Page 56 of Where I Found You
They stared at each other, Elisa nibbling on her lower lip while Noah battled every instinct in his body. They’d almost let history repeat itself. But then Elisadidlet history repeat itself, by not standing up for him with her dad. It shouldn’t matter as much as it had a decade plus ago. He was an adult now, not a college kid with an unstable childhood looking for security. He’d grown up, and so had she.
So why did he care?
Noah drew a deep breath, breaking eye contact. If he told her about the possibility of his quitting the hunt now, and the loan didn’t come through, he’d be in a bind. Working together would be even more awkward at that point. He needed to fake it until he heard back from Owen.
But sitting here, pretending to care about this clue while fighting a dozen conflicting feelings roiling through his stomach, sounded about as pleasant as a big gulp of whatever was in Elisa’s cup.
He abruptly stood. “I can’t look at this right now. I need to get back to the inn.” He felt like a heel but what else was new? He was a Hebert, and she was a Bergeron. The expectation was low.
Besides, she’d made her position clear last night.
Elisa’s gaze flickered with hurt before she slowly stood too, pausing to loop her purse over her shoulder. “Okay. I should go meet Lucius at the Magnolia Blossom, anyway. The inspection is this afternoon.”
They turned simultaneously toward the exit, crossing the coffee-scented room in silence as Miley continued her one-woman concert from behind the counter. Noah pushed open the door and let Elisa walk through first, trying not to inhale her vanilla and honey scent as she slipped past him.
He was almost clear to go back to the inn, finish his list, and focus on this mold problem. Surely Owen would come through, and then Noah could get back on his feet and pay off the debt after a promising tourist season. Easy. Drama-free.
But to do so, he’d be quitting the hunt.
His stomach clenched. Wasn’t the whole purpose of restoring the inn to prove hewasn’ta quitter? To break the generational curse? If he quit on Elisa now, he was no better than Russell Hebert. And no closer to proving Elisa’s father wrong.
“Wait.” Noah shot his hand out before he could change his mind, grazing Elisa’s shoulder with his fingers.
She twisted to face him in surprise, the morning sun staining her hair with streaks of light. “What?”
“Let’s meet up later and go over the clue. When we can both get free.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You sure?”
He hated the wariness in her eyes, hated that he’d put it there, and hated that no, he wasn’t sure at all. But he couldn’t quit. “Yeah.” He forced a smile. “I mean, the last time we researched a clue here, the café caught on fire. Better not risk it.”
Her genuine grin made his own start to feel a little more authentic. “Seems wise. So…you’ll text me?”
“I’ll text you.” He lifted one hand in a wave, watching as she sauntered across the street to the Blossom while willing his gaze to go in any other direction.
Definitely nothing wise about it.
* * *
She’d knocked out one convo Delia had suggested—might as well get the other one over with.
A soft ding announced Elisa’s arrival to the second floor, and she took a deep breath as she exited the elevators and strode down the beige-carpeted hallway. Bergeron Inspections filled the plaque holder on the third door to the left. She pushed through it before she could lose her nerve.
Her father had only ever kept part-time employees, and sure enough, Melissa’s desk sat empty in the front of the office, across from two fraying upholstered chairs. She probably took Fridays off.
“Dad?” Elisa wandered past the coffee station that boasted a sink, overflowing trash can, and a stale-smelling Keurig, and wrinkled her nose before turning toward her father’s office. “It’s me.”
“Come on in.” His door was open and he sat at his desk, furiously typing on a laptop while a golf game played silently from a TV mounted on the wall.
Elisa perched on the edge of the single chair across from him, her back stiff as she waited to be acknowledged. The single framed photo on the bookshelf behind him was her senior portrait, taken many moons ago, nestled next to a row of dusty books and a crispy brown plant. Melissa had tried, at least.
There weren’t photos of Mom anymore.
Elisa looked away, folding her hands in her lap. “Bad time?”
“Nope.” Dad finished typing, hit the enter key with a flourish, and leaned back in his office chair, spinning to face her, his expression unreadable. “What’s up?”
And this was why these conversations were impossible. Delia didn’t seem to understand that Elisa wasn’t the only one wanting to avoid them. “Things got pretty tense last night.” She looked away, then forced herself to hold his gaze. “We never talked about it.”
