Page 15 of The Prodigal

Heaven help me. I don’t know why I feel the need to explain the situation. I’m positive he doesn’t care, but then he did call me love. That’s an affectionate moniker, like he may care just a little.

“I’m not a thief.” I keep going when he just stands there with his head still bowed, as if he were praying. “I was lying on the ledge of the fountain. My necklace has a broken clasp and…” I can feel his attention dwindling by the second. “Never mind.” I sigh. “I just wanted you to know I wasn’t a thief.”

His head dips infinitesimally, and I think that’s the only response I’ll get from him when he says, “You found your necklace, then?”

It’s such a simple question—one a friend might ask, but Remington doesn’t intend to be my friend.

I finger the Saint Michael pendant at my neck. It hangs on a string instead of a chain, but it hangs around my neck, nevertheless. “I did.”

This time, he does nod, and I can’t help the smile that tugs onto my lips as he leaves.

“Enjoy your dinner, 101.”

I’m nearly an hour into a true crime episode when the delivery driver pulls into the parking lot for the second time tonight.

“I’m looking for an Eve,” he says, while approaching the counter. “An Eve Da Lobby?”

Oh. My. Gosh.

I’m going to soak his sheets in acid.

I flash the confused driver a patient smile and take the bag. “I’ll make sure it gets to her. Thank you for coming out at this hour.”

He walks to the door. “I’ll come out anytime with the amount Eve tips.”

Well, at least we knowEveisn’t a cheapskate.

“I’ll be sure to let her know. Thanks again.”

I close the door behind Eve’s new fan and walk back to the counter, inspecting the bag. Only one person in this motel can afford delivered takeout, and he’s notorious for calling people by the wrong name.

Getting comfortable, I pull the fries out of the bag and call his room, and just like last time, he doesn’t answer.

I call again.

And again.

And—“You know, generally, guests call the lobby when they need something. Not the other way around.”

This ass.

“Eve’s food delivery is at the desk.”

The line goes quiet.

“Did you hear me? Your food delivery is here.”

“I didn’t order food.” His tone is back to annoyed. “And I’m pretty sure my name is not Eve.”

“Neither is mine.”

He makes a noise that I swear sounds like a muffled laugh. “Looks like you have a mystery on your hands.”

Sounds like someone needs a hobby. Who orders food with the wrong name just to be a shit?

Room 101. That’s who.

Sighing, I pop another fry in my mouth. “What do you want me to do with this food?”

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