Page 2 of Falling Inn Love
“Staying in your car? Is that safe?” he asks, his eyes narrowing like he wants to give me a dad lecture.
“I have nowhere to go or stay now,” I say motioning to my car. “This was my plan.”
He strokes his chin, looking frustrated. “Grab whatever you need for tonight and I’ll take you to the inn up the road. I know the owner. You can stay there until you figure out your car.”
“Why would you do that?” I ask nervously, crossing my arms, starting to shiver.
“Because if my mom and sister knew that I left you out here on the side of the road and didn’t help you, they’d be really angry. And trust me, you do not want to see those two angry or disappointed. It’s the worst. Come on, get your stuff, we don’t have all night. I’ll give you a lift and call the tow for you. It’ll be fine.”
I finally just blurt it out. “Are you a murderer? How do I know you won’t kill me and bury me in the woods somewhere out here?”
He sizes me for a minute then bursts out laughing. “You’re funny. Come on, get your things. You’ll be fine. I only murder on the weekends.”
“It’s Friday. Itisthe weekend.”
“Fine, I only murder on holidays,” he deadpans with a smile, rolling his eyes and turning to look down the road.
“If you murder me, I will come back as a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life.”
“Fair enough,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders, looking like he’s trying to hide another smile.
I take a deep breath and gather up my phone, charger, and purse.
“Is that all you’ll need for a few nights? It might be a few days before Sam can fix this.”
I get out and open the trunk, pulling out my overnight bag. Before I can sling it over my shoulder, Evan gently takes it from me and steps back.
“Anything else?” he asks.
I lift my laptop backpack out of the car, then lock up and walk toward Evan’s truck. He tucks my bag into the back and opens the passenger door for me. He has this nice, warm, small-town vibe, and it works for him. I still hope he’s not a murderer, though, because what a waste of a good-looking guy that would be.
“I like your truck,” I say, glancing around at it. It has an old, worn but colorful blanket on the bench, probably to conceal decades of wear and tear.
“Thanks. It was my grandfather’s and then my father’s. It makes me feel close to them when I drive it.”
Wow, that is heartwarming. I couldn’t imagine having anything of my mothers, let alone my grandmother’s.
“Where are you coming from?” he asks as he pulls back onto the road.
I debate over how much is too much to tell him, but I’ve already jumped in his truck with him, so what’s the point of holding back now? He seems like a nice guy, and he’s definitely attractive. I watch his profile as he drives, his green eyes striking against his dark beard and his big hands...Okay, focus, Beth. Geez.
“Boston,” I say, glancing out the window as the scenery changes to beautiful fall foliage along the road to the inn.
He’s playing eighties music—which I love—on the radio. He turns it down to ask, “So, what brings you to Freedom Valley?”
“I’m a writer and I travel around for work. I was looking for a place to stay for a few weeks to finish a project and see New England in the fall. What about you? What do you do?”
“You’re looking for work?” he replies, ignoring my question.
He’s misunderstood what I do for a living, but to be honest, the writing has not been going well lately. I’ve been doing various admin jobs and some bartending between writing projects, and I could use the extra cash again now, so I nod.
“I think the inn might be looking to hire a front desk manager. Would you be interested if it’s still available?”
“Yes.”
He turns onto a winding road that leads up to a big white inn with a beautiful white sign that readsThe Golden Gable Innin gold script. There’s a large main building with a lot of small cottages around it. Hunter green shutters grace the front, making it feel more like a home than a hotel. The large front porch stretches across the front of the main house and has white rocking chairs and potted mums of various fall colors bunched around the chairs and pumpkins stacked on both sides of the doors. It is one of the most comforting places I’ve ever seen. It feels like coming home. To a real home. I thought places like this only existed in Hallmark movies.
My heart pulls as I remember my small front porch in Texas that I decorated similarly with a fall wreath, pumpkins, and mums every year. Autumn has always been my favorite season and my heart feels sad to think I no longer have a home to decorate.
