Page 2 of The Inkslinger

“Maybe you can give me some advice while I wait,” I say instead. “I’m here in town on a whim. Where is the nearest decent motel?”

“Oh, no,” she says with a comical gesture. “You do not want to stay there.” She shudders just thinking about it. “How long are you staying in town?”

“No idea. I needed to get away from life, so I just grabbed my shit and left.”

She rises from her seat behind the counter, walking around to stand beside me. She assesses me with keen eyes before nodding.

“Ali, are you almost done?” she yells to the back.

Someone chuckles and another curses. There is a clatter as things are put down before the big man from before comes out of his booth with another equally large but gorgeous man.

“Woman, I told you not to call me that,” he grumbles as the other man waves at us before leaving the shop. “Now I’m going to have to kick Michael’s ass the next time he sees me.”

“Why?” I ask as he looks down at the much smaller woman.

His gaze shoots up to me like he is seeing me for the first time.

“Because my name is Alistair. Not Ali.”

“Whatever.” Skye waves her hand in the air. “I’m going to show—” She stops abruptly looking at me. “What’s your name?”

“Hailey.”

“I’m going to show Hailey my house. She is going to be renting it while she stays in town.”

“Skye...” Alistair starts but she shuts him up with a smack to the shoulder.

“We’ll be back in five minutes. She has an appointment with Laine.”

Everything happens so fast, I don’t have a chance to stop her or ask questions as she grabs my hand and drags me out the door.

“Which car is yours?” she asks. I point to my car, and she makes a beeline for it. “Come on!”

“Are you a serial killer? Looking to chop me up and feed me to the neighbors?” I ask once I am in the car.

“Nope. You’ll get used to it, though. Everyone in Franklinton is overly friendly and in each other’s business. By the end of the day, you’ll be the talk of the town. It took me forever to get back into the swing of things after being in New York for a couple of years.”

She talks nonstop, telling me about the town and the people while using hand gestures to direct me. Four blocks from the shop we pull up to a middle-sized brick house. It is stunning. A big tree in the yard, a beautifully manicured lawn, and blooming flowers as far as the eye can see. The wraparound porch and white shutters actually have me swooning a bit.

“Why don’t you live here?” I ask, confused. This is basically my dream house.

“It’s too big. I can’t live here alone I feel like a ghost walking the halls. It was my mom’s place and it feels empty without her,” she says softly. “It’s only been empty a couple of weeks. I can have it cleaned before you move in.”

“No, that’s fine. If you’re looking to rent it out on a weekly basis, I’ll take it.”

“Awesome,” she says with a bright smile, handing me a set of keys. “Let’s get back to the shop.”

This place is bound to do my head in. I’m used to people being standoffish and distrustful. Neither of those words describe this woman.

---