling you about,” he says. “G-spot is buying her dinner.”

Khaki Pants examines everything from my strappy sandals (Gianvito Rossi, $900 retail but $75 at a reseller), past the peach cotton dress ($45, Alabama Kohl’s, circa 2019) to my curly updo. His intensity sends a tendril of unease through me. It’s like he’s sizing me up for himself.

Even so, I gamely keep walking. “Have you seen Grant around?”

“He’s in the bar,” Gaston says. “If he doesn’t work out, we’re right here.” He and Khaki Pants share a laugh.

Gross. When I push through the swinging doors, Grant sits at the long oak bar on the back wall.

“Kelsey!” He stands and holds out a hand.

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