Page 11 of Haunting the Mountain Man
“What? Why not?” she asks, offended.
“You’ll blab,” I say.
“I will not!”
“Name one secret you’ve ever kept.”
“Well…”
“Exactly.”
“What about a hint?”
“He’s a local.”
“That’s not a hint.”
Unable to help myself I quickly add, “He’s got dark hair and wears flannel.”
“SABRINA!”
My laughter drowns out her outrage until she starts laughing too. Half the town’s men have dark hair, and they all wear flannel year-round. I might as well have told her he has a beard.
“A real hint,please,” she whines.
“Okay, okay,” I concede. “I’ll give you a hint, but only one!”
“Stingy!”
“You want it or not?”
“Yes, please.”
It’s hard to think of a good one. I don’t want it to be too obvious, but I want to give her a real shot at guessing Cole.
“He works with wood.”
“How is that a good hint? He could be a carpenter, a carver, a lumberjack or even a park ranger!”
“Well, he’s not a fireman, cop, or barista.”
Noel takes a long breath through her nose, the slight whistling sound reminding me of a tea kettle.
“Your hint sucks.”
“Too bad.”
“Ugh!”
“He’s older,” I add.
“How much older?” she asks.
“Maybe twenty years,” I say bracing for her reaction.
She’s silent for a second, then she lets out a low whistle.
“Sugar daddy?”
