Page 7 of Silver Linings

Because he knew that said career was beyond recovery and that the YouTube videos actually paid more than what he’d been earning in academia, he’d stood firm.

So she’d kicked him out, since they’d been living in her condo at the time. That was when he’d found the cottage in Yucaipa, which had saved him from having to crawl home to his parents’ house in Costa Mesa. Sure, they had the room, but he was damned if he was going to move in with them at the ripe old age of thirty-two.

A little more research showed he could fly United from SFO to the small county airport in Arcata, where he would still need to rent a car. The trip would drain his already tight coffers that much further, but that was what credit cards were for, right?

Ten minutes later, he’d postponed the flight down to Ontario and booked the one to Arcata, along with making sure there would be a rental car waiting for him when he arrived. While he was working on the flights, he’d recalled the listing for the bed-and-breakfast he’d seen earlier, and navigated back to that once he was done with all the flight arrangements.

Sure enough, a room was available. He reserved that as well and then closed the laptop.

“Silver Hollow, here I come,” he murmured.

Chapter Three

In person, Silver Hollow was even more charming than it had appeared in the online images Ben had looked up the night before. Deep forests rose on all sides, seeming to almost embrace the collection of vintage homes and businesses that made up the settlement, and today the sun had broken through the clouds, making everything look bright and shiny, more like something off a Hollywood backlot than a place where real people lived.

But there had been people, of course — moms with strollers taking a constitutional along the main drag, which was accurately but not very originally called Main Street; older couples getting some fresh air as they peeked into shop windows; other cars occupying the road alongside him in his rented CR-V. The people at the rental car agency had wanted to give him a sedan, but it had just felt better to get an SUV, albeit a small one.

Of course, almost anything was better than the old Nissan truck that waited for him in the long-term parking at Ontario International Airport, so he intended to enjoy the novelty of driving a new car while he was here.

He’d input the address of the bed and breakfast where he was staying into his phone before he left the small regional airport in Arcata, and it guided him flawlessly almost up to the front doorstep. The inn was housed in an impressive Victorian home painted pale yellow with white and dark green trim, and the roses that bordered the front walk were almost blindingly bright under the rare afternoon sun.

A small parking area had been carved out from the yard off to one side, so he pulled in there and then turned off the engine. One other car occupied those guest spaces, a vintage MG convertible in classic British racing green.

Ben allowed himself a single admiring glance at the vehicle — while he’d never been all that into cars, he could still appreciate a good restoration job — and then went around to the back of the CR-V so he could get out his single weekender bag. Because he’d thought he would only be spending a few days in San Francisco before heading home, he’d packed fairly light, and he found himself hoping that what he’d brought with him would be enough to last before he returned to Southern California.

Well, at least he’d followed the advice his mother had given him years earlier when he first went off to college, and had packed some extra underwear and socks.

He mounted the porch steps. Next to the front door was a hand-painted sign that said, “Please come in,” so he supposed he didn’t need to knock.

Instead, he opened the door and let himself into a grand foyer, fully two stories tall, with a magnificent staircase directly across from the entrance and a stained glass window above the landing that let in filtered light in warm shades of green and yellow. That same palette was echoed in the Persian rug under his feet and the warm, buttery shades on the walls.

A bell hung from the inside of the door and jingled faintly as he entered the space. Almost at once, an older woman, probably in her early seventies, emerged from a small room off to his left that he guessed was the B&B’s office.

“Mr. Sanders?” she asked, her voice crisp and friendly at the same time, and he nodded.

“It’s just Ben,” he responded. In some situations, he might have tried to correct her and say that it was actually “Dr. Sanders,” but he got the feeling that the woman who now crossed the foyer to the antique table in the center of the space wouldn’t have much patience for that sort of thing. Despite her white hair and the deep lines around her eyes and bracketing her mouth, she carried herself like someone at least a decade younger, and he guessed she would make short work of anyone who tried to put on airs.

“Ben, then,” she said, still brisk and businesslike. “I’m Mabel Whitaker. Welcome to the Silver Hollow Inn. I have you booked for two nights, correct?”

“That’s right,” he replied, then paused, performing a quick mental calculation as to how many additional nights he might be able to afford. “But it’s possible I might need to stay longer.”

She opened the ledger that lay on the table — clearly, she used it as a desk — and flipped through a couple of pages. “Your room isn’t booked again until a week from Wednesday, so I should be able to accommodate you with no problem. If your visit stretches past that day, then I’ll have to move you to another spot.”

Ben couldn’t imagine spending more than a week here. Then again, twenty-four hours ago, he wouldn’t have been able to imagine standing in the lobby of a Victorian bed-and-breakfast in a small town in Humboldt County, either, so he figured he should probably leave his options open.

“If that happens, it won’t be a problem,” he said. “Really, I’m just glad you had any space for me at all.”

Her blue eyes twinkled at him. “Well, it’s not the high season yet. Otherwise, you probably would have had to stay at the motel on the other side of town.”

Just the faintest hint of disdain entered her tone as she mentioned the place. Was it really that bad, or did she simply have a low opinion of any establishment that might funnel some business away from her?

Since he didn’t know the woman, Ben couldn’t begin to guess. Still, it was good to know he had an alternate just in case staying here at the Silver Hollow Inn started to impact his bank account a bit too much.

“Then I’m glad I got here before the rush,” he said lightly.

The corners of Mabel’s mouth lifted the slightest bit. “Breakfast is from seven-thirty to nine,” she said, obviously deciding it was time to get down to business. “I also put out light refreshments at four, but you’ll be on your own for lunch and dinner.”

Something he’d already expected — and looked forward to. The more people he encountered in town, the better the chance that he might be able to glean some useful information from one of them.

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